#it must be hard to live with that degree of self-loathing. get better soon

[marypsue]

In general I think my thesis on other people's stories is 'if I can tell you hold me in contempt for being in your audience, then I will remove myself from your audience'.

[nonfayth]

a deep dive into the home life of bern’s royal family, and why zephiel became the man he does when he grows up. whilst some headcanons are made here, it’s mostly just me extrapolating what we already know in canon.

tw: emotional abuse and toxic parenting under the cut.

king desmond and queen hellene were wed out of an entirely political marriage, and although hellene was excited at the prospect of having the opportunity to be a good wife and mother, she would never have the chance to truly be seen as the former due to the fact that desmond harbored affections for his actual paramour, a bernese woman of common birth. he would never be able to marry the love of his life due to both status reasons as well as how bern sought out the advantages of linking themselves with one of etruria’s most noble families, thus giving them a link to another major power in the continent. it would be foolish, in the bernese court’s eyes, to refuse the marriage offer from hellene’s family then.

though he could not officially be with his paramour, king desmond was allowed to host her within the bernese royal palace, and so he did, making quite public displays of affection with her while electing to not spend more time with his wife than necessary. it was quite obvious who he favored of the two, and desmond was never really a subtle man who kept his emotions close to his chest. servants could describe his behavior towards his lover as amorous to the point of being sickeningly sweet and his behavior towards his wife were dismissive at best, outright hateful at its worst.

desmond’s nasty nature against his wife is what leads hellene’s own dreams to turn away from that of love to one of power. when she bears desmond’s heir in the form of zephiel, she immediately expresses hope for the day that zephiel will take the throne away from desmond. being the mother of the future king, she assumes she will be given more respect around the palace and have a more secure future. zephiel is seen less as her beloved son and more as her winning piece to get back at desmond; zephiel is the constant reminder that desmond’s days in power are limited, and that one day it will be hellene’s own blood taking over.

desmond, upon first seeing zephiel, hates him for the mere fact he is hellene’s son. zephiel is living proof of their a marriage forced onto him, and he cannot stand the living reminder of it, especially if people were going to come and congratulate him on the birth of a healthy heir and then speak about the son frequently now. to avoid the nuisance of being forced to see his newborn child, he banishes both zephiel and hellene to an off-site manse under the guise of claiming that hellene needs more time to be able to relax with the baby. this further enrages hellene, motivating her to make zephiel into a project to spite desmond.

she will make it so desmond must acknowledge their son.

hellene from a young age is both strict and neglectful with her son. zephiel is afforded every tutor he can be given with her own personal funds ( funds that desmond is obligated to give her every month but no more ) and is sent to lessons as soon as he can walk and talk. he is drilled in military arts, history, etiquette, the arts, and all manner of topics to groom him into the perfect heir. luckily for her, zephiel proves to be a prodigy and excels in everything quickly. she spreads this like wildfire, telling every and anyone of how perfect her son is so as to make the general populace enamored with him.

the lessons zephiel devotes himself to is scheduled in such a way as to not afford him much free time if any at all, and when he is given the chance to breathe, he is encouraged to spend it on pursuits that will make him look either handsome or intelligent such as learning to play an instrument or falconry. when he gets the chance to speak with his mother, usually only at meal times, she is quick to ask him of his studies and nothing else before excusing herself. if things are going well, she praises him and finds new topics and limits to push onto him. if things are going poorly, she goes to discuss things with his tutors.

zephiel does not know love, but if he does not know it, then he cannot be sad to be missing it.

these days of aiming to become the perfect heir continue, and when he is old enough, hellene tries to show him off to desmond. hellene waits until she is positive that zephiel is in top form, and she stresses upon zephiel to make sure he impresses his father.

he performs spectacularly. he is polite, he is well-learned, and he endears the knights with both his charisma as well as his talent in martial arts despite his young age.

the sight of everyone surrounding desmond, people devoted to him, being taken by the prince enrages him. hellene’s smug smirk in the corner does no favors either. desmond realizes that the people love the person he has resolved to hate, and he looks bad for not welcoming zephiel into the palace as a result.

stubborn to a fault and envious over how his son is better than him in every degree, especially given how desmond himself is a mediocre man, desmond takes to publicly shaming zephiel. desmond is unable to quell his own ire in order to remain civil, and so he sharpens his words in order to try and chase the boy away. the less time zephiel spends in the palace, the less he can charm the people around him.

desmond also goes on the offensive, calling out zephiel’s behaviors as manipulative. he tries to warp the narrative, claiming zephiel’s attempts to get in his father’s good graces are in actuality calculated moves to make him look bad in contrast, and that zephiel is merely a power-hungry prince who needs to learn respect. desmond is convinced this seemingly perfect son of his is just like the woman who conceived him, and he cannot see zephiel as anything other than someone who plots against him and wishes to see his downfall.

zephiel, confused and distraught by this callousness, struggles to cope with it. his mother and the tutors ensure he is wonderful, but his father openly bashes his character and disapproves of him so vehemently. though hellene is upset by this turn of events, she insists that zephiel continue his studies and attempts to make desmond recognize him as his rightful son.

being treated to verbal abuse every time he visits the palace but encouraged to desire approval from his father, zephiel’s brain attempts to make the reality easier to stomach by twisting his perception of his father’s words as right. if he is to keep trying to curry favor with his father, then it would be difficult to do so while believing he is being unreasonable.

every time desmond scolds him and tells him that he is not worthy of his love nor his position as crown prince, zephiel begins to believe it more and more. the problem lies with him, and he must earn his father’s love. the burden lies on him. he begins to pray to st. elimine every day for this, but his prayers go unanswered as the abuse remains the same.

if even st. elimine won’t help him, then this is proof that zephiel is simply not working hard enough and is not deserving of such a gift as familial love. st. elimine isn’t wrong to not grant his wishes. st. elimine is a beloved religious icon.

the desire for love grows as does the mistreatment when zephiel meets desmond’s second child. she is a little girl named guinivere, born from desmond’s mistress. though desmond attempted to keep guinivere and zephiel from ever properly meeting, guinivere is a bit of a rebellious girl in her youth and desmond is helpless to stop her, too doting and weak to her as the product of his healthier romance.

guinivere instantly loves zephiel, and she begins asking every day to see him again and play with him. she is open with her adoration, and this is the first time zephiel experiences actual love from anyone. he, in turn, loves her too in the purest way a half-brother can, starved for genuine affection all his life, and the two prove difficult to separate.

desmond grows paranoid that zephiel aims to kill guinivere to try and get him where his greatest weakness lies, still convinced that zephiel is as conniving and out to get him as hellene is. desmond grows physically violent now, destroying and killing any gifts that zephiel brings with him as he is unable to physically harm zephiel himself without being criticized even more by the royal court of bern. he shuts zephiel down even more each conversation they have, and his vitriol is even worse than before.

desmond hates his son for not only being the perfect heir but also for being the person guinivere loves the most in the world, even moreso than her own father.

zephiel is given even less leave to be able to visit the royal palace now, giving him more time to reflect upon his perceived mistakes in conduct and more time to prepare for the next time he shall meet his father only to not even be given a chance to impress the man. the more effort he puts in, the more he despairs at the inevitable failures. the more love he receives from guinivere, the more he wishes he could be with her always, and the more he longs for similar affection from his father and mother.

he yearns for a loving, happy family. he tells himself he has not earned the right to have it.

this self loathing and lack of confidence in himself rises to such a point that zephiel refuses to believe other people when they compliment him. he sees praise as ultimately unhelpful to his quest to get his father to approve of him, and he convinces himself that his father’s insults and critiques of his character are his father’s way of trying to groom into someone worthy of his attention. the only correct person, the only person worth listening to, is desmond.

his belief in his father is unshakeable. even when his father hires assassins to get rid of him on the eve of his coming-of-age ceremony, zephiel does not suspect for even a second that it was him who had sent the hitmen in the first place. zephiel merely sees the incident as the universe testing him, seeing whether or not he can weather through what might come for him one day as a royal. it is merely expected of him to be able to fend off such attempts, and anyone could be out to get him.

when his mother goes through an unexpected shift in demeanor after the incident, even telling him that she will try and support his wishes to move back into the palace and live as a family, he believes he has taken a step forward towards his goals.

this would not be true, for desmond would merely wait for another opportunity to strike.

when zephiel grows to be of an age similar to when desmond himself became king, desmond invites zephiel to have a drink with him. zephiel is excited at the prospect; after over two decades of working for this outcome, it looks as if he has finally become a man worthy of love.

it turns out “love” tastes like poison.

for the next ten days, zephiel hangs on the cusp of life and death. he is unable to run away from the truth this time: his father wished to kill him. it was his father who knowingly served him poison, and it was his father who smiled as he was writhing in pain after taking a sip from the goblet. it was no ordinary poison either, but rather a poison meant to incur agony upon its victim as they remained aware of it for more than a week.

desmond wanted him to not only die, but to be suffering a slow death too.

zephiel is only able to survive the incident due to his vassal murdock’s dutiful attempts to filter the poison out of his system, but when zephiel is able to regain his strength, he is completely changed by the experience.

his previous unshakeable faith in his father being the type of man who is secretly looking out for zephiel and trying to make him the best man he could be is unable to cope with the damage and betrayal of trust displayed. the only way for zephiel to stay sane after the experience is to believe that it is human’s nature to be bad people. as zephiel ruminates during his recovery period, he looks back on all the years he had wasted trying to win the favor of a man who would never give it to him, and he evaluates the kind of man king desmond really is.

he looks at the envy, the open love for another other than his wife, and the paranoia. zephiel realizes desmond’s attempts to kill zephiel were all founded on ugly emotions, and in order to accept that the man he looked up to the most secretly had a dark heart, zephiel must then believe everyone can and will succumb to such emotions as well. after all, if desmond was supposed to be the best of them, then what could be said for people zephiel held in less regard?

he turns his personal tragedy into something he believes must be a universal one, and when he kills his own father a few days later, that marks the death of the zephiel who believed in the absolute good of people’s intentions.

it also marks the birth of a zephiel who believes the world would be better off without humans, for if they are all fated to become horrible people, then why bother with them at all?

[uswntpoet]

Love on the brain (Part 12)

Hey guys, this one gets a tad intense, hope you enjoy the chapter :D as always, sorry for any mistakes!

The chapter is also up on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17576201/chapters/42849599

“Guys do we have time to take a break? I really need to make a call.” Kelley asks stressed out. The meeting started really early in the morning and she hasn’t spoken to Alex for two and a half days.

“We really need to get this finished. It will only take a few more minutes. After that you’re free, if that’s okay with you?” one of the associates answers, distracted by some paper he’s reading.

“Yeah, sure…” Kelley answers defeated. However, minutes turn into hours and before she even realizes it, it got dark outside again. Kelley looks out the window of the conference room absentmindedly.

“KELLEY?” a loud voice yells.

“Hmm?” she says, turning her head quickly.

“Everything okay? I’ve been calling your name like 4 times.”

“Uhh, yes sorry. I just-“

“I know, we are tired too, but I know what will wake you up again.” one of her attorneys smiles.

“What will, Matt?” Kelley asks blankly.

“Tonight is the sponsor’s party! Good chance for you to talk to some people.” he says excitedly.

“I think I’ll pass on that.” Kelley grumbles.

“Actually, you can’t. It’s obligatory. They want to promote their product with this party. So you better put on a big smile.” Matt argues.

“Consider it done, Matt.” Kelley says, putting on a huge fake smile, which disappears immediately.

“I’m sorry, Kel. I know you should have stayed in New York, but this is a huge chance.”

“No, I know. And I really appreciate it. I’m sorry Matt. I know you had to leave your family as well. Thanks for your good work.”

“Don’t thank me for that. I’m happy to work for you and if I wasn’t, you’d still pay me.”

Kelley laughs out loud, causing Matt to chuckle. He’s happy to see her like that. Ever since Kelley arrived in LA, this is the first time he has seen her laugh, which is very untypical.

“I feel your pain. My wife wasn’t happy either, but you’re going to sort it out. You’re a good person, Kel.” he says, putting his hand on her shoulder and smiling at her sadly, before leaving the conference room.

“How many minutes until we leave?” Kelley yells after him, realizing that she is the only one in the room.

“Uber has been waiting outside for 10 minutes!” she hears him yell back. Kelley groans loudly, hitting her head against the desk, before jumping up to follow Matt.

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Alex is lying in bed, having a hard time finding any sleep. Kelley hasn’t reached out for more than two days, excluding the evening of their fight and it’s starting to get unbearable. Every single one of her thoughts revolves around Kelley and if she’s okay. Since she isn’t able to sleep anyway, Alex opens Instagram to pass some time. After 20 minutes or so, she refreshes the feed on more time, before meaning to close the App. That’s when Ken’s Instagram story pops up. Alex clicks on the button without hesitation and a video starts playing. However, she’s disappointed to see that it’s just a video of a party and Kelley isn’t in sight. Nonetheless, something catches her eye.

“Why is Ken at a BMW event?” Alex asks herself. She types BMW USA in the search bar and sees that they posted a story as well. The first video is showing the party and a few pictures of famous guests follow, which Alex taps on to skip them. After a few taps Kelley’s face appears on her display and she let’s out a deep breath of relieve, she didn’t know she was holding. Kelley looks really good, but also stressed and super tired, which she tries to hide with a gorgeous smile. A smile, which Alex knows is totally fake. It’s her media smile. The smile she perfected for days when she’s sick and has to do interviews or for the children, waiting in line for her to sign anything after lost games. A live video comes up, which was posted 25 minutes ago, showing a 360-degree view of the event and what Alex sees next must be some kind of sick joke. Her eyes begin to water with tears. The video shows Kelley standing at the bar with a drink in hand. Suddenly, a very beautiful woman approaches her and puts her arm around her, whispering something in her ear. Kelley looks at her and says something back, which makes the woman laugh in response. They then exchange a few words. Ultimately, the pretty blonde then leans in to whisper something in her ear again, pulling away and winking at Kelley. This time Kelley is the one to laugh, a genuine laugh, not a faked laugh and the video ends. Alex feels like throwing up and the tears are rolling down her face relentlessly. She locks her phone, not wanting to see the video again and tries to sleep, whishing she wouldn’t have opened the damn story. 15 minutes later, Alex’s sobs are interrupted by the buzzing of her phone. She blindly fishes for it and turns it around. Her heart aches when she reads the name on the screen. Kelley. Alex shakes her head and rejects her call, not wanting to talk to her. Just two seconds later her phone starts buzzing again, but she rejects it again. Kelley tries to call her non-stop and after the 6th time Alex picks up, but remains silent.

“Helloo? Alexx?” Kelley slurs. Her voice sounds totally drunk and desperate. Alex feels her eyes filling with tears again. The way Kelley is saying her name and her drunkenness making her feel sick to her stomach. Something must have happened and after seeing the video with the woman, Alex doesn’t even want to know.

“I don’t want to talk to you. Stop calling me.” Alex sobs and hangs up. Her phone immediately starts buzzing again. Kelley’s face appears on her screen, one of Alex’s favorite pictures of her, which she took herself. Seeing her smile only twists the knife, which is why she turns off her phone.      

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Kelley feels more and more miserable every passing minute that she has to stay at the party. When people talk to her or photos are taken, she puts on the best fake smile she can muster up, knowing that no one is going to notice anyway. After some very important socializing, she takes a break from walking around and sits down at the bar.

“What can I do for you?” a man in a tuxedo asks her.

“I need a whisky.”

“Would you prefer a specific brand?”

“Just pour me the biggest glass you have of the one that has the most alcohol in it.” Kelley says numbly. The barkeeper stops and looks at her for a second, but continues nonetheless.

“As you wish.” he says professionally. When the glass is put in front of her, Kelley takes a sip, feeling the liquid burn in her throat. She looks at the glass briefly and then puts it to her mouth again, downing it in one go.

“I need another one. And could you do me a favor and just keep them going?” she asks the barkeeper, who nods shortly. A few glasses later, Kelley still sits at the bar, drink in hand, staring through the room with dull, glazed eyes, her jaw tightened. She feels the alcohol kicking in and the pain in her chest starts to feel a little less heavy, as well as her thoughts, which begin to drive her completely insane. The taunting voices in her head getting quieter with every sip. Suddenly, she feels an arm around her shoulder.

“What’s up, not having fun?” the woman whispers empathically. Kelley looks at her and sees that it’s Linda, who works for BMW and initiated the whole sponsoring and partnership. Kelley gives her a tightlipped smile, a real one, but still one that looks piteous.  

“Yeah, no. Aawesome party, thankss Linda. But I reeally miss my fiancée. I didn’t leave on ssuch good terms. I think I ffucked up royally. Ssorry, that was inappropriate.”

She tries to sound as sober as possible. After she already screwed up with Alex, she doesn’t want to screw up the sponsorship as well. Linda laughs loudly.

“That’s okay. If I’m honest, I really hate those people, who pretend like they’re robots just because I made them sign a contract with me. You seem to be a good person, Kelley.”

“That’s the ssecond time I heard that today and I ccertainly didn’t act like it a ffew daays ago.” Kelley mentions with a self-loathing chuckle.

“I think you should talk to her as soon as possible. When my husband and I fight over long distance, it always gets worse without communication. I’m sure your fiancée will forgive you eventually.”

“Yeah…thanks.” Kelley smiles sadly.

“Okay and now go to your hotel.”

“Whaaat? Nooo, this par-ty is to promote the product, I sshhould be sstaying.”

“Kelley, I’m the boss here. Trust me, you should go.”

Kelley looks at her skeptically, which causes Linda to come closer and whisper into her ear again.

“These parties suck anyway, I’m just waiting to go home to my husband and kids.” Linda winks at her, when she pulls away. Kelley laughs loudly, throwing her head back, a genuine laugh, not a faked laugh.

“Thh-anks Linda. For everything.” Kelley smiles at her. Linda nods at her.

“The pleasure is ours.” she says, holding out her hand for Kelley to shake. Kelley stands up and shakes Linda’s hand, but before she can leave Linda stops her.

“I think you should leave that here.” she says, pointing to the glass in Kelley’s hand that’s still full of whiskey.

“Yyou’re right…I sshhould.” Kelley nods meaningfully and leaves.

“I think you saved her from an awful morning, Linda.” the barkeeper says.

“Oh no, that’s all you. Thanks for telling me, Parker.” Linda says to the barkeeper.

On her way out Kelley smashes into someone.

“Keeelley, I searched for you everywhere! How are you?”

“Ken!! Duuude, fin-ally yyou’re here. Wwere you able to-“

Ken holds up a box in response, which makes Kelley calm down. When Matt told her that Ken wouldn’t be in LA for another day, Kelley immediately instructed Matt to tell Ken to somehow buy her a new phone and bring it to LA as soon as humanly possible.

“Ken, yyyou’re a legend!”

“Kelley? Are you drunk? You smell like an alcoholic.”

“Alexx nd I got into a ffight.”

“Oh, so that’s why she called me.”

“Sshe called you? Duude, I have to get to my h-hotel room and ffind my SIM card.” Kelley slurs, pushing past him and jogging towards the exit.

“What? Hey Kelley wait!!!” Ken calls after her, but she is already too far away. Kelley sprints to her hotel room, which is further away than she initially thought. Much further. After a 30-minute spontaneous intoxicated marathon, Kelley arrives in front of her hotel room out of breath. She fumbles for her keys and opens the door hectically, starting to rummage through her stuff to find her old phone. After a few minutes, the new phone finally is ready and starts buzzing non-stop. Hundreds of missed calls and messages appear on her display, most of them from Alex and they’re not very happy messages. Kelley scrolls through them, reading things like: ‘I HATE YOU!!’, ‘You can sleep on the couch for the next year!!’ and ‘I miss you, I’m sorry.’, followed by ‘You can kiss my fucking ass Kelley O’Hara!!!”.

Kelley hastily dials Alex’s number.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up!!” she prays, but feels her heart sink, when her call gets rejected. She dials again and again, not giving up.

“C-ome on, Alexxx. Don’t llleave me hangin’” she slurs. That’s when Alex actually picks up, but all Kelley hears is silence.

“Helloo? Alexx?” Kelley slurs desperately, surprised that she actually picked up.

“I don’t want to talk to you. Stop calling me.” Alex sobs with a heartbreaking voice and hangs up. Kelley feels her heart tear into pieces.

“No, no, no, no.” she says, quickly dialing the number again and again, but Alex is not picking up. Just moments later her next call goes to voicemail.

“FUCK!!!” Kelley yells, knowing that she turned her phone off. She punches her first into the mattress repeatedly. She slides down the edge of the bed, pulling her knees to her chest. That’s when her body starts shaking, as the tears roll down her face. The voices begin to set in again. They’re getting louder and louder with each passing second.

‘You’re not good enough for her. Can’t you see what you did?’

“Stop it Kelley.” she whispers to herself desperately, but the voices keep on going. She puts her hands over her ears, the tears streaming down her face and dropping onto her shirt.

‘You hurt her. She’s crying because of you. Suffering, because of you. What can you offer her?’

“Fucking stop it!” she says louder, pressing her hands to her ears tighter. She closes her eyes and scrunches up her face in utter despair, rocking back and forth.

‘You’re stupid enough to think she wants you? She doesn’t even want you to call her! She’s better off without you, happier!’ the voices getting deafening loud. Kelley bites her teeth together.

‘What are you going to do next? Hit her instead of the wall? You’re dangerous. Get your temper under control for once.’

“NO!!! I won’t ever!!!! I will never do that!! I’ll change!!! Please, just make it stop.” Kelley yells loudly, letting out heartbreaking sobs.

‘Look at you. Who could love you? Drinking away your pain. You’re piteous, you’re nothing. She fucking hates you’

“STOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!!!!!!!!!!” Kelley screams earsplittingly, as if in enormous pain and suddenly everything goes black.

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Kelley wakes up with a jolt. There is hectic movement around her and she hears loud beeping. She gasps for air. There is a mask sitting on her face. Her eyes wander around panicked. Everything is blurry and the voices around her are getting louder and louder. She tries to focus her eyes really hard, so she can see clearly. Her breathing is speeding up and her chest feels like something is pushing a huge amount of weight onto her. She moves her arms to try to get rid of the weight that has been placed there, but her hands just feel her shirt. Where is this pressure coming from?

“It’s okay, Kelley. Please try to stay calm. I’m Dr. Collins. You’ll be fine.” an unfamiliar voice tells her. Kelley nods panicked, her heartrate speeding up. She can feel her heartbeat pulsing in her ears and her breathing picks up even more. The voices that were loud and clear just seconds ago, start turning into muffled sounds and before Kelley can say anything, everything turns black again.

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This time waking up feels a lot calmer. A soft and steady beeping and no movement at all. Kelley opens her eyes and after blinking a few times, she can see clearly again. She is met with Ken looking at her with pity in his eyes.

“Kel?” he asks carefully.

“Where-where am I?” Kelley asks confused and disoriented, her voice hoarse.

“You’re in the hospital.”

“What?? What happened??” she asks with a weak voice.

“I found you hyperventilating in your hotel room. I followed you, because I thought something was off. You had a nervous breakdown caused by sleep deprivation and stress. Plus drinking your own weight and not eating anything for over two days doesn’t really go together perfectly.”

“Jesus Christ.” Kelley puffs out, looking up at the ceiling overwhelmed.

“Yeah…”

“Please don’t tell me you called Alex.”

“I did.”

“Nooo!” she groans, closing her eyes.

“I did, but she didn’t pick up, her phone must have been turned off.”

“Jesus, thank god!” she exhales.

“I left a message though.”

“Ugghh, damn it! I hope you didn’t call TMZ as well.” Kelley jokes sarcastically.

“Kelley that’s not funny. What’s wrong with you? That’s not you.”

“No Ken, that’s exactly me.” Kelley says bitterly.

“What are you talking about?!”

“It is. That’s me without Alex.” Kelley says looking at Ken frustrated.

“No, it isn’t. Kelley, I know you for 3 and a half years and I’ve never seen you like this. That was brutal.”

“I know.” Kelley nods soberly. Ken throws her a worried look.

“Ken, I am nothing without her.”

“That’s such bullshit, you were someone before her.”

“Yes, I was. I was an empty shell. Always laughing, but never feeling it. I didn’t like, who I was before her and I don’t want to become that again. Because that’s who you saw. Someone, who doesn’t care, someone, who is reckless, someone, who does those self-destructive things. I know it may seem like she caused that. But, Ken, she didn’t. It’s her absence that caused that and that’s my fault, I pushed her away.”

Ken looks at her pensively. Kelley looks back intensely, stressing her next words with an urgency that underlines the importance of them.

“Ken, listen. This. Is. My. Fault. Do you understand?”

Ken nods understandingly, his forehead creased. The importance of what Kelley is trying to say sinking in.

“Before Alex and I got close, my mom regularly found me with those nervous breakdowns, because I just felt numb and I wanted to feel something so desperately. Whenever I had a breakdown, those voices started in my head, telling me that I was worth nothing. And when Alex and I got closer it stopped. From one day to the next, it just stopped. The last time that happened was when I was 21. This has never happened when we got into a fight. I guess, I thought I lost her for good and it triggered these old patterns. Ken, I know I found something greater in Alex, I found purpose. She gave me the strength to realize, who I was and who I wanted to become. So, I continued to work on myself and it made me a better person. She made me and continues to make me feel, which is something I didn’t know how to do properly. So, don’t tell me that this is wrong. You don’t understand what she means to me and how she makes me feel. She makes me want to constantly work on becoming the most perfect girlfriend, fiancée and hopefully wife in this entire world, because that’s what she deserves and that’s what she is to me. But there are days I will fail and I just had a few of them.”

“Well, sounds like I should tell the doctor you suffer from love on the brain.” Ken smiles.

“Yeah, that’s what it is.” Kelley smiles.

[fenreared]

FENRIR GREYBACK is played by CHARLIE HUNNAM. THIRTY TWO. HE/HIM. CIS MALE. NONE APPLICABLE. DEATH EATERS. ( ellie. she/her. 19. gmt )

32, dangerous AF, brooding in the worst of ways, volatile dumbass werewolf pack leader with a protective streak that’s literally unmatched by anyone you’ve ever met.

Fenrir never got to go to Hogwarts - he was bitten when he was 2. His life outside of being a werewolf has, since, been non-existent. He was born Faelan Lowe - not Fenrir Greyback, but that’s for another time, and another place. 

Fenrir was abandoned three months after his first transition. His mother simply didn’t know how to handle a child like him - she was American, a pureblood and had no friends in the place she and her husband had chosen to make home. His father was a higher-up in MACUSA, on loan to the Ministry of Magic as part of a scheme to improve international relations, but nobody knew he had a son. Had a wife. He abandoned Fenrir somewhere he prayed would ensure that he died. 

Fenrir, only two, wandered the woods for days, until his infantile, feral magic seemingly exploded. When he awoke, he was on cobbled streets, surrounded by faces he didn’t recognise. A hand was grabbing at his forearm, dragging him to pin him against the wall, a harsh voice demanding to know what he was doing, why he was covered in blood and scarred - a zigzag of still pink wounds stretched across his skin.

Eventually, he passed out from the pain. He awoke again, in front of a roaring fireplace, the light cast upon the bricks green. He found his family that day. Not the Lowe’s. Never again the Lowe’s. But in the misfits - the faces of people forgotten, shunned, lost to the darkness - he found family in them. He was tended to by the barmaid of the Knockturn Alley bar he woke up in. 

He transitioned each full moon in a magically converted shed that usually was home to barrels and barrels of on tap fire-whiskey. Eventually, he got stronger. Eventually, more and more people were hurt by him - changed, transitioned, although there was little blame tacked onto his name then. He was just a child, newly christened, newly named. Faelan Lowe, christened Fenrir Greyback, was just a boy with nowhere to go when the inevitable caught up with him.

He was 10 when there was a hearing - old enough for criminal responsibility, but not old enough to understand the consequences of what he had done, the string of people he had turned, unassisted, unaided by the people outside of his tiny circle in Knockturn Alley. Even at that age, he was a powerful wolf when he transitioned. Lyall Lupin. Everyone knows his name - he mouthed off about how dangerous he was (recognizing the signs in Fenrir of lycanthropy, recognizing him for not being a muggle tramp, but a wizard and a half-breed, calling him ‘soulless, evil, deserving of nothing but death), and the subsequent trial led to him, a year later, being denied admission to Hogwarts. Nothing that Dumbledore said, or did, at that stage, changed anything.

He was incredibly feral, as a wolf. His lack of socialization with kids his age - with much of anyone, really - meant that his role in the pack that he was caught with was blown out of proportion to an excessive degree. He was just a kid. He broke out after everything - his anger was unmatched, unparalleled by anything Fenrir had ever felt before. That was when he turned Remus. That was when he made the decision to turn him, malicious and foaming at the mouth when the moon shone through.

Dumbledore, in all of his years, had a great deal of qualms about denying Fenrir access to Hogwarts. He had no choice in the matter. Nothing he did after the fact could make Fenrir feel any better about that fact. In fact, it deepened the hatred, the loathing, that Fenrir had for him, for normal wizards, so quick to be prejudiced, so quick to hate what they could not understand. 

Fenrir learned magic from matriarchs and misfits - barmaids and runaways and the owner of Borgin and Burke’s, learning how to fit in where he did not belong from the leader of the pack - the leader he would soon become by the time he was 18. By the time he was twenty, his skin was rippled with scars and over them, tattoos. Ink soaked into his skin, became a part of who he was, just as much as the wolf did. He learned magic the same way he learned to live on the streets - gradually, with bits and pieces coming together to form someone who was streetsmart, not booksmart, who knew the darkest corners of alleys and where to find the ones that would be strongest, who to protect, who to fight. 

When he became leader of the pack, it was because the Werewolf Registry was picking up with them. Their previous leader had been cuffed and sent to Azkaban, weakened by silver, of all things, and nobody - not even those older - felt as though they would be capable of taking what Fenrir believed was rightfully his, away. He had been there the longest, had spent more time than anyone running wild, learning what it meant to lead. What it meant to protect, to serve something other than yourself.

The pack, for years, was the most important thing to him. He didn’t bite for sport - he didn’t bestow that upon anyone he did not believe would join him, would see that he was the rightful Alpha. The only thing that mattered was the pack, and those he deemed enough for them to protect. But the one thing he cannot give them is freedom. Freedom to be themselves, to roam, to live free lives and be out of the shadows for eternity. Everything he does is for them, not for him. Not all werewolves are immune from self-loathing. Fenrir is no different.

Everything he does makes him seem volatile, and don’t get him wrong, he is. But the things he does are for the safety of the pack, not for himself. He’s dangerous and vicious, as part of his partnership with Voldemort. He vowed to follow him - but was not bestowed with the mark of his followers - the price that a beast must pay for safety, for a place in the new world. He feels like a dog on a chain. Thoughts of a new life - a world where he doesn’t have to hide - is one of the few things he truly desires for himself.

It wasn’t all that long ago that Marlene came into his life. He’d never given them much thought - although the same could be said for a majority of purebloods. So when they turned up at the White Wyvern, the bar that he set up base at when he was in human form, he didn’t know what to make of them. That is, until they single-handedly took out two overeager grunts he’d hired, and it made him laugh. He could tell they were keeping something hidden from him even then, although that night spiraled into more than that. (And those grunts were fired - trust was hard to win, and they’d shredded what little he’d given them. Trust is something one doesn’t want to break around Fenrir.)

Fenrir doesn’t care about society - the rules purebloods have established, that Marlene is betrothed, or married. He could take Mulciber, that’s not the problem. It’s almost a game that the two play - seeming to dance out of one another’s lives, but always being drawn back, like moths to a flame. Freedom is what he can see they want, but they hesitate. They always do. He’s just waiting for the right time to pull. (Or push.) But it’s the worst kept secret among the pack that he’d do anything for Marlene, but nobody’s stupid enough to question why. 

[least-among-hamiltons]

His heart is a suspended lute; As soon as you touch it, it resonates. [ GIVE ME FREEFORM SHIT ]

i.

the first time you see a boy and think want somewhere in the vicinity of your throat you are only four and he’s the son of a friend of a friend of your father’s, and you kiss him behind the curve of the stairs. it’s what you’ve seen parents do, a sign you want to align yourself with someone forever, and after a bright moment when it feels like the world is set arights, you tell him it’s part of the game of romans that you’ve been playing, a show of partnership, of brotherhood. you’re very clever when afraid, and he accepts it when you say it was to show venus was acting through you. you stare into the mirror with hatred at the excuse after he leaves, and wish acutely you’d been brave enough to say nothing. he never comes back to the house, but it must be for some other reason because your father would lash out if he knew. (you are four and you know this).

ii.

the second time you feel the fire in your throat and in your lungs you are nine and you have accepted that this is a part of you, and you have started to hide because of how people treat you for it. your father pays attention to your younger brother over you now, and the new lady hamilton pays you little mind. a few of the teachers worry, but you think it’s just that they know, so you avoid them. one of your teachers speaks and gesticulates with fire and surety, and somewhere in your mind it registers that you want to be like him someday. you think back on the time you kissed the boy behind the stairs and flush with shame and self-assuredness. there is nothing where other emotions will arrive later, but there is a fire of surety that this is what you want to be.

iii.

you are eleven and children are cruel. it’s easier if you call your peers children, it makes the hot tears you cry over their words seem less permanent. there is no respite, only pockets of quiet, and you find yourself seeking out an absence of human contact. your only respite is in fencing, and you can hide behind the netting of the masks, in rigid practice of form and self-discipline create something for your mind to lash out against. your instructor notices your skinned palms and, in your frustrated anger, you tell him the truth, that a classmate pushed you. he asks gently if you want to know what to do if they try that again, and you fall in love on the spot. you know the emotion now, and it shivers strangely through you.

iv.

you are thirteen and you’ve just been told miranda barlowe is to be your betrothed. you try and breathe around the chalky panic in your lungs, but you cannot. you’ve never met her, but your father assures you that she will be a good match, in spite of your… shortcomings. for a blinding second, you think that your father knows, but there is none of the familiar loathing in his eyes as when he talks about the… the people like you… the people like you he’s put up on the scaffold. you breathe around the panic, and think of how there must be a way out of this.

v.

miranda is a genius. staging a fight to get him sent to an all-boys’ school takes the brilliant anger and sharp wit you’ve never dared have, but living outside of london and in the countryside suits you like nothing else. you’re fifteen and the boys here are gorgeous, and you think there might be unwritten rules that you don’t know yet but you will. you’ve always been a quick study.

vi.

boys here are cruel, and sometimes even the boys like you are cruel too. you have just turned sixteen and you are learning that you and all the other boys like you here are so angry. you know exactly how inhospitable the world outside of the school is, and even inside the school, it pays to be brilliant, charming, and as sharp-tongued as a snake. you try and keep your softness, it’s the best part of you, miranda said, but between that and the cruelties of those boys who are unlike you, it’s getting hard to stay.

vii.

you are eighteen and london would be better than this. anything would be better than this. anything would be better than this. miranda says she’ll throw a fit to get her father to move the marriage to christmas to get him out of the school, and he cries over the letter until the ink runs before burning it. the other boys think the letters are from a lover, and he doesn’t tell them otherwise. when one of his horrendous schoolmates steals a letter and finds that it’s a fiance, all of a sudden he is even more alone. he spends his last few months buried in books and study.

vii.

you’ve just turned nineteen and miranda has known since the beginning. she has supported him, and he has come to love her as his dearest friend. nothing he says during the wedding rings false, but he shares secret smiles with her, ignores the sad twist of her mouth. they both know he cannot and will not love her how she would hope, but he’s devising a scheme to make it possible not to trap her in the gilded cage that is his security.

viii.

he’s twenty-two parliament is easy, god it’s nothing compared to the games of boarding school, except that each adversary is more wrong than the other. he raises his voice too much, he knows, and the first time he’s branded a radical it feels like a death knell, but he and miranda are brilliant and tenacious and determined to be happy, so he continues on through it, and turns the gauntlet of fire into a reputation. the salons fan the flames of it, and he finds likeminded others. when he sees boys from boarding school, they never speak unless it’s pleasantries, but sometimes they’ll come sit in the back of the salons. thomas tries to quell the sick-sweet taste of regret and horrendous memory when he sees them. he is still kind, in spite of everything, and a bit of a fool, but he’d rather be a fool than dead. and it really was that choice, in the end.

ix.

he’s twenty-seven, and he makes a friend of peter ashe. he’s not surprised, at this point, that staying the course has proven to be a workable strategy, but he’s gotten good at making it confusing to track his successes back to him. some of the foolish men who were cruel boys at school stand across the room from him now, and he’s making a name for himself for making unworkable strategies workable. and he’s caught the eye of a star. peter debates with him openly in the salons about things that are obvious enough not to draw attention, but his attendance doesn’t waver. he tells thomas to stand behind a project (peter’s project) and to trust the weight of his name to carry him. thomas doesn’t believe him, but he tries it. and instead of the ridicule he expects, he is faced with respect and a degree of applause. it shocks him to his core. has he at some point become a politician? (it makes sense, since that is what he’s devoted himself to) his father sends him a letter of congratulation, and thomas burns it. the letter that follows, offering thomas the house (his brother had gotten a governorship across the sea, and his father had purchased a richer one) he is more hesitant to burn. he shows it to miranda, miranda who’s had next to no space to conduct her life in the small house they’ve been sharing, and in the end, he responds.

x.

he is thirty-four, and he manages to put his foot in his mouth the second he meets the man he’s destined to fall in love with. he’s abrasive where he should be quiet, he doubts where he shouldn’t question, and he misses every step on the pleasantries ladder, but lt mcgraw answers him honestly. castises him easily and doesn’t deny his compliment, but he answers honestly. thomas hasn’t looked in a very long time, at least not in any substantial way, but when lt. mcgraw dismantles his nassau plan and thomas has to struggle to dismiss his dismissals (none of which are anything other than pointing out the resistance of third parties, no resistances of mcgraw’s own, at least yet) thomas thinks he might be a little bit taken. if he permits himself. miranda is taken with him too, and he thinks james mcgraw might be someone special.

xi.

he learns that it’s not that easy, and that even after all this time he falls hard and falls easy and falls fast. he has miranda and peter, though, to keep him from doing anything stupid. also james is special. more special than he can know. more special than he can ever dream. quicksilver and virtuosity hover in the air around him like light, and, even after all this time, thomas’s heart is a suspended lute; as soon as you touch it, it resonates

[anodyne-sunflower]

Love me like you do (Part 23)-Balem series

A/N: Here we are. Part 23, geesh. This is the longest fic I’ve ever written lol I really hope you guys have been enjoying this ride, it’s definitely a pleasure to write. No, this isn’t the last chapter lol Anyway, Few notes: Famulus is Titus’ assistant in the movie, she’s a deer splice. Midian is a planet owned by Abrasax industries. I’m not entirely sure what color the moon on his gold collar is, but it looks red orange to me….I’m also not sure if it is a moon or something else, but fuck it. Ummmm other than that. Enjoy.

MOOD MUSIC: Paint it, Black by Ciara

***

The ticking of the grand clock on the ceiling resounded off the walls of his chamber, slowly lulling the Primary into a scene of emptiness. He could gaze all around this lavish room, with its aureate light across the walls, and find nothing short of silence. It had been this way for a long while, devoid of all life but that of his own when he took residence in it. He cherished his time alone, away from those who would seek his power or leech off it. But, for a time now, he found little solace in this empty chamber. Where that pendulum grated on his nerves and did little else but spin him into a frenzy of anger. His fingers curled into the papers on his desk, crumbling them into a mess as he seethed silently. His eyes darted towards the clock on the far wall, glaring deeply at it, as if the very object mocked his self loathing.

He could blame you, every illogical section of his mind wanting so badly to do so. To say that a single woman caused him to break into this pathetic pining individual he was now, but that would be unfair to you. Perhaps you had done what no other could in all his long life, but for that he should and truly was, grateful. He adored you beyond anything else in his world, he would not lie to himself anymore. You were the center of his universe, and he knew that no matter what became of you both, you always would be. It would be fair to say that was precisely what vexed him. The fact that a simple earthling girl, meant to become the very essence of his business, could so easily gain his love. You were beautiful, intelligent, but in the grand scheme of things there wasn’t anything particularly special about you. He had met and bedded many gorgeous women in his lifetime, none as fair as you, but equally capable in a sense to find themselves the holder of his heart. He could pretend that was the case, but deep down he knew exactly why you were the one to make him feel so alive. And the simplest way to explain that, was that you loved him without ever expecting more from him. He wasn’t a man who could change easily, and even though he could see you wished for him to do so on occasion, you never once begged or asked for it. You loved him for everything he was, it was raw and it was real.

Balem looked back again at the doors, conflicted on whether or not to give chase. He had a choice before him, and unlike his usual self, he had no clue as to what to do.

“Forgive me, my lord-”

Mr. Night came rushing into the Primary’s chambers, arms restlessly moving at his sides as he tried to catch his breath. He looked flustered, as if some grand thing had just occurred and he was all too eager to relay the information. Balem, however, was in no mood to entertain the splice this afternoon.

“Mr. Night-” he warned, slouching down into his throne with a sound of discontent. “I am in no mood.”

“Yes, my apologies, Lord Balem. But, I have urgent news.”

Balem rubbed tenderly at his temple, propping his elbow up onto the arm of his throne before waving his free hand for the advisor to continue.

“As commanded, my lord, your fleets have taken residence near Titus’ territories. Most of his ships have been eradicated.”

The Primary glanced up at the information, eyes wide for a minute. He had forgotten in his anger he had made such a request, and it brought little comfort to his distressed heart.

“Titus?”

“Alive, my lord. He’s currently en route to Midian.”

He nodded in response, not surprised Titus had somehow managed to escape the attack. In truth, he wished his younger brother had perished. At long last this rivalry would come to an end. Kalique was manageable, Titus was the wild card. And he was well aware that he would stop at nothing to gain his title.

“How disappointing.” Balem spoke apathetically, laying his hands in his lap and lacing his fingers together. It was an entirely reckless plan on his part, but in the aftermath he may as well find some degree of happiness in it. The less Titus had at his disposal, the better. “Pull back our forces, have Greeghan personally see to the storm gates, and if Titus wishes to speak to me…I want to hear of it.”

The advisor bowed, swiftly turning away and rushing out the door to give the orders. Balem was left to contemplate his next move, thinking just how desperate Titus must be feeling right now. So alone, with nothing but that hideous clipper of his to keep him sane. It brought him joy for a minute, knowing he dealt his message to the scheming little brat of a brother. But, he was aware that his own future was as bleak as Titus’ now. He had likely descended the family into war, and even though victory would surely be his, he would still be left just the same at the end. Empty of all in life, but the riches at his disposal and the power at his hands. He had always been cognizant of this fact, it was hard to ignore when all you lived by was the same values of the entitled code. People like him didn’t get happiness, they only grew rich and old, and in their time they learned one thing: fight for more time. All to get even richer and powerful, until you were the god of everyone and everything and no one could stand in your way. That was his aim, until he met you. He didn’t think it possible to want anything more than the power available to him, to constantly fight tooth and nail for it. Now it all seemed a fruitless endeavor, when at the end he’d find himself still hungry for more. Time was still worth fighting for, but it all meant nothing in the conditional sense. He could forever strive for wealth and power, but he was positive he’d never find anyone like you again.

The Primary gazed back to the exit, heart straining terribly in his chest. He wasn’t sure he’d ever grow accustomed to the feeling, but at the sting of tears in his eyes he rose from his throne. He would not shed a tear, but it was the first time he ever truly felt the pending loss of someone dear to him.

He strode towards the exit of his room, stopping just at the doors and coming to a conclusion. He would not lose you, not ever. You were his, and he would make sure of that. He left his chambers in a rush, walking down the halls and ignoring his staff and soldiers on his way to the servant quarters, where he was sure you’d be. Upon his arrival, the corridor appeared empty, save for one man who was busy cleaning.

“Where is she?”

The servant jumped at the gruff tone, pushing back into the wall when he found the head of the alcazar glaring at him. He had never spoke to Balem before, let alone made eye contact with the intimidating lord. “I-”

“Get out.” The Primary ordered in frustration, already knowing the servant was going to be useless to him. It didn’t take long for the man to listen, and he bowed quickly as he ran out of the area. “Fool…”

Balem looked around the corridor, noting every room and passing them by one by one. He didn’t recognize anything, all of the belongings in them unknown to him. He tried finding you, but it all appeared to be in vain. Until he heard soft humming coming from the showers, a sweet little tune that he had heard once before in the night. When you thought he was asleep, tracing random patterns upon his back and humming out that same song.

He brought his gaze to the shower area, slowly moving towards it and stopping just at the entrance. The servants showers were built into the marbled black walls, each individual area sectioned off by long draping gold curtains for privacy. As soon as he entered, the steam hit him, enveloping him in a warmth and scent that was all too familiar to his senses. It enslaved him, beckoning him forward to the shower it came from. His boots stalked along the water seeping along the floor, the ends of his cape now soaked as he found his way to you. Yet, he couldn’t possibly trouble himself with such a thing, for his mind was hooked on one person.

Balem paused at the end of the showers, standing before the curtain, and reveling in the enchanting silhouette within his line of vision. He was so fond of that bewitching form, every part of him yearning to have it back in his arms where it belonged. The longing had him propelling forward into the shower, hand coming up to shift the curtain aside. His eyes immediately were drawn to you, bathing under the heavy flow of water that came from a long spout above. Your hands worked the soap over your curves, your back turned to him as you ended your humming to extend your face into the stream.

His breath left him in awe, eyes scanning every inch of your bare body. He had never felt desire like this, his heart aching to be with you and body begging to have you. It was a passion that wouldn’t easily fade.

Your hands ran over your thighs, wet hair clinging to your skin as you washed and scrubbed at your body. The shower proved helpful enough, washing away the dirt and grime of the day’s work, yet ridding your heart of the turmoil it felt. If only for a few minutes. You were certain those feelings would return with a vengeance once you finished up. In fact, you were positive they’d haunt you for the rest of your days here. Balem managed to work his way under your skin, nearly controlling every logical part of you. There was so many things to detest about a man like him, and yet you adored him for all he was. That would never change, and you would just make peace with that.

You sighed into the water, closing your eyes as you tilted your head back and appreciated the heat spilling over you. It reminded you of him, his warmth, his caresses, the way he’d lean down and whisper intimate words into your ear. Bathing with him was a heavenly gift, one that you happily shared in numerous times. But, those musings only heightened your sorrow, knowing he didn’t want you anymore. You fancied yourself a strong person, but even heartbreak could tear the strongest people apart.

Balem advanced over the water, unmoved by the droplets seeping into his attire. His focus was primarily on you standing before him, so unaware of your effect on his being. He was so close now, one slip of his hand, and he’d be reaching out to touch you.

You angled your neck to the side, massaging at your shoulder that felt just a tad sore. The heat of the water loosened your muscles, making you moan in comfort at the feeling. As your nails glided along your flushed skin, a soft touch made you freeze. The feeling of fingertips moving up your mid back, and over your shoulder blade causing you to shiver. You knew that touch, but in the back of your mind you warned yourself not to believe it was him. You didn’t dare look back, heart already hammering away within your chest as those fingers walked over your shoulder and affectionately covered your hand. From the corner of your eye, you could see the glint of gold rings, his thumb sweeping over your knuckles in an enamoring way. It captivated your attention, tongue coming out to lick across your lips as you finally brought yourself to turn to him.

His other hand came to rest on your left arm, traversing up your now prickling skin as he pulled you back into his hold. You felt the black gems adorning his shirt prod into your back, his breath ghosting along your cheek as he leaned down.

“Turn around.” He pleaded, nose pressed into your cheek as he inhaled your scent. How he missed this closeness, just feeling you encased in his arms. He was a fool to have let it go before.

You did as he asked, tentatively turning in his grasp until you found yourself gazing into his handsome face. Most would break under the stare of him, finding that distinct barbarity in his gaze too difficult to comprehend or endure. You had felt that once, months ago when he held you to a wall and let that inviting voice of his seduce you. It was the beginning of the end for you then, little did you know his cold, calculating eyes would become such a pleasure for you to look into. All fear aside now, you simply allowed yourself to enjoy them, even as they bore down into you.

“What are you doing?…” It was a weak whisper, conveying the excitement and confusion in your heart. Balem offered no explanation, and without further question he lifted his hand towards you. The water above slid down his palm, cascading over his fingertips as they swept over your cheek. He touched you with such devotion, so unlike his typical callous nature that it made you pause in your thoughts. You couldn’t make sense of his change, but if those green eyes told you anything it was the deep sadness pooling within them. Something he so desperately wished to be unburdened from.

He trailed his thumb down, bringing it to your perfect lips and tracing over them. He relished the warmth of your breath against his fingertip when your mouth parted, a shaky breath leaving you at his attention.

“You have no idea what you’ve done to me.” It was said in despair, his words proving that he was finally at the end of his rope. He could no longer deny what he needed in his world, not when it was standing right in front of him.

You made to speak, eyes welling with tears when he leaned forward to press your foreheads together. There was many things you wanted to say, even some that would convey the struggle he had put you through, but all that was lost when he pushed you both back into the wall.

The water fell upon him, drenching his clothing, and completely flattening his usually slicked back hair. But, Balem only kept his attention upon you, his lips taking your own into a fervid kiss that left you positively breathless. You clung to his shirt, gripping tightly onto his sleeves as he cupped your cheeks. His lips moved slowly over yours, savoring every touch, every noise of pleasure until you begged for air. He would pull away momentarily, letting you recover before fulfilling his desires again. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get enough of you, but he’d resign himself to a fate of trying if it meant having you near.

“Balem…” You gasped into his mouth, simultaneously wanting to bring him closer and push him away. Your heart could only take so much of this, and you only wanted for him to know that. “I can’t…” You moved your face away, his lips brushing over your cheek from the sudden movement. The urge to cry was building, every single heartbreak he caused threatening to spill out. But, you forced yourself to keep those emotions at bay, unwilling to allow him the pleasure of your pain. Not that he ached for it, he would never wish to bring any harm to you.

“Little bird,” Balem kept his lips on your cheek, kissing it softly before moving away. He respected your anger towards him, but he wasn’t willing to part from you yet.

“Don’t.” You begged, an audible whine escaping you at the sound of his pet name. It always caused a mix of emotions to build, making it harder to ignore your desire to be with him. “Please…”

“Y/N…”

His sudden switch made you turn, brows knitting together in shock at the way he said your name. It was a rare sound to witness, and you could count the number of times he actually used it. Only this time it was sincere, as if he was trying to keep you calm in his hold. You glanced up at him, tears rolling down your cheeks when he tilted your chin up. His habitual icy glare replaced by a genuine look of adoration. He didn’t need to smile, he didn’t need to say much else, because you felt it then. An overwhelming tenderness that was displayed in the way he caressed your cheek, brushing off the tears. He ran his fingers through your wet hair, gently tugging you forward and into his arms. Your chin came to rest on his shoulder, eyes wide as you felt him embrace you, your breasts pushing into his chest as he held your head and waist in his hands.

You could’ve broke down then, allowing all your pent up emotions to rush out in a heap of sobs. But, you merely bit down on your lip, letting it quiver between your teeth as he hugged you to him.

Balem didn’t say anything else, he allowed you a moment, waiting until he felt your body still in its silent cries before unhooking his cape from the buckles on his shoulders. He gracefully pulled it around himself, bringing it over your bare body and wrapping you as best he could. He craned one arm around your back and hooked the other under your knees, lifting you protectively into his arms.

The cold cloth made you shake, but you didn’t care too much, your focus trained on the powerful man gazing down at you in his arms. He turned the water off, keeping you snug against him as he took you both to his chambers.

Neither of you cared when you passed others in the hallways, your eyes remained fixed on each other. Trying to disclose the extent of your feelings that had long gone unsaid. It wasn’t until you came upon his chamber doors that he looked away, taking you over the threshold into his room. It was so long ago when you came in here with the intent of fulfilling passions, an action you didn’t believe you’d be partaking in again. But, as he carried you across his chambers towards the large bed, you remembered how much you treasured those intimate meetings.

Balem set you down gently, your feet touching the ground delicately before he began removing his cape from around you. His eyes fixated on your face, one hand coming to tilt your chin up, the other sliding the cape effortlessly off your nude body. It fell in a damp heap on the floor, leaving you to tremble gently in the air of the room. He carefully walked you back, the heels of your feet hitting the edge of his bed, making you look behind to ensure you wouldn’t just fall. But, he held you close, his body heat already rolling off in waves around you. If only you could get him out of his wet clothes, you’d be even more welcoming to his touch.

“Here.” You trailed your hands up his chest, admiring the well made attire of his shirt. You couldn’t even imagine what all that gold and gems cost, but it worked well for the Primary. “Let me.” You traced the intricate patterns of his gold collar, running your fingertip over the bright glow of the red orange half moon. You never realized how detailed the contraption was, but it suited him for some reason. You unlatched the lock on it, opening it up and removing it from his neck. In some odd way, it felt deeply personal, as if he was allowing you the privilege of being this close. It was unlikely that anyone had ever touched, or cared for him in such a way. But, when you pulled that collar off and dropped it casually onto the cape, it was like a new appreciation for one another had developed.

Balem never faltered in his gaze, his expressive eyes now mapping the beauty before him. He pulled his shirt off, your hands quickly coming to explore his body without breaking eye contact. He cherished the lightness of your caress, muscles contracting beneath his smooth skin as you inched your fingers lower. His skin was cold to the touch, the water having clung to his clothing and chilled him to the bone. It increased the sensitivity of his body, a fact he wasn’t complaining over. Not when he had you splaying your hands over his chest and lower abdomen, your arousal clear in his eyes when you bit your lip.

There was an excitement in your actions, both of you journeying your hands and fingers along the other’s body with renewed vigor. It was like exploring something new all over again, the emotions behind your teasing touches and affectionate glances multiplied by the confessions in each of your minds.

“Kiss me.” You couldn’t take the lack of contact much longer, not with him towering over you in all his arousing splendor. As much as you would enjoy the foreplay of undressing the rest of him, your body was eager to be entwined with his.

Balem’s lips curled into a smirk, the love in his eyes now mixing with pure lust at your demand. You had rarely asked anything of him in bed, and when you did it was said in those moments of your rapture, when all else failed you and a simple ‘Don’t stop’ could be heard. How he enjoyed those loose lips of yours, often giving him what he wanted to hear even when you tried to fight it. So your demand would go answered, because he could not deny himself the pleasure of that pretty pout.

He cupped your face, thumb sweeping over your cheekbone as he tilted your head and leaned down. His nose pushed into yours, lovingly bumping together before he gave you what you asked for. His lips barely covered yours, allowing your breaths to mingle together, creating a wave of ecstasy for you both. You wanted to close the distance, but the part of you that enjoyed the sweet torment allowed him the slow dance of his kiss. So you worked at his pants, undoing the clasp that hung just below that V of his abdominal muscles. It only furthered your temptation, heart racing now as you lowered his pants and freed his swollen need for you.

He groaned into your mouth when the tip of his manhood brushed your stomach, leaving a slight trail of precum along your skin. It made you both breakaway from the kiss, cheeks now flushed with desire as you stared at each other. He made quick work of his boots, shoving off his pants the rest of the way before coming back up to admire you. The want was so palpable in the air of the room, and he wasted no more time in lifting you into his arms. He hugged you to him, just enough to get you onto the bed where he gently laid you down beneath him.

It was the chill of his lips that made you sigh out, lower back arching from the bed. Your fingers already tangled into the silk sheets, head tilting to the side in a passionate state.

“Balem…” you whispered sweetly, eyes shutting as he dragged his mouth over your breasts and kissed each one. He paid particular attention to your nipples, delighting in the way they hardened under his administrations.

“I’ve missed you.” He groaned in his pleasure, nuzzling your ribs and smiling when he heard that melodic giggle of yours. “You make me weak, little bird…” he said with such desired acceptance, closing his eyes as he nipped just below your breast. The ticklish sensation made you giggle and moan, body thriving on the attention he offered. His words weren’t lost on you, and though some may have found trouble in them, you just found love. For a man of his stature in the world, knowing you were the only thing he considered a weakness…it made your heart flutter.

“How?” You questioned, fingers running through his hair as he continued his path down your body. You could feel his fiery gaze upon you, knowing he was delivering a warning not to push him too far into this new territory. It only made you smile, a sigh moving passed your lips as he catered to your need.

Balem’s tongue lazily drew a pattern over your navel, licking over the now heated skin and coming to stop at your spread legs. He eyed you from his position, an amused smile on his face when he heard you question his statement. He could explain a number of reasons why you tormented his every thought, but he wasn’t well acquainted with the complexities of love. Some secrets were meant to stay that way, and he could tell how badly you wished to gain them from him.

“Nothing you need be made privy to…” he teased, kissing over your thigh and watching as you writhed around.

You would’ve argued his point, wanting to know why someone like him came to find his weakness in you. Call it arrogance on your part, but what woman wouldn’t like to know every detail about the man she adored. But, your argument fell into a string of moans, his tongue now lapping languidly at your folds and paying particular attention to your clit. He had ached for you, his needs having gone ignored for far too long now. He often dreamt of you being in his arms again, enticing screams of passion falling upon his ears and making him wake up impossibly aroused and angry. Having you here again, moving happily around on his bed and whimpering his name, there wasn’t anything like it.

“Balem!” You pushed at his head, the pleasure rising too high and nearly causing tears to form in your eyes. His tongue and lips had you thrashing around, the only thing keeping you grounded was his hand on your breast, the other holding one thigh away so you wouldn’t completely trap his face between your lovely legs. He heeded your silent request to stop, pulling away with a soft smack of his lips, a string of your cum sticking to them. It was a heavenly sight, especially when he smirked and kissed just above your pubic bone, making you shift in his hold and beg him to come back up.

“No more,” but, your words trailed off into incoherent purrs of bliss. His breath and lips tickling over your stomach and up your chest until he stopped them above your own. He knew what you wanted, what he wanted, and as much as he lived on the foreplay of sex, he couldn’t deny you both any longer.

“Whatever you desire, my beauty.” He cooed, burying his face in the juncture of your neck and shoulder. He meant every word, his entire being now devoted to the endless comforts and affections he could spoil you with. You were his, and he would do anything in his power to keep it that way. He could not afford to lose you again, because life seemed too painful now without you.

He settled himself at your entrance, groaning when his tip pushed into your warmth. Every primal element of his personality begged to take you hard, but he wanted to savor these moments. Just witnessing and perceiving every fine detail until he could map every inch of your body into his mind. From what made that sensual voice of yours moan, to the touches that caused your body to contort in ecstasy within his embrace.

“Ahh…” You held one hand back against the headboard of his bed, bracing yourself as he slowly buried his length within you. Your walls stretched and gave way to him, contracting around his cock and craving for more movement. “Balem, oh god…”

He was fighting his own pleasure, one arm wrapped around you and the other forcefully tangling into the pillow near your head. His breathing had grown ragged, teeth grinding down so he could control the needs he felt. With you moaning away beneath him, nails clawing at his back, he wasn’t sure it was possible to continue this slow ascent into your passions.

“You drive me mad, my little dove.” He chuckled, kissing your neck and moving you to look at him now. Both your eyes were glazed over in lust, each of you wanting to cave into the more wild nature of your relations. But, he took it slow, rolling his hips down and growling out his pleasure.

You held onto him, gliding your palm up his back and lacing your fingers through his hair. He kept his leisurely pace, sliding in and out of you, only heightening the response of your bodies to the thrill of your coupling.

“Faster,” you moaned pleadingly, throwing your head back into the black and gold pillows. He kept brushing over that sensitive spot within you, the slow rhythm of his thrusts only denying you the peak of your bliss. It was frustrating and perfect, his movements only making that pleasure build until you couldn’t fathom the idea of taking anymore. “Don’t stop…”

Balem kissed you eagerly, a grin on his lips when he heard those two pleading words that he was so very fond of. You uttered them against his kiss swollen lips, crying out between his kisses as he increased his speed. He was rocking into you at this point, your body giving into the sinful pleasures of the Primary. Your inner walls clenched down around his length, feeling the pulse of his own arousal with each needy thrust. The both of you drowned in the heat of your passions, your own orgasm approaching at a frenzied beat. The tightening in your abdomen gave way, back snapping off the bed and pressing you flush against Balem. He was groaning heavily into your kiss, trying to keep his climax steady until you were completely satisfied beneath him.

He slowly came down from his high, hips still bucking gently forward to ride out his orgasm. You were writhing weakly under him, body exhausted from his lovemaking. You moaned softly when he pulled out, missing the feeling of his proximity already. But, you took joy in his embrace, wiggling around as he began to pepper kisses across your collarbones, neck, and cheeks. Each one more tender than the last.

“I love you…” you confessed to him, already knowing he had an inkling of your emotions. But, you spoke them anyway, wanting him to be fully aware of just how much he meant to you. It was a dangerous thing, most would say, but you felt it so fiercely in this moment the words could no longer be contained. “I love you.”

Balem paused his trail of kisses, lips barely caressing the skin of your neck when he took in your heartfelt sentiment. He felt your body tense when he said nothing, your fingers restlessly tapping along his back, trying to control your nerves. He wasn’t at a loss for words, he knew exactly what he felt, but your confession was the only thing he wished to focus on, if only for a minute. He had stopped you the very first time you tried, an action he now felt foolish for. Because, nothing in life would ever bring him this sliver of happiness like hearing you give yourself completely to him.

He closed the distance between him and your neck, kissing your pulse gently as he nuzzled just below your jawline. If there was ever a reason to want more time at his disposal, it was to share it with you by his side.

“I am yours.” He whispered so sincerely, moving up to gaze down into your beautiful eyes. He brushed the fallen strands of hair from your face, admiring your features before repeating himself. “I am yours.”

***Midian***

“Lord Titus…?” Famulus cautiously stepped towards him, her ears twitching in vigilance as she awaited his command. Titus merely stared out the windows of his clipper, eyes filled with a fiery resolve to tear Balem apart. His entire fleet, meager as it was, destroyed right in front of his eyes, metal scraps floating in the abyss of space. The shine of the explosions glinted across his pupils, lip twitching at the corner as he attempted to quell the rage building within him. He could have heeded Kalique’s warning, perhaps even let this rivalry between brothers go. Now he could not fathom leaving Balem to rule over everything while he only fell further into nothing.

“Lord Titus, are you-”

“My army, how many left?” He clasped his hands tightly behind his back, gritting away at the anger boiling inside. He could stand and watch his livelihood be taken from him, or he could fight back, and what better way to greet Lord Balem First Primary, than with an army of his own.

“I’m afraid there isn’t much left, my lord. You have two ships left, each well equipped with soldiers and sims, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t do much against-”

“And Kalique? What of hers?”

“I’m not sure she wishes to be involved, Lord Titus. Our communications have gone ignored…” Famulus bowed her head in apology, lifting her eyes only to survey the amount of frustration Titus felt.

Titus sighed, never taking his sights off the ship currently being attacked. He should’ve guessed Kalique would shy away from full on war, it wasn’t her style to get involved in the overall politics of it. Such a shame really, she could’ve proven a great help to him. But, if she wished to abandon him now, then he could forget their original deal.

“Very well. I want you to contact Cygnus-”

“My lord…” His assistant looked down in worry, moving away to hold her arm out towards a container, currently being held in the arms of a soldier. “Cygnus is no longer able to help…your brother…”

The Third Primary glared towards the container, seeing stains of dried blood clinging to the edges. It was no doubt the grisly work of Balem, always wanting to send a message in the most heinous of ways. He didn’t need to peek inside to know the head, quite literally, of Balem’s council was in there.

“I see. Well,” he smiled at Famulus, trying to regain his calm demeanor. “No matter. We will do this without him. He sent me some interesting feedback on this last meeting. Perhaps Balem would like to speak about it. If it is war he wants, then I will give it to him.”

***

A/N: Hope y'all liked! Please give feedback if possible ❤️ I can’t say how many parts are left, but I’m getting towards the end-ish lol. Based off my outline :) so, we shall see! I’m super stoked!

[cripplinganxietyflix]

CAF’s Best of Streaming Recommendations for November 2017!

Netflix decided to not allow me to view my queue from any platform just as I decided to write this up, so any titles I’ve forgotten this time around, I’ll add to the next streaming list I make. Don’t fuck me on this, Netflix. 

“What do you recommend that I can stream?” is a question I get pretty frequently, so I think I’m going to start doing a regular post every couple months featuring things I’ve seen on various streaming services and liked. In this list I’m going to focus on Netflix and Shudder. In future lists I’m going to strive for variety, but this one is going to have a lot of horror and indie... and indie horror!

Misunderstood (Incompresa), 2014 dir. Asia Argento

Where you can find it: Netflix US

I’ve hard a hardcore obsession for Argento’s 2004 film The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things since I saw it over a decade ago, and I’ve both recommended and defended that film to nearly everyone I know with an open mind. An absolutely batshit and disturbing ensemble piece based on the (fake) autobiography of the same name by JT LeRoy, The Heart is Deceitful features a pretty iconic lead performance by Argento as an abusive, white trash, drug addict mother, as well as appearances by Jeremy Renner, Marilyn Manson, Peter Fonda, Winona Ryder, Ben Foster, and Michael Pitt. Two pre-Disney Sprouse twins star opposite Argento as her traumatized son. It’s gritty and daring and shocking as hell. For a first effort, it’s a little sloppy and it does take some effort at disbelief suspension to buy Argento’s portrayal of an American through her Italian accent, but if you can get past that, it’s such a wild trip. Like Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, but about child abuse. 

Misunderstood is Argento’s first full-length directorial effort since The Heart is Deceitful, and she has seriously grown so much as a director between these two films. 

This quirky and engaging film chronicles 9-year-old Aria, a girl growing up in Rome in 1984. Her parents are rich celebrities who are too self-obsessed to properly parent her, and Aria is often left up to her own devices. Charlotte Gainsbourg delivers a great performance as her absent rockstar mother- and speaks perfect Italian throughout much of the film. The film is loosely based on Argento’s own childhood; her real-life father is Dario, the disturbed visionary behind Italian horror classics like Suspiria, Inferno and Tenebre. 

Misunderstood is a darkly memorizing film about girlhood. Argento possesses such an amazing skill for procuring absolutely stellar performances from the child actors in her films, and Giulia Salerno is fantastic as Aria. I hear people singing praises for the child actors in Stranger Things or the new It, and I laugh smugly comparing those performances to Salerno’s in Misunderstood. It’s such a compelling drama; a great foreign language film for people who have a tough time with subtitles. It totally blows Boyhood out of the water as a film about childhood. 

The Eyes of My Mother, 2016 dir. Nicolas Pesce

Where you can find it: Netflix US

If you’re maybe looking for something like The Girl Next Door but classier, The Eyes of My Mother is a prisoner/torture film you can take to dinner at Dorsia. 

Shot in beautiful black-and-white, this is a nice little serial killer making-of that is both grotesque and visually-pleasing. The story follows Francisca, a young girl whose mother, formerly an eye surgeon in Portugal, has fascinated her with vivisection and human anatomy. But this fascination has an unintended consequence when Francisca must cope with senseless tragedy. 

This film has a deliberate pace and convincing performances that seem out-of-place among typical torture-horror. The photography is really lovely, and it confidently supports the bygone era setting that feels like 1950s rural America. 

For such a small film, the writing and performances are impressive. Specifically, I thought the visiting serial killer was profoundly interesting for someone who only appears as a supporting character. I felt a real effort for this film to be respectable and taken seriously, and that isn’t something that I would generally say about other films that cover this topic and material. It’s in the same category as the likes of The Girl Next Door or Hostel and it is just leagues ahead of those films in quality. 

If you like “Fucked Up but Upper Crust” films like Antichrist, Under the Skin or The Witch, this little horror-drama about extreme alienation will be a good fit for you. 

Take Shelter, 2011 dir. Jeff Nichols

Where you can find it: Shudder

I finally got to watch this movie after maybe two or three years of waiting for an opportunity. It’s available on Shudder, which my household recently subscribed to. It’s $5/month (or $4/month if you buy a whole year at once) and has a yuuuge selection of horror movies that is extremely diverse- everything from Battle Royale to Cannibal Holocaust to Beyond the Black Rainbow. Even if you paid $10 for a couple months of it, any horror fan will easily find enough of their catalog to make the investment worth it. I SWEAR THIS IS NOT A PAID ADVERTISEMENT BUT SHUDDER HMU IF YOU WANNA BE MY SUGAR DADDY 

Where was I? Ah yes. Take Shelter is a great drama/psychological horror film that succeeds mainly on Michael Shannon’s jaw-dropping performance. He plays a man plagued by disturbing apocalyptic visions, and he isn’t sure if they’re true prophesies or emerging schizophrenia. It’s an excellent piece on mental illness in rural America. Michael Shannon is quickly becoming one of my favorite actors and I think this may be the best performance of his. I’ve heard Tarantino just finished his script for his Charles Manson movie, and if he doesn’t cast Robert Pattinson in the lead role (dude, just think about it), Michael Shannon is my second pick. The guy is just so genuine and talented. 

I would have liked for the ending to go in a different direction, but I seem to be the only person I’ve talked to with this opinion so take that with a grain of salt. 

Take Shelter has an interesting take on the weird convergence of prophetic conviction and mental illness. I would probably recommend it to fans of We Need to Talk About Kevin, Melancholia, or Jacob’s Ladder. 

The Transfiguration, 2016 dir. Michael O’Shea

Where you can find it: Netflix US

I can’t believe how few people have seen this film! It’s sensational!

This is a vampire movie for people who love gritty indie shit like Gummo or White Girl. It follows a teenage boy who’s absolutely captivated by vampire lore, to a horrifying degree. He’s coping with the recent death of his mother when he meets an equally traumatized teenage outcast, Sophie, whom he drags into his bizarre fantasy world. 

The Transfiguration goes places that horror hasn’t really been gutsy or diversified enough to go, with themes like child murder, 13 or 14-year-old kids dealing with fucked up shit, and inner city violence. Another deliberately paced film, the gritty and realistic tone makes the horror more realistic and shocking when it appears, in the same way that Drive lulls you into a sense of calm before assaulting you with car chases and Christina Hendricks’s fucking head getting blown the fuck off. 

The ending is perfectly ambiguous for a film so tethered to reality. Whereas something like Take Shelter doesn’t leave you wondering whether Michael Shannon’s visions were real apocalyptic prophesies or schizophrenic delusions, The Transfiguration respects you enough to leave you hanging on the final shot. 

This is a surprising film that left me a little damaged and disturbed for a few days. It goes to some very dark places, some that are so generally taboo for horror it’s like having a finger jammed into a wound you didn’t know you had. If the notion of a gritty independent film crossing over effectively into horror excites you, check this one out as soon as you can. 

A Dark Song, 2016 dir. Liam Gavin

Where you can find it: Netflix US

This is a nice little surprise of a horror film that I haven’t seen get much attention. An aggrieved woman and an occultist shut themselves in a creepy house to perform a strict, months-long black ritual. 

A Dark Song conjures up a balanced mixture of psychological horror, haunts and black magic. The two leads far exceed the horror standard and do an excellent job of maintaining the pace for an otherwise subtle and slow-burning film. A healthy amount of human drama between the characters paired with the strong performances makes you care a bit for both of them, which helps immensely to amplify the dread and horror when the movie gets scary. And, thankfully, it is fairly scary!

The only true weakness of this film is an ending that doesn’t quite live up to what my expectations were, but it’s not enough of a failing to subtract from the overall quality of the film. I know a few folks who are into ~~“THE OCCULT”~~ that liked this film quite a bit, and the atmosphere kind of reminds me of The Others, if The Others was a more serious and deliberate film. It’s a surprise in the same way that The Invitation was last year. Highly recommend for most horror fans. 

Hell House LLC, 2015 dir. Stephen Cognetti

Where you can find it: Shudder 

I mentioned this in my Creep 2 review, but I’m very open-minded toward found footage and I think it’s a much better genre than people give it credit for. I’ll make a list or video eventually talking about the ones I think are great, but today I want to recommend this relatively underrated found footage flick from 2015. 

Hell House LLC is starts off with newsreel and cell phone footage documenting a Halloween haunted house tour that ended with the unexplained deaths of 15 people. What follows is the newly discovered footage shot by the tour organizers leading up to the mysterious disaster. 

There are two things I’m looking for with found footage: why they have cameras, and why they continue to shoot when shit gets real. Hell House LLC nails both of these: they have the cameras to both document the set up and to manage the haunted house during operation. They continue to stay and film here because they have an understandable financial commitment keeping them there. Additionally, you get the feeling that these people are used to being around creepy stuff for a living and when you hear them expressing skepticism about the sp0ooo0o0oky things happening, their rationale for sticking around makes sense and is believable. 

The movie is pretty scary! I watched it in the dark with headphones and definitely jumped, shouted, and whipped my headphones off in terror a couple times. It does a good job of using limited light and perspective to make you dread shadows and dark corners. 

The film isn’t quite perfect, and suffers minorly from inexperienced actors, but it wasn’t enough to take me out of the movie. I really liked the concept and I hear a sequel is in production, so you might wanna get in on this. Recommend for fans of Grave Encounters or The Poughkeepsie Tapes. 

[myrawrmily-blog]

Adulting is hard.

Seriously though.  I know there are those people out in this world who work a 9-5, have an impeccably clean house, are healthy and fit and somehow manage to have home cooked meals every night.  I know these people exist because social media says they do, so then it must be true right?  

No, this isn’t a let’s dump on social media type of post. This is just my inner struggle with my house, husband, family, health and overall adult life. 

It’s hard.

I was doing meal planning the other day (yes, I’m one of those people) and I just stopped and sighed.  If I don’t meal plan, we don’t have any food for the week.  Hubby and I are both busy enough that we’ll slap together whatever is easiest (usually something microwavable which tells you how healthy that probably is for us) or we simply won’t eat.  We are that lazy.  So, I meal prep so we at least have suppers for the week.  It takes time and effort though and sometimes I just don’t want to do it! It’s all a terrible cycle too.

If I don’t meal prep, we don’t have suppers.  If we don’t have suppers I eat like crap and then feel like crap.  When I feel like crap, I don’t want to spend energy I don’t have, which means no meal prepping!  The worst part of this scenario is that we eat out a lot more when there isn’t some ready-made meal that just needs to be reheated (or better yet put in a crock pot and then forgotten about until dinner time) which means we’re spending more money. Money that we don’t really have.

That’s another annoying part of adulting.  I HATE budgeting.  I am so sick of the stress of money.  Not having enough of it, working my butt off at jobs I hate to get more.  In the last year that has changed, and I am now at a job I love (shout out to the other church receptionists) but sadly, doing something I love doesn’t pay as well as the job I hated (shout out to the other Starbucks baristas) so it’s a terrible cycle.  Do you sacrifice your mental, physical and marital health for more money or do you sacrifice your mental, physical and marital health for less money?  Let me expand on this.

I have found in my almost 6 years of marriage that when I worked at a job I hated but that paid decently (and by decently I mean maybe 2 dollars more and hour that what I’m currently making, which isn’t much) that I was grouchy all the time, I had no energy and I had no spare time.  I worked at a Starbucks (and please, don’t take my personal experience to mean all jobs at Starbucks are terrible) and I had moved up from being a barista to doing training to be a manager.  I was so excited about this because it would mean more job security, better benefits and of course, a pay increase.  I spent about 6 months working on tastings, store improvement plans and I even moved to a store on the opposite end of the city I lived in trying to become a manager. After I moved stores things went downhill fast and I was spending all my spare time working on ways to improve the store I was at.  I had opening shifts at 5:30 am which meant to make it to the store on time I had to be up at 4 am so I could leave my house at 4:45 am so I could be at work for 5:30 am. I went from a 3-minute commute to a 45-minute commute and a job that used to be fun to a job that I dreaded. After 6 months of that Hubby pulled the plug.  

I say Hubby pulled the plug because I am stubborn person.  I will keep trucking away at a hopeless endeavor with blinders on until it’s done (or as done as it can be) and everything doesn’t matter.  Hubby knows this, so he saw me breaking down every other day (and I’m not much of a crier so this was pretty unnerving for him I’m sure) and getting frequent migraines (fun fact, I was hospitalized one morning because my migraine was so bad I couldn’t speak, see properly and was throwing up so violently I threw out a rib) and he told me I should be looking for a new job.  

We discussed this at length because I was not willing to give up the idea of a pay increase.  Hubby was a student at the time, so he was only working part time and we were not in a position to be making less money in my mind. We cut corners I didn’t even know existed and I quit.  I didn’t have another job lined up which was terrifying for my Type A, plan-a-month-ahead personality but I trusted that Hubby knew what was right and that we were doing what God was asking of us.  Trusting God when you feel like your life is crumbling isn’t easy.  I hated every minute of it to be honest, but I learned a lot of lessons about my control issues and about letting things go that year. God came through (as I have now learned He always will) and I found a job at my church.  It was part time but, wow, was I amazed at the difference.

I was making less than before, but I had a team of co-workers who cared about my health, mental state and life in general.  

**Side note: My migraines subsided after 3 months of working in my new job and I am happy to say I haven’t had one in well over 9 months.  I have a few suspicions about what the root cause of my migraines was.  My self-diagnosis (because no specialist I saw had an answer for me) is stress.  After some discussions with medical professionals and some online research I believe I had severe tension headaches aggravated by stress.  I also think I don’t have them anymore for 2 reasons.  The first being that I sought prayer at my church with someone after a service and they prayed over me asking for a release from whatever the issue was (because we didn’t have one!) and the second being because I switched jobs and have virtually no negative stress at the job I’m currently at.

Don’t misunderstand me, my job is still stressful and challenging, but not in a hopeless was like it felt like at Starbucks.  I can see the end of the tunnel with just about any problem and I have bosses who will talk through issues with me and we can come up with practical solutions and enact them quickly.  It’s made a huge difference to my quality of life to know that work doesn’t have to suck

And really, if you’re spending 40+ hours somewhere every week shouldn’t it be good?

Back to my original point though.  Adulting is hard.

Now that I (mostly) have the job thing figured out, we are doing worse money wise.  It makes me sad, and a little guilty sometimes, because by all logic we should be doing better.  Hubby is out of school and working (part time still, more on that later) and I am working full time.  The big difference is student loans.  Oh, how I mega-loathe student loans.  The kicker is I’m not even using my degree for my job!  I have a music degree and I am an admin assistant. Those aren’t exactly in the same field. Thankfully Hubby will be using his masters and teaching degree soon, but that is also a hard nut to crack, let me tell you.  

It’s hard not to feel like once we get him working then we’ll be golden.  I know that isn’t true, we’ll still be scrounging and doing our best to pay off student loans as quick as possible, as well as saving up for a house and saving up for a baby so we won’t exactly be rolling in the dough.  It’s hard though.  I want to have a baby now but I really don’t think we can afford to have a baby.  I want to have a house to ourselves instead of renting and having a basement of strangers but we absolutely can’t afford to do that.  I want some financial security but that just doesn’t seem like an option right now.

So in the meantime, until we do have some more security and savings to pay off loans and work on babies and houses, we will keep meal planning and adulting away.

Adulting is hard.

[letlhogonolotakesuclalaw]

Away, but living in home

For my grandmother who raised 5 children on a domestic salary

For my mother who raised me with money from her tuckshop and shebeen

For my aunt who raised me and her children on a nurse salary

For the womxn in my family, who raised communities on nothing

For the womxn in my family.

For the womxn in my life.

Your magic is enough to keep me going. 

 -       Letlhogonolo Mokgoroane

   It has already been month in AMERICA. Can you believe it? I can’t. Wait, I think I can. I have so many mixed feelings about this whole experience. A lot has happened in this month. I have moved into my place, I started classes, I have partied and I am meeting Black people and having some SOUL FOOD. But things haven’t also been so easy and filled with sunshine.  My time in LA has forcefully allowed me the opportunity and the space to do a lot of reflection, and this isn’t always great. You know why? I spend a lot of time in my head and the things that I come up with scare the living day lights out of me. And I am not even been dramatic, just real.

My time is LA has been largely a good experience – I haven’t cried as often as I thought I would and sometimes the crying was cathartic.  I really miss the familiarity of home. It sounds crazy but try coming to another country, where you don’t really understand the value of money and you can really use the exchange rate to determine the value of the dollar, where the products are unfamiliar to you and you spend most of your time in the stores trying to figure out whether this is a good brand for a reasonable price? I have no idea hey. I still don’t. Hopefully, in a few months, I will be an expert at determining the value of money in this country.  But you know what it’s not all bad. I have made friends here.  We went to Walmart, the other day, and it was amazing. Three floors of amazingly cheap things, lol, everything is cheaper here. Praise the Lord with me! Oooh, Glory Hallelujah!

I have also experienced immerse loneliness here and it is not the lack of people. I think it comes with moving to a different country and feeling like an outsider, in the literal sense of the word. I’ve got people saying: “ You’ve got a cute accent” and such a beautiful name, even though they don’t know what my name means.  Last week was an incredibly difficult week for me. I felt inadequate and all the adjectives that can describe the feeling of unworthiness. I am not too certain where all these feelings come from and its sucks, but I am feeling better today and that counts for something, right?  Why am I feeling better? Perhaps it is because it is getting easier, it’s really not. I’ve tapped into my support structure, my tribe. I have had a few conversations and crying session with my friends. I have asked them questions like: What am I doing here? Why did I think I could do this? Who am I to think that I am capable of doing this? And other depressing questions. But I received no answer. I am the only one who can answer these questions. It really sucks. Growing up is not as fun as I thought it would be, to be honest. However, I am glad that I have people who have allowed me the space to feel. I think that sometimes when people are doing what others may consider amazing things, a lot is expected from these people – a common expectation is that these people must always live their best life, because you know it is such a great opportunity, you have no space or time to feel anything that is akin to sadness. You can’t be. I want to tell you that this a huge lie. A fallacy really. While I am very grateful for this amazing opportunity. I am also mindful of the fact that I’ve left the country of my birth – where I’ve lived for all my life – to take up temporary residence in another country. Another continent really. This move and transition is hardly easy, it will be filled with moments of sadness, homesickness and loneliness. So, if you are reading this and you’ve felt that you aren’t allowed to feel sad because it may come across as ungrateful. I would like you to remind this: you are a humxn being who is allowed to feel the full spectrum of feelings, but don’t let them consume you. I know it is easier said than done.  Last week, I found myself having to will myself out of bed because I wasn’t feeling deserving enough to be here. This is always hard for me, feeling deserving of things.  It is hard to accept words that affirm me and remind me that I have worked hard to be here. I have been so familiar with rejection, self-loathing and other horrors – that those things have become my truth. But I am learning to speaking a new language – a language that says I am deserving, capable and worthy.  I need to repeat these to myself every now and then until it is not only head knowledge but it becomes truth that permeates into my heart. Okay, enough about all these somber talk. All I want to say is allow yourself to feel but don’t let it rob you of your joy, too many things do that already.

I started classes two weeks ago. It has been glorious. The courses that I am taking this fall include (1) Critical Race Theory taught by Professor Cheryl Harris (a slaying Kween). She is absolutely amazing. I must admit that I may be a little obsessed with her. Her mind is incredible. Not that I am trying to justify my obsession but I think it comes from never being taught by a Black womxn before.   And this Black womxn is a serving intellectual Kween.  In 1993, she wrote a journal article entitled: Whiteness as Property, which is still be quoted today. Just last week, she was used as a reference in an article in the New York Times.  My other courses are (2) Race Conscious Remedies (She teaches this as well. Ya’ll need to praise the Lord for me!), (3) Human Rights and Sexual Politics and (3) Problem Solving in the Public Interest.

(First day with Prof Cheryl Harris, I promise to take a Seflie with her soon)

While I am talking about Black womxn, I have found myself an amazing cohort of slaying and serving Kweens, who are enrolled in the J.D Program (American law degree).  These womxn have given me such life. There are all from different parts of the country. It has been amazing to connect and get to know them. They are smart, funny, beautiful and vibrant.  

 I have also joined Black Law Student Association (BLSA). It has been an interesting learning experience. Blackness in America and South Africa are very different.  But one thing, I have learnt from hanging out in this circle and connecting with my people (yes, my people. You heard me right, lol) is that black love – in any context – is political, radical, and necessary. In some ways, it can also be freeing.  I am excited to learn more from the people who make up this association.

Some of my highlights include going to Inglewood (a predominately Black neighbourhood) and seeing black people in their numbers.  We went to Sweet pies – a famous restaurant that sells Southern Food aka “SOUL FOOD”. The food was great – it reminded me of home.  I think for my survival I will need to go there once a month, to connect, try every dish and enjoy blackness in its fullness. I am yet to go and find the apartment block that Issa lives in in INSECURE, don’t worry, I will take pictures -  you know how extra I am.   Hopefully soon I will be writing about all the celebrities that I have seen, but for now we live in home.

[ryanjtrimble]

Why Drug Addicts Should Get High On The Pink Cloud

Reading time: 7 minutes

When a drug addict gets clean he experiences a whole new high. This is convenient, given that the addict’s primary reason for not getting clean is fear of sobriety, for sobriety means facing life alone, without some emotionally numbing, mind-altering agent. But should the addict be lucky and determined enough to get clean, should he persist and overcome his fear of sobriety, he gets lifted on something he never thought he would: life.

Sobriety, as it turns out, is a high all its own, and it’s more exhilarating than all the previous highs the junkie has experienced. Ask him, when he’s four weeks sober, and he’ll tell you—despite being jobless, spouseless, penniless, and half toothless without a dental plan—that this new high is better than the high that follows 50 CCs of heroin or a dime-sized crack rock. This new high, which results from regained sensitivity toward life, is commonly called the Pink Cloud.

In recovery culture the Pink Cloud is considered a blessing and a curse. It’s a nice ride, sure, but it’s also as wily and deceptive as ole Screwtape. Old-timers and freshmen of sober living all warn the newcomer: beware of the Pink Cloud. 

Why? What are the effects of a Pink Cloud high?

Well, there is faith and determination. Optimism. Resolve. Budding self-confidence. Honest introspection. Increased sensitivity to beauty and ugliness. A willingness to take risks, the kind that propel a soul upward instead of spiral him downward. A desire to create, to learn, to work. These are some of the symptoms of the Pink Cloud, the side effects, if you will. And it is precisely these effects that the sapling of sober living is told to be wary of. Misplaced confidence, ultimately, is the danger of the Pink Cloud.

When I got clean after a ten-year affair with opiates and pills and cocaine, the Pink Cloud rolled in and while high as a kite I made several life-changing decisions. I decided, in the midst of having to find work and transportation and a dwelling for my family, that I would go to college and study philosophy, become a photographer and writer, and forge a career that aligned with my near-forgotten interests. Pipe dreams, these were, for a thirty-five-year-old with a makeshift high school diploma, criminal record, and proclivity for running from difficulty. That’s what I was told, anyway.

I attended AA and 12-Step meetings of various sorts in those days, and I repeatedly saw sponsors and old-timers reprove the freshly sober for wallowing in the Pink Cloud. They implied, with few words, that the Pink Cloud alters perceptions in the same way a tab of LSD does: it renders the world blissful. But, like LSD, the trip is to be survived, not sustained. “This isn’t reality,” went the narrative. “You’re fucking high, but you’re going to sober up soon. You’re wafting in a cloud of sugary cotton candy, floating in a plush pink Cadillac, looking down on the world through rose-colored aviators, and smiling as though your favorite deity has guaranteed you access to pearlescent gates. But this cloud will evaporate and you’ll fall hard should you not voluntarily climb off now. Don’t dream or dare, for life will cut you down. And because failure feels acute after riding the Pink Cloud, you’ll try to escape on the skirt of some intravenous poison, some tonic that promises transcendence, some cocktail of powders and pills. You’ll again pick up the bottle or needle. You’ll be right back where you were.”

I chose to ignore this story, and I stopped going to AA altogether. I didn’t care to hear messages of “Be responsible. Don’t ruffle feathers. Play it safe.” I’d heeded similar messages for far too long, and to my mind that’s what led to my addiction in the first place. Recovery, they say, is about learning to be honest with oneself. For me, honesty meant, and still means, ignoring messages that contradict that quiet tune of the heart.

So I chose, instead, to saddle the Pink Cloud and ride it. I determined to follow every inclination that came to me while high on it. And when I was low, which was often while navigating the aftermath of my riotous decade, I held tight those visions I had glimpsed while in the clouds, visions which said: you can become who you want to be, but you must go boldly.

The Pink Cloud narrative in AA encourages the opposite. It tells the addict to be timid and cautious, to view the world as a set of mousetraps. Bold or risky moves can set these traps off and ensnare the addict. Thus AA recommends that the addict find a safe and comfortable routine, so that he can focus on his recovery and avoid relapse.

But the safe and comfortable path is still fraught with danger. Most addicts possess at least one of two personality traits, both of which are linked to addictive behavior: sensation-seeking and impulsivity. Like any predilection, these must be expressed rather than subdued. The addict must learn, if he is to recover, that his dispositions are not character flaws, as the Pink Cloud narrative suggests, but rather are positive qualities, best loosed via healthy outlets. It is when a person attempts to subjugate himself, in an effort to comply with some outside narrative, that warts and boils spring from his soul—often in the form of addictions. The sensation-seeking addict, especially, must resist the urge to squeeze himself into a box that others have marked "safe."

I’m not arguing that AA and the 12 Steps are harmful or ineffective. I might not be alive had I not embraced Step 1. I am arguing, however, that the thoughts and feelings one has while on the Pink Cloud should not be discounted. Is it dangerous to act on impulses that arise while zipping around on a cumulonimbus ride? Absolutely. But fortune favors the bold, and nature loves courage. The greater danger lies in ignoring the soul, for it sings loudest and truest when, having been in hell, it breaks free.

So, am I still on the Cloud? It’s hard to say. It’s been five years since I climbed aboard. I got that degree in philosophy, my photography has hung in local galleries, and various publications have featured my writing. The pay has been negligible, but the journey is rewarding. I like to believe I’m still high, and I do my damnedest to act on the irrational impulses that spark while my head is in the clouds. But I also sometimes want to veer into oncoming traffic. I get irritable and discontent and depressed, and I want to numb myself when I do. Today, though, a bike ride and a beer suffice. And I'm not sure I see the last five years as progress. Mostly I feel like I'm wandering, always wondering where the fuck this road goes, loving the trip and loathing it too. But wafting in the Pink Cloud while in early recovery helped me to develop habits that carry me through, habits I don’t think I would have developed had I listened to the “Beware of the Pink Cloud” narrative. Had I internalized that fable I’d still be hopping telemarketing floors, looking for golden Glengarry leads, chasing greenbacks, never reflecting on my inevitable death. I wouldn’t have picked up creative hobbies that have no practical application, hobbies that tickle my neurons every time I indulge them. I wouldn’t have burdened myself with the stress of college while working full time and supporting a family, or acquired a love for books. I wouldn’t have dreamed of hiking and biking mountains after all those trips to the ER with crack-induced chest pain and jaw numbness. But I’ve done and continue to do these things, because, maybe, I’m on a Pink Cloud.

It comes down to this: If a person is bold enough to ignore those messages about the dangers of drugs and come out alive on the other side, then he or she is bold enough to ignore messages about the dangers of dreaming and taking risks. Let’s be honest—since that’s what recovery is about—an addict needs to get high. And he’s not going to do that by taking the middle road. Instead, he must saddle the Pink Cloud, or bareback it if necessary, and ride it wherever it takes him, sunset or storm.

[rueur]

Morning Pages #32 (11.02.2017)

Saturday 11th February - 1:01 p.m.

I was aiming for 1:00 p.m., but this word document always takes ages to load. So does Google Drive actually, on my laptop at least. My laptop is getting quite in need of a servicing, and perhaps a battery change too. I went out last night though, that’s what I’m here to talk about. With Malith and Dan, and Malithi and Scotty, and I met a bunch of other people out last night so hopefully in the future, I’ll be getting more and more dancing friends. I almost made a bunch of other dancing friends too, but honestly Dan and Malith got in the way a little. They kind of intruded in the circle and scared them off, I think. I did have a couple more incidents last night with guys dancing on me, and at that point in the night I was already dancing A LOT with Evan, so the advances that these guys made were doubly creepy considering they were kind of trying to push Evan out of the way to get to me. Evan saw it happening and he said he kept trying to get in the way between me and them, because he could see my discomfort on my face. I was grateful for his attentiveness. I was also really glad to see him. He came at around 11:30 p.m. and was queueing for a bit before he got in, about ten or so minutes. As soon as he came though, my night got a lot better. To be fair though, I had a lot of fun at the start of the night with just Dan and Malith and I on that empty dance floor. Malith was teaching Dan and I to do this sort of shuffle thing, and he also ended up doing a lot of ambitious pirouetting.

Also I’m sorry, I just took a massive hourlong break to watch this live Buzzfeed video that aired yesterday. Two guys sat down and ate 60 chicken nuggets, well the objective was to reach 60 before their opponent. The guy who won was a trooper, and the guy who lost had pretty much given up after he reached under ten to go, because he was honestly just proud of himself for getting to under ten. After he reached nine, he just started rooting for the other guy, Nick, who was chewing so so slowly towards the end. Actually he had his last six nuggets in his mouth apparently, and chewed on them for about three minutes, staring down at his empty plate until there was nothing left for him to chew on. It was the slowest, most noble victory I have ever seen. I’m sorry, I got a little sidetracked. I’m just feeling a little apprehensive about one thing that happened last night. Evan and I left Laundry at around 2 and we went for a little bit of a walk, and ended up talking for a while, about an hour. We actually spoke about whether or not we should do anything for Valentine’s Day, or for our birthdays. He said he wasn’t fussed, and really I’m not too fussed either. I mean the idea of celebrating those events with him is appealing, but the practicality of it is questionable. As he said last night, we’ve barely known each other a month now. Anyway, after about an hour, Malith texted me that he wanted to leave and he met me at the corner of Smith and Johnston St, and we walked back to the car. I asked Evan if he wanted a lift anywhere but it was a little weird with Malith there, I think he felt that too. He ended up walking home or something, it was somewhat disconcerting and I just hope that he’s okay? I texted him when I got back last night but I haven’t heard from him yet, and it’s 20 past 2. I don’t know. He might be mad too. He and Malith are mad at me, I feel. But I feel like everyone is mad at me at any given time right now. I’m in a bit of a bad head space. I can’t write too personally today aside from what I’ve already said. I’m worried about Manasha. I’ve been thinking about her these past few days, and she did come to mind on Wednesday or Thursday too. I tried not to think about it all of last night too, and I mostly succeeded. I’m just going to write some bullshit fiction for the rest of this entry though, because I need to let loose a little before I try and get started on the next draft of my script. I’m really getting sick of this little screenwriting escapade. But I know that it’ll all be worthwhile, so I’m going to see it through. That, and I feel like I’m not just writing it for me anymore. Thanks to Marcus. Anyway, here’s my bullshit fiction. I hope you enjoy.

Blooms burst upon the wall in pastel mandalas, fuzzy to the sleepy eye. She fell to momentary sleep with her head on his shoulder as they sat under the crimson floodlights that lined the underside of the bridge, like the belly of a snake. The night air bit at her bare legs, chided her into regretting her desires to feel the cruelties of life for just this evening, into regretting her self-preparation for this raw experience: the experience of surrender. When you place yourself into the hands of the city, you do so with an initially great and undeniable mistrust, but also with a hint of faith, that your loveliness will be respected by all around you to the same degree that you respect it in yourself. You feel that if you were to give yourself to the world, the world would treat you with piety and softness, because you are these things as well. But the world does not adapt, rather it lets those who inhabit it adapt instead, to all of its whims and chaos.

When she woke up, the city lights were all switched off, but the sun was yet to come out from behind the skyscrapers. Instead, the disjointed horizon glowed red and punctured, like she was staring into the mouth of a magnificent, bloodied beast. She clutched his hand and buried her head into his shoulder, this boy she had only just made the acquaintance of, making do with this warm figure in lieu of love. It surely must be possible to love somebody intensely upon first sight, upon first touch, if that love was meant to be. Perhaps there was some sense of poignancy in running a finger across the curve of his cheek. There was certainly some jolt in her elaborately trussed chest at the sensation of his firm and assured hand on her lower back, right above the end of her fishnets. Was this fate? It was too dark outside for him to see her eyes, forced wide open, convincing them both that neither of them wanted the night to end. Her trust in the powers of her body began to falter, and so she grew stiff in his arms, and he removed his hand, mistaking her stiffness for physical discomfort at his forward touch. She could’ve punched herself, gotten up and run away across the parklands, strewn with raucous cicadas and crickets who were applauding this meagre human connection. Instead, she pulled her chin up in the darkness and kissed him in silence, hoping that this was enough.

I really can’t concentrate on these pages, my mind keeps straying off. It’s 3:36 p.m. and I’m still not done with this AFTERNOON’S morning pages. My sister said that she wants to go swimming today, well said at 3 but it’s 3 now, so I don’t know when. She’s home now though, I can hear her. I just ate a lot of potato chips. I’ve had a lot to eat today, because I ate nothing yesterday, except pizza. Two slices of Roma pizza at the kebab place that’s next door to Laundry. It was an okay meal. I just don’t really feel like saying anything else today, I really don’t. That bullshit fiction, I fear, wasn’t even bullshit too. I don’t know. I really don’t. I was with Evan last night, one-on-one and maybe it was just because of Manasha or because I was anxious about leaving Malith, but I couldn’t feel easy last night. And the guys too, the guys that kept trying to talk to me and touch me while I was dancing. And the fact that Malithi and Scotty and Malith were watching me dance with this guy they didn’t know seemingly right after my last relationship, I don’t know. I felt like a mess last night, and I think that’s the reason why these pages have taken so long to write and are still taking so long to write. I wasn’t being honest up until right now, but I am a ball of nerves about so much right now. I just want to forget about everything. I regret starting these pages in the first place, but I also don’t. It’s hard to explain. It’s hard to explain how it feels to be this in touch with yourself when you’re really quite a mess. It’s very odd being aware of how much of a mess you are, and being doubly aware that there’s nothing you can do about it for the time being, because it’s just one of those times.

I feel like I’ve been a bit too eager to see Evan, but the same can be said of him on Monday, when he asked to see me after he finished work. And when he said that seeing me made his day. Last night he asked me when he could see me again. And I was glad to hear him say that. But I also feel like - because he’s just so so decent - he felt a little bad about the fact that we kept Malith waiting. I feel really bad about that. He kind of told me off in the worst way possible when we arrived back home, and that was by asking me to get out of his car when I tried thanking him for coming out. He has an audition today and I just know...I would hate myself if I fucked it up for him. I feel really bad right now. I feel like the worst friend in the world. I feel like the worst person in the world right now. I was surprisingly selfish last night, I really feel that I was. I feel like I should get in touch with Dan though, and see how he’s going. Dan is at least not mad with me. Dan left around 12:30 a.m., because he had been up since six. He had also had a very not-so-great day at work. I’ll see if Dan’s alright later today. Evan still hasn’t gotten back to me. I’m too anxious to send Malith a message. I don’t know if he’ll even want to talk to me for a while. I did a bad thing. I mean it’s not like he hasn’t done bad things too, he’s done rather bad things. But that doesn’t excuse what I did, and I’m kidding myself if I even try and make myself believe that it does. I just want to bake him a cake or something, I am just so full of guilt and self-loathing.

I’m going to go swimming, like right now. I think the physical exercise and the cool water might help me drown out my regrets. They don’t call me ‘Rue’ for nothing, though.