#this journal has witnessed so many of my Words and raging thoughts & emotions

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

After one year, I have filled up my journal!!! Yippee!!!

[thisdreamplace]

Hi. My erratic moods, and loss of control over my words and actions, my inability to be calm and collected, and worse, to keep the unhelpful intrusive thoughts IN my head are causing me trouble. (eg just recently someone in my family was going to the hospital for a possibly serious checkup and they joked, as I saw them at the door, "If I die then forgive me". And like, ik it's a joke. But a deep primal part of me, in front of everyone, lost it and as they turned away I heard myself screaming: "If I die, then YOU CAN BE HAPPY" and I just couldn't control it. I did find the pause in between the words and my reaction (Eckhart Tolle), yet I failed to at least restrain myself, from lashing out. Ik it's the 'demons' who think they'll be happy if I die etc. Worse was, my grandma (who doesn't know the extent of my issues) witnessed this. It sucks. I want to cry. Why did I react that way?)

What really is up with me? This has nothing to do with what was said (and I even know that the joke was a self defense mechanism coz my family mmbr was worried themselves about the check up). But the way I shouted that... It was serious. I think I did mean it. It's lame hahah, especially coz I was thinking I was starting to be able to control myself? To assuage the 'darkness' within, and I even believe things are definitely less hopeless thanks to the loa and me influencing reality

Maybe it was just a random thing. Ofc it's impossible to heal overnight, yet I do feel... Ashamed of my reaction (like hello, why couldn't I have stopped myself from saying that out loud at least? I could've just laughed it off and said "yeah okay me too" or smth less intense. They already mock me for my 'tantrums'. Welp, such is life and I've been doing my best to stay alive and normal for many years now)

Any way you can suggest using loa to make myself less... reactive and emotionally nuclear bomb-ish? The funniest thing is I was normal the whole day then this stupid outburst screaming 'woe ie me boohoo' happens. Gah I wanna curse lol

I did start conscious healing some months ago. Maybe I have pent up rage or emotion and I gotta idk journal or smth? I do affirm, I do try to fix my thought patterns (as opposed to never even realising I had a choice before). I'm not saying I'm doing enough. I'm not saying I'm consistent. But I am better than before. Then this happens?! Wdyt?

And another thing, the more I get into loa/beliefs/assumptions etc, and try to restructure my life, I feel wayyy more exposed and vulnerable

You are one of my faves in the loa spectrum btw

Hi!

Honestly, nothing is wrong with you. I think that you're being a little harsh on yourself, that's all. I mean, I get being put off by your outbursts. But weirdly, it's not actually something you need to analyze, although you may want to. I mean, that's how we worked in the past right? We always wanted to analyze the 3D and our behavior. But there's actually nothing to analyze anymore. There's nothing wrong with you, even like this.

I think that when we get into the law especially, and we start making progress, we're completely ashamed of ourselves when it seems like we are suddenly regressing. But actually, like I was saying, we don't have to take it that seriously. It actually doesn't have to mean anything is wrong with us. We can still totally be on the right path. Thing is, things that are living within us will find a way out. And that's all you experienced. Practice letting it pass and returning within yourself, to your inner world where you have been making great strides. It's not always for us to figure out why something happened. Instead, it's up to us to decide what we want to focus on moving forward.

If you feel the need to journal and let it all out, don't stop yourself! Write it out, allow yourself that space to say what you need to say and maybe you will figure something out in the process. Do not be afraid to release what you're feeling, allow it.

On the flip side of that, you can approach these outbursts with more compassion for yourself. I mean, the law really calls for us to come back to unconditional love for ourselves at all times. It's a constant practice. You don't have to feel ashamed anymore. Like I have said before, anything that we do was done perfectly. We think we have all these controls over our actions, because we forget we are ourselves pushed out. Even our freewill ends passed our minds. We only have freewill within. Every action we take in the 3D falls in line with the state we are in. This why we cannot do anything wrong! So don't fall for the 3D illusion, even in regard to yourself. It may be hard and weird to grasp, but allow yourself that space to at least move into some sort of acceptance. It will all click the more you choose to focus on your inner world, and what you can do within. Do not worry about what you can do in the outer world. Because really, you can do nothing.

So how do you tackle this? Well, like usual, get an idea of who you want to be. Don't think about how to get there, really. It's not your job. All you need to know is your end goal. And if you don't know it clearly, intend to for clarity. But after that, all you need to do is choose to embody that version of you everyday. You do this in your mind. You don't need to "act as if" unless you like to. Some days may be easier or harder than others. It doesn't matter if you trip up or totally are out of the state some days. The point is you keep persisting, you keep doing your best to go back to that version of you within in your mind. Without knowing how, that effort truly does add up and gets you exactly where you want to be.

To your final comment, I totally feel this. I have never been more vulnerable than I am now. I mean, the more I learn about the law, it's like the more I wear my heart on my sleeve. There's emotions I could run from before, that I can't run from now. I feel more exposed than ever. Because our fears, despite being our prison, often work as a shield. And the more you come into the law and have to dismantle the illusion of your fears, the more exposed you feel. And it's okay. I just try to remind myself that behind any uncomfortable feelings, I am making my way towards absolute love and freedom. Behind these illusions I built for myself, the more love and freedom can make it's way into my life. And it's comforting to see it that way and it allows me to keep going even when I feel too scared to. I know I am on the right path. Hopefully this helps you feel that way too.

Anyway, thank you for your nice compliment! I hope you are doing well! 💖

[theangriestpea]

In the Shadows : Three

Summary: Jughead Jones, resident werewolf, just wants to protect his family and his pack from the incoming doom of The Red Circle. Sweet Pea and Lily join him to help keep the Southside safe from human tyranny. Meanwhile a demon princess named Myra and succubus named Lavender had a plan to bring on the apocalypse. <ao3> <masterlist> <playlist>

Rating: Mature // Explicit

Pairings: Jughead Jones x OC, Sweet Pea x OC, Kurtz x OC

Warnings: None for this chapter

Word Count: 5.5k+

A/N: Hello all! With Crowned almost finished I should be able to work more on Shadows to get updates out a little faster. I do have a few oneshots in the works as well to do between chapters but overall I've been quite productive the past few months. I also started therapy and new treatment for my illnesses that have allowed me to have more time and energy for writing and I'm very pleased with that. Shout to to everyone who has helped me through my recovery! Graphics on this chapter are by @the-gargoyle-queen​ and @southside-vixen​

Part Three: The Vessel 

Her foot pressed harder on the pedal, the sound of his laughter filling her ears as he rolled down the window and yelled outside of it happily. The needle hit 120 and she called out to him in excitement, “I told you I could do it! I told you!”

She wasn’t looking at the road now, instead of her light eyes were trained on his handsome face, his darkening hair pushed back from the wind. She wasn’t looking, but he was. “Shanna-!”

Her head snapped to the road and she saw a deer standing frozen in her high beams. Her reflexes made her swerve the car onto the shoulder ...or what she thought was a shoulder. It was actually a steep ditch that caused the car to flip.

They were both screaming now, but not with excitement. It was pure terror as the out of control car tumbled down the incline and into a patch of woods. The passenger was suddenly quiet after a heavy thwack. Lavender couldn’t see as her eyes were screwed tightly shut but she felt something wet hit her face. It landed into her mouth, filling it with a coppery taste.

There was a loud snapping of bone and her head twisted into an impossible angle. Now it was her turn to be silent and for a brief moment her humanity let her. Everything left her. The car stopped, somehow landing on its wheels.

“James?” Lav said in a croaky voice as her eyes opened. Her neck snapped back right and she could feel the massive amounts of pain disappear. What she couldn’t understand was that her once broken neck had rapidly healed itself. Every cut and scrape on her body healed as well. She was untouched despite being covered in both her and her lover’s blood.

She looked to the side and what she saw wretched a strangled scream from her. James, her fiancé, was decapitated in the seat. His head was gone and his body slumped over. “No,” She cried, her mind stuck on repeat as it was the only thing she could say. Horrible cries of pain and anguish at the death of the love of her life. And the fault was all on her.

“Don’t you want him back,” A voice called to her. She sobbed helplessly, yes. Yes, all she wanted in the world at this moment was to have him back. “Would you pledge yourself to me, my father, and our lord Lucifer to bring him back?”

“Yes!” She yelled back in frustration, of course she would. She’d do anything, anything to have him there again. Anything to hear his voice telling her it was okay, that she was okay, and that nothing was lost between them.

She heard a snapping sound in her ears and felt something white hot press against her neck. In truth she hardly felt the pain. It was nothing compared to what her heart was feeling right now.

There was a blinding light, an incredible heat, and when she could see again she saw that James was whole once more. His breath moving with shallow breaths. Tears continued to stream down her face, happy tears as she reached to touch him. Her fingers recoiled at how cold he was. But he was alive, right? That’s what mattered now…

Lav’s eyes flew open, her body jerking into an upright position. Her breath heavy in her chest as the memory of what had come in the weeks after the accident flooded her thoughts. She looked down and noticed her wrists and ankles were bound with a heavy rope, damp with some kind of oil. It singed at her skin, burning it like a sunburn on fair skin in the height of summer.

“Interesting.” Came a voice beside her. She looked at Sweet Pea, heart heavy with the realization that she had not succeeded in killing him. His scent had changed now that he was without a soul. His presence felt…empty.

“What have you done?” She asked, her voice failing her. Her eyes watered but she willed the tears to not fall. She swallowed thickly to get her emotions under control. It only helped slightly.

The warlock shrugged, “I had a suspicion that you weren’t born a demon and I just tested that theory with a little spell. Sent you back to when you were human.” He didn’t mention how she had been screaming like mad in her sleep. Whatever memory she was reliving, it was not pretty. There was some guilt at causing her this pain, but at the same time she did try to kill him.

“But what’s even more interesting is these ropes should be burning you a lot more than they are. Almost like you’re not really a demon at all.” He added and she finally noticed that he had an old moleskin journal in his lap, pen in hand. He had been scribbling down notes on the effects of his work. The ropes had been dosed in his own concoction of holy oil and herbs. Any regular demon would have third degree burns. His captive barely had first degree.

Did she tell him the truth? There was no harm in it now. She could feel the new soul nesting within her abdomen. Their child was no more than a cluster of cells just hours old, but still she could feel it inside of her already. Myra had told her this would happen. Because she had the natural ability of seeing life hidden inside the shell of flesh, she would be able to sense if their encounter had worked long before any human would have.

“I’m half.” She said, her voice betraying the fragility of the mental state she was in. She had long since shoved that memory away deep inside the recesses of her mind. Now it was fresh, the wound reopened and salt thrown in. “My father was a witch.”

Sweet Pea stared at her in silent awe. A hybrid? That was possible? “How did your mother conceive you? Demons are infertile.”

Lav sat back against the headboard, silently wondering why she was in bondage to begin with. She was still naked. He hadn’t taken the time to redress her. “I was conceived under a blood moon.” She said, reciting what Myra had told her during their first real encounter. “My father wasn’t a practicing witch. He didn’t know his power. But power he did have. That night when his magic was particularly strong…something that happens only once every few hundred years happened. I was created and raised human, not knowing anything of my mother besides that she had abandoned me.”

Her voice trailed off, almost as if she were waiting for him to say something. Instead Sweet Pea just stared at her, not quite believing anything she was saying. But it had to be true, the spell and the oil. It didn’t affect her like it would a full blooded demon. It was different. This was certainly an explanation but it still seemed so far-fetched.

“I lost my mortal soul one day in a car accident. I was revived as a succubus, like my mother had been. I’ve been a demon ever since.” She wasn’t looking at him anymore. Instead she was staring blankly at the wall in front of her. “Now untie me.”

Sweet Pea snorted, “So you can try to steal my soul again? I think not.”

“I cannot steal something that has already been consumed.” She replied, still not looking at him. Humans never felt when their souls left their bodies. It wasn’t a surprise that he didn’t know it was gone. She felt full, satiated from his life force still.

His head snapped to look at her, wondering if he had heard her correctly. “I made you orgasm, there’s no way that was fake.”

Lav snorted back a laugh, finally turning to face him once more. “That’s an old wives tale. I can cum all I want, your soul will still be mine. And it is. I’ve collected it for Asmodeus, whose power you’ve borrowed for your dark spells one too many times.”

His blood felt as if it turned to ice in his veins. Was his soul really gone? He felt no different, how could this be? “Impossible.”

“No, you wrote too many checks that your body couldn’t catch. I’ve taken your soul as payment as I was sent to do.” She added bitterly. “You should have died. You should have let me kill you.”

“Why would I do that?” He asked hotly. “I have a two-year old daughter. Why would I leave her behind just so you could-“

“You don’t understand.” She cut him off harshly. “You feel the same now. You may act the same for a few weeks. But you’ll change. Your heart will grow stony. Your mind will sour. You will not be the same. You will change. And you will hurt everyone around you when you do.”

She knew this in her heart to be true as she had lived it herself. Myra had brought James back but he soon became a shell of his former self. The anger and rage he felt consumed him. He became violent. It was a horrible thing to witness. She wanted him dead to save the world from him. If a soulless human could cause so much damage, she couldn’t imagine what a soulless warlock could do.

However, Sweet Pea did not believe her. How could she possibly know what would happen to him? Mortals would die without one. There was no way she could know for sure. She was leading him on. Trying to scare him. He wouldn’t let her win.

Despite his want to keep her captive to use her to experiment on, he cut her binds with a pocket knife. Lav rubbed her aching wrists and ankles, the skin a bright red. She didn’t know what to do now. Did she just leave? Did she tell him she was pregnant? Did she stick around? These were the questions she had never prepared herself for. Mostly because she thought he’d be dead.

She decided against telling him, figuring the news would be too much. He may tie her up again and keep her sequestered like a lab rat. That was the last thing she needed. In order for her child to grow, she’d need plenty of souls to feed on. Apparently her hunger would triple while she was with child. Although, them being only a quarter succubus had her wondering if it would really be that extreme. 

As she got dressed, she noticed him staring at her with an expression void of emotion. She ignored him, not wanting anymore to do with him. Not truly, not yet. Maybe in time her child would need a father but that time isn't now. And if the world did end soon, then maybe never. Still, seeing him alive without a soul gave her a dull ache in the pit of her stomach. It was wrong. Unnatural. And dare she say it...unholy. 

“Thanks for the ride, Sweet Pea.” She said, wondering if maybe she’d partake in him once again sometime. After all, it was nice to cum for once. She almost took her clothes back off to fuck him again but decided not to. For so long sex had been about feeding. It wasn’t truly pleasurable anymore...until last night. He noticed her hesitation but did not say anything. 

“You sticking around?” He asked, meaning Riverdale and not his home. He’d rather her leave sooner than later. Although he no longer had a soul (right?) so why would she bother him anymore? Unless she was out to kill him to right the balance that was suddenly misplaced. She could try, but he was more powerful now than ever. 

Lav shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. “I quite like Riverdale, I think. Plenty to eat.” A lopsided grin filled her face, the light not reaching her eyes at her lame joke. 

He realized he still didn’t know her name. At that moment, he didn’t quite care to know it either. He scoffed at her reply, figuring she’d be the new plague. “You know about the Red Circle?” 

Her smile fell into a hard frown. “I’ve seen the videos.” She murmured, having seeing the head of bright red hair on youtube. A man that was barely more than a boy speaking out about the evil of the supernatural and how the town would be cleansed of them all. “But they’re-” 

“No threat to you.” Sweet Pea finished blandly. Of course she thought that. What did he care anyway? They could smite her and he wouldn’t feel a thing. Despite her gifting him a very entertaining night, she didn’t seem to be worth anything else. Succubae were only good at sex, right? She couldn’t possibly be good for anything else. Still, maybe he’d call on her again when he was in the mood to let out his frustrations. Maybe.

Lav almost rebutted his statement. That was what she was going to say but she was going to further explain that mortal men were really helpless in her wake. A simple bat of her eyelashes and they’d be on their knees before her, begging to take her into bed. She could kill him with a touch if she wanted, if she concentrated hard enough, and if the stars were aligned just right as they almost always were when she was in that kind of situation. 

Plus, now that she was bearing the harbinger of Earth’s destruction, Myra would be extremely protective of her. When she wasn’t using her wolf to try and kill anyone who may stop her, she’d send him to keep watch. Although, the vargulf was pretty useless in terms of being a guard dog. He’d attack anything that came near her, unable to discern friend from foe. She wondered if he knew that Myra was the one that had done that to him in the first place. Probably not. 

So not only were they simply mortals, she was being protected by the demon princess and someone even more powerful: Asmodeus himself. There was no need to worry about anything for the next nine to ten months. No harm would come to her if Hell had any say in it. 

She flicked her hair over her shoulder before shrugging at his reply. His tone had gone rough, almost as if he was aggravated with her. A part of him was. Her wanton way of going through his city had him irked. He slipped off the bed, clad only in a thin pair of sweatpants. “I’ll see you out.” He added gruffly. 

Lav knew the way. It wasn’t like she needed an escort. She figured he was suddenly worried about her devouring his daughter. Not that the hybrid had ever had a taste for children. That was more of something her mother might do, and according to Myra what her mother had done. 

Nevertheless she walked wordlessly to the door, knowing she’d have to walk back to town through Fox Forest. It wasn’t an issue. If she really wanted a ride, she’d pray to Myra to find her one. She quite enjoyed the thought of a walk through the woods. Even though it was still lightly raining outside. What could a little water do? 

“You want a ride?” He asked, mentally slapping himself for the words coming out of his mouth. He didn’t want to spend any more time with her than he already had. That much he was sure of. 

She laughed softly, a sound that sent a thrill down his spine. He ignored the sensation with all his might. “No. We all need a little rain to grow.” She replied, something her father would tell her any time she cried. Though he had always meant her tears were the rain, it still suited the situation. 

As soon as she was outside he closed the door, almost literally hitting her on the way out. She huffed with annoyance before crossing her arms over her chest and stepping into the woods. Men were so useless. 

Lav started through the cold rain. Despite being a demon, the cold did affect her and she was wearing very little. Gooseflesh replaced her normally smooth skin as she waded through the large trees in the woods. Luckily the heavy foliage kept most of the rain off of her body. Her mostly try clothes clung to her, offering very little warmth. 

She heard a familiar pop behind her and didn’t even bother to turn her head to look at who had just joined her. In fact, she only stopped walking when she felt a thick heavy cloak being draped across her shoulders. Lav halted in her tracks and pulled the plush fur lined fabric around her to reign in her diminishing body heat. She even flipped up the hood to keep her hair from getting any wetter. “Thanks.” She mumbled halfheartedly. 

“We can’t allow the chosen mother to catch a cold.” The demon princess purred in an even tone. “We need you healthy.” 

The succubus had had a feeling that Myra would show. She was, after all, her guardian from now until she gave birth. Lav wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. On one hand she’d be pampered every day from here on out. On the other...Myra did not make for great company in Lav's not so humble opinion. She’d rather spend the day hunting than deal with the wicked demon. 

Full-blooded demons did not get sick. Not from traditional human diseases anyway. There were magical ones that could harm them, but they were few and far between. Because Lav was a hybrid, she was fully capable of catching both magical and non-magical illnesses with the exception of sexually transmitted diseases and infections. It was quite a pain in the ass, especially a few years ago when she came down with the flu that left her unable to feed for two weeks. So was so starved when she was healthy again that she ripped two men apart mid-coitus.

“I know.” She said back placidly. It was strange to think of herself as pregnant. A vessel for the apocalypse bringer. It would happen now whether she liked it or not. Termination was out of the question. Oddly enough, Lavender already felt intensely protective of the baby growing inside of her. She wouldn't abort it even if she had the choice. She figured her mother felt the same when she became pregnant with her. Otherwise, why give birth to such an abomination as she had so (un)lovingly been called. 

“You did not kill the dark witch.” Myra mused beside her. “I’m surprised.” 

The succubus scoffed, “had I had my way, I would have bathed in his blood to keep myself warm. He cast some kind of spell on me. One that only works on my kind and human born demons. It was a dirty trick, he hit my brand and incapacitated me.” 

Myra was impressed. Although rather young for a demon, Lavender was quite skilled. She had never been overtaken by her prey before. The princess assumed her slave was humiliated by the whole ordeal. As she should be, a powerful demon shouldn’t be subdued by a simple witch. Dark one or not. 

“I assume you have lodging for me.” Lav said, masking her annoyance at the amused giggle Myra had made. “Something other than that shithole in Greendale.” 

She nodded, though Lav could not see it over the edge of the hood as it was blocking her vision. “A quaint place in Riverdale. South side of the tracks on the back edge of a trailer park mostly inhabited by the big wolf pack in town. I have a nice double wide waiting for you.” 

A double wide was bigger than anything she had growing up. She lived with her father in a single her entire life until she became enslaved and moved from one worn down shack to the next. Their last place in Greendale had been the best yet and that wasn’t much to write home about. If a home even existed. Her father was dead. Mother was roaming the Southeast somewhere preying on rich men. James was dead (again). There was no one else. 

“Wolves.” Lav said her thoughts aloud,  “I guess there are worse neighbors.” 

Myra chuckled out a dark laugh that made Lav’s skin crawl. She usually reserved that one for when she was thinking of something particularly cruel. “They’ll smell her. The baby. But they won’t harm you. Crossing a pregnant demon is not something to be done lightly and if they have any common sense then they’ll leave you alone.” 

“A girl?” Lav asked, finally turning to look at her. “How do you know already?” 

“Prophesy.” Myra replied simply. “The bringer of hell is to be a girl. As it is written.” 

“I guess naming her Damien is out of the question then.” Lav said, almost laughing at her bad attempt at a joke. Myra said nothing, not finding it funny in the slightest. Mortal depictions of the antichrist always rubbed her the wrong way. Mostly because they were always male. Humans were such idiotic creatures. 

They came to the edge of the wood where a car was waiting for them. The white wolf was in the driver’s seat, puffing on a cigarette. “Stay here.” Myra growled to her, making her way to the vehicle with heavy footsteps. Lav watched a small argument blossom between the two, ending in the boy putting out his cigarette with an annoyed look on her face. 

Lav rolled her eyes, she knew Myra would be protective but getting that upset about secondhand smoke seemed a little ridiculous. Especially since she was only on day one of her pregnancy. She highly doubted it would have hurt her or the baby. 

Myra motioned for her subordinate to come over. She made her way to the car, now pleasantly warm underneath the robe she wore. Lav got into the back seat, keeping the heavy fabric wrapped around her even though the heat was on blast. Myra joined her lover in the front. 

She instructed him to drive to a diner called Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe. Myra informed her that she was to never feel hungry either physically or metaphysically. Lav was already annoyed at the catering. It wasn't like this treatment was all that necessary. Being treated like royalty just felt...weird

They crossed the railroad tracks and Kurtz parked in the paved lot outside of the brightly lit diner. The neon signs glowed bright against the overcast sky. Kurtz got out first, opening the door for Myra and then Lav. Lav resisted the urge to roll her eyes. 

The three walked into the diner, finding that only a few patrons were inside. One table of four held three humans and one werewolf. A scent Lav could recall in the cottage she was just at. Her brow quirked curiously at the dark head of hair clad in a black crown-like beanie. Beside him was a blonde with a tight ponytail. Across were a rather spoiled looking rich girl and a boy with fiery red hair. 

The Red Circle. Lav thought to herself as she recognized his face. She wondered if Myra recognized him as well. If she’d make them all turn tail and run. But of course, she didn’t. Any one of them could dispose of a simple human without breaking a sweat. The Red Circle wasn’t a threat when it was just one boy without his group of guardsmen to back him up with torches and pitchforks. 

The wolf smelled the three of them, his blue eyes glancing and by chance meeting Lavender’s own. She held his gaze for a moment quizzically before continuing on to the booth Myra had chosen for them. Without much thought she began to listen to their conversation. 

“We have one month to come up with a solid plan on how to take care of our mutt problem on the Southside.” The redhead said with a curt look between the other three. “My men are ready. Our arms supply will be here within the week. Enough silver bullets to take down the whole pack.” 

Anxious bile rose in Jughead’s throat. The man who was once a good friend of his was now planning to kill his entire family. It made him cold and unfeeling. This is what humanity had become and there was nothing he could do about it. 

“We’ll help any way we can, Archie.” His blonde girlfriend added, an innocent smile on her lips. Jughead pulled his hand away from her to pretend to take a sip of his milkshake. In reality, her statement caused his heart to thump down into his stomach. Betty was trying to include him into his own extinction. She knew what he was and she swore to secrecy, but as she became swept up in this madness he wondered how long she would remain his ally. 

“I was thinking we set fire to the trailer park.” Archie replied. “Since most of them live here. We’ll keep Jughead’s house safe, of course. Get rid of his annoying neighbors instead.” Archie said, a bright grin on his face that made his eyes sparkle. 

Jughead stared at him, trying to keep his expression blank. “There are humans there, Arch. You can’t just kill innocent people.” He hoped his reasoning would get Andrews to understand that a full scale riot was a terrible idea. 

“Jughead is right.” The brunette said with a nod, “besides, don’t most of those mangy animals go into the forest? Why not burn that instead? Plant some traps on the treeline…” 

Archie kissed her as if to reward her for her thoughts. “That’s brilliant, Ronnie. If the fire doesn’t get them, the smoke will.” 

“I can...procure some gasoline.” Betty said, sounding almost hesitant. Almost. “We can use it as an accelerant.” Jughead started to feel even colder. He shifted so he was as far away from this stranger as he possibly could be without leaving the booth. Not only did she tell Archie they’d help, she was actively trying to aid him in the destruction of his pack. Jughead wanted to throw up the extremely rare double cheeseburger he had just inhaled. 

He noticed the purple haired demon had turned in her own seat to stare at him. Her expression was asking him what he was going to do. Silently questioning his sanity for sitting at this table. Did he hate his own kind so much he would see to their death? Certainly not. Jug had to force himself to look away from her. She was pregnant. How? He had no clue, but there was definitely something growing inside of her. 

Jughead also couldn’t help but notice the lingering scent of Lily’s roommate on her skin. This brought on more questions than answers. He would need to go to her to make sure she was safe and to possibly enlist in her help. If anyone could save Fox Forest, it was the white witch of the Southside and the dark witch that accompanied her. If only their daughter was old enough to help out. 

His phone rang and he excused himself to answer it. It was his father updating him on any sighting of the vargulf the night before. He stood right outside on the sidewalk. “No, I remembered I had to pick up the brownie mix for JellyBean. I was going to get it after lunch.” 

On the other line, he heard his father sigh at the use of the code word. “Boy, please stay out of trouble when you’re on that side of town. I don’t like you crossing those tracks. I know you love her but have you considered how dangerous this is for all of us?” His voice was tired and rough. 

“I know, dad.” Jughead replied in a calm voice. “I’ll be sure not to get the off-brand one this time. I’ll see you in half an hour.” He hung up before his father could respond and walked back into the diner. 

He put on an apologetic smile as he approached his friends. “I’ve got to head out. I forgot I needed to run an errand for my dad while I was in town.” 

Betty smiled and nodded, “alright, Jug. I’ll call you later, okay?�� 

Jughead tried to smile wider, however he failed quite miserably. He simply looked...uncomfortable. He pretended to cough to hide the expression. “Sure, see you later.” He gave her a quick goodbye kiss and waved to Archie and Veronica before leaving to try and figure this whole thing out. 

That night, after the sun had fallen, Jug waited anxiously in his bedroom for his phone to ring. He had told his father of the plans the others had for the next full moon. FP agreed that it was time for Jughead to cut ties with them. It was too dangerous. And Jughead, feeling more and more ill at the thought of Betty’s betrayal, knew in his heart that it was what he had to do. 

At 8:02 pm, his phone rang. Betty’s name popped up on the caller ID and Jughead answered it. “Hey Jug,” She said in a chipper tone, obviously having no idea what he was about to do. Was it really breaking her heart if she had just casually planned the genocide of his people just hours before? 

“Betty, we need to talk.” He said firmly. His voice did not waver. His emotions did not betray him this time. 

There was a beat of silence. “Is this about earlier?” She asked, her voice soft. 

Jughead bit the inside of his cheek. “I don’t think I can do this anymore, Bets. I think we should spend some time apart while I prepare for the worst.” 

“Jug, if Archie just knew the truth then he’d know that you’re not all bad!” Betty said, her tone beginning to sound frantic. “Then he wouldn’t be so adamant on killing you. Please, just talk to him-” 

“Betty.” Jughead said sharply, “telling him would endanger everyone on the Southside. It would not bring peace like you think it would. You saw how eager he was to kill us all. How happy the thought made him. I used to call him friend, but that day has passed Betty. And I’m afraid...I’m afraid we’ve passed too.” 

Another ring of silence. He heard a sniffle and what could have been the choking back of a sob, he wasn’t entirely sure. “Juggie...please…you don’t need to do this.” 

“I do.” He said firmly, not wavering despite his heart aching. “I’m sorry, Bets. I still love you, okay? This just isn’t meant to be. I can’t be star-crossed the rest of my life. You know how it ended for Romeo and Juliet.” 

Betty huffed angrily and he could practically hear the tears coming down her smooth cheeks, “don’t patronize me, Jughead.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose to keep from losing his own temper and caving into his emotions. “I’ll still see you around, Betty.” 

“The next full moon.” Betty practically hissed into the receiver before hanging up. Jughead let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping forward. He put his face in his hands and contemplated what he should do next. There was really only one option… He had to go back to that cottage in the forest. 

Jughead stood from his bed and pulled on his leather jacket. He needed to return the clothes he had borrowed anyway. He picked up the neatly folded sweatpants and flannel and placed them into shoulder bag. 

He let his father know he’d be gone for a bit. FP gave him a warning look, telling him to be careful. It was late and The Red Circle would be out. Of course, he already knew all this, but he needed to get this done sooner rather than later. 

After hopping onto his bike, he noticed that the rain had finally stopped. He started the old motorcycle and sped towards the cottage, using his memory and keen sense of direction to guide him. He was there in under ten minutes and it amazed him that she had been so close to him this whole time and he never even knew. 

Jug rapped his knuckles against the old wooden door. A few moments later it opened revealing his witch that smelled of sunshine looking up at him. Her tired face seemed to light up at the sight of him and Jughead felt his stomach turn to knots. 

“I need your help.” He muttered lowly, afraid that Sweet Pea may hear him and chase him off. “Please. They’re going to kill us all.” 

Lily nodded, almost as if she had been expecting this and opened the door wider. She stepped aside to give him room to enter. Jughead did graciously, disappearing into the living room where he had previously slept. 

Lily put on a tea kettle to warm up some water. “Tell me everything.” She said, green eyes looking at him with more warmth than he thought he deserved. Jughead’s heart flitted in his chest and somehow, for some strange reason, he felt like he was home. 

Tag list: @the-gargoyle-queen​, @southside-vixen​, @redhairdontcare732​, @wayward-river​, @princesweetpea​ (comment/ask/message if you want to be added)

[jentrevellan]

Believe Again: Chapter 4

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition

Relationships: Cullen Rutherford x Female Trevelyan

Tags: slow burn, slow build, slow romance, mage/templar dynamics, family drama, templars, mages, enemies to friends to lovers, angst, lyrium withdrawal, crisis of faith, loss of faith, The Chantry, sexual tension, innuendo

MASTERPOST:

A/N: Tags to be updated. Chapters posted on the 1st Thursday of the month.

<-PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER->

CHAPTER FOUR - Cullen 

Knight-Captain Cullen, Please convey my thanks and gratitude to Knight-Commander Meredith for agreeing to my transfer back to the Ostwick Circle. I appreciate the situation is somewhat delicate in Kirkwall at the moment, but the work I do with the influence of my family for the Order is of better use in my home city. 

I pray the tensions ease in the Gallows, although now I have returned to Ostwick I have had a chance to reflect and so I simply must say this: I implore you, Knight-Captain, to consider if your morals are worth forsaking for the Knight-Commander’s ethics and methods. Remember our vows.

Should you find yourself in Ostwick, don’t be a stranger. 

May the Maker guide you, Lieutenant Evie Trevelyan, Ostwick Circle - A crumpled letter found in Knight-Captain Cullen’s personal journal

He couldn’t help but watch her. 

Even when she wasn’t around, he was always peering over his shoulder, sometimes to just see a glimpse of her: and it was starting to drive him mad.

That evening, before he had retired to his tent, he had felt a strange compulsion to walk down to the edge of the lake. He had skipped dinner, as a migraine was threatening to appear, and the thought of making polite conversation with soldiers and strangers in the bustle of the Chantry was enough to make him feel nauseous. Instead, he had decided to perhaps do some training on a straw dummy, or maybe sharpen his blade - anything to keep his hands busy and his thoughts distracted. 

But his feet had taken him to the quiet edge of the lake, the waters glistened with an eerie green glow, which made it hard to forget the Breach above his head. So, as he had done many times as a child, he crouched down and examined the stones on the shoreline, looking for the sleekest of pebbles. He ran this thumb over a couple before selecting a handful which appeared to be narrow in width but heavy enough to carry a small weight. 

Straightening up, he tossed a stone in the air and deftly caught it to test the weight. He switched stones and continued the same routine with his selection. Finally, he leaned back, positioned his feet apart in the perfect stance to skim. He drew his arm back and flicked and-

Thunk.

It didn’t even skim once. Well, it has been a long time, he admitted with a wry smile. Cullen continued to fail miserably until his seventh stone (not that he was counting) successfully skimmed the water not once but three times. He felt his chest puff with an odd sense of pride. He held another pebble ready, with the aim to beat his new record, but something in the distance caught his eye and he paused. 

On the other side of the lake, a lone figure was stood staring up at the Breach. Alarmed, Cullen saw their fists clenched with fire, and he dropped his stones with a clatter and reached for his sword at his hip. A piercing chill cut through him as the figure screamed, in what appeared to be rage. He started moving towards them but hesitated when the person dropped to their knees and was… sobbing? 

Cullen felt unease seep through him as he watched, and was unsure how to proceed, as it was clear he was witnessing something very private. Perhaps this person was a family member of someone who had perished at the conclave, or maybe they had come to join the Inquisition-

His trail of thought stopped abruptly as the person started to walk towards him, their head down, and it hit him that he knew who it now was. The clothes she wore and the green flicker of light on her left hand made it unmistakably the Herald. Cullen went to sheathe his sword but paused when she finally looked up at him and stopped in her tracks, their eyes meeting. Something tugged in his gut as he looked over her - grey eyes misty and red rimmed from crying, her hair falling in loose out of its braid and her lips…

Maker, why am I looking at her lips? He scolded himself, but found he couldn't look away, particularly as he noticed that they were slightly puckered and rather red. He wondered if they were as soft as they looked. 

Cullen cleared his throat and reassessed: she was a mage who had been off on her own, plus she was the Herald and also a noble as well, apparently. Even one of those reasons warranted why she should not have been on her own and yet, as he opened his mouth to berate her as such with an anger he wasn’t sure was directed at her or himself for thinking such alarming thoughts; his words died on his tongue as she closed the distance between them and gently placed a gloved hand on his arm. 

At first he thought she had cast a spell on him, as heat bloomed on his arm beneath her touch, and it appeared to spread all over him. But as he looked down at her and her expressionless face, he realised that there was truly no motive here. No argument, no teasing, just a gentle gesture and the air thick between them. He should’ve been angry but he found he couldn’t muster to even be annoyed when she was looking at him so steadily and was transfixed in response to her touch.

All too soon, she pulled her hand away and left him standing there. What are you doing, man? He scolded himself. You’re acting like you’re wet behind the ears with an infatuation from a woman’s touch! 

But his thoughts sobered when he realised that she had touched the arm that was still gripping his half-sheathed sword. He sighed and ran a hand down his face. She probably just thought I was being my usual templar self, he thought. And was she wrong?

As he looked up at the Breach, he wondered what caused her to be so - 

Sister Cecelia.

Of course. The Herald had lost her young sister, of whom he had been fortunate enough to meet before… well before she died. He tried to recall that morning but the memory was vague already - it had only been a week or so since the explosion and yet it felt like a year. 

Guilt plagued Cullen as he turned towards Haven and watched the Herald enter the village gates and disappear behind the walls. She is mourning, he thought. Of course she is. And yet no one had given her the time of day to even acknowledge that fact. Him, like everyone else, had forgotten that here was a person whose life had changed considerably, but still grieved and felt emotion like everyone else. 

Cullen exhaled deeply, his breath misting before him in the cold night air. The revelations of the Herald being a noble - Lady Trevelyan - were just - 

A chill went through him. Trevelyan. He knew that name from somewhere… it sounded familiar, even though he knew next to nothing about Marcher nobility.

“Another sister,” he muttered… surely it couldn’t have been an old comrade, Lieutenant Evie Trevelyan? That would be too much of a coincidence. He made a mental note to ask the Lady Herald in the morning. But for now, he walked back to his tent, filled a small cup of ale and climbed into the narrow cot and read some reports by candlelight. He was quite confident that he had put all Trevelyans out of his mind, as he settled in for the night.

His dreams had other ideas, and as he slipped into the Fade, all he could see was Elsie Trevelyan’s face. 

*

The next morning, Cullen awoke an hour or so before dawn in the bitter cold. He grit his teeth, willing his body to move from the warm cocoon of his blankets, as it was the perfect time to train. He allowed himself a moment’s more peace before forcing his body out of the cot, and quickly pulled on a shirt and breeches - the chill making his hairs stand on end and his teeth involuntarily chatter. It was something he did as part of his routine almost daily, for most of his life. Does that still make me a Templar? He thought, recalling the Herald’s words about how she was still a mage, despite the end of the Circles. He had dismissed and left the Order, but so much of his life, his routine, his habits and attitudes had hardly changed, even in these exceptional circumstances. 

Grimacing at such deep thoughts when it was far too early in the morning, Cullen stomped outside of his tent after strapping on his belt and hanging his sword on his hip. He peered up at the sky, noting that he had plenty of time to practice before everyone else awoke and began their day. Soon enough he was taking himself through his regular drills and the morning cold was all but forgotten with a healthy sweat on his brown and dampening his shirt. He continued to push his body, his mind blank, almost in a meditative state as he forced himself to try and feel as strong as he could and prove to himself that he was just as good a warrior without the lyrium: that he was worthy and still good at what he did. 

As he hit a straw dummy for the final time, he halted, panting and rested the palms of his hands on his knees, catching his breath. It had been an enjoyable torture and he was never easy on himself, but he always felt infinitely better, even with his muscles screaming and his lungs gulping for air like a drowning man. He picked up his swords and inspected the blade idly as he continued to slow his heart rate, the orange glow of the rising sun bouncing off the blade. 

“Damn demons,” he muttered to himself, running a finger down one edge. To his agitation, the blade was already blunted from fighting so many demons after the explosion. As he sheathed his sword, he made a mental note to visit Harritt later that day. He returned to his tent and washed himself from the pitcher of water on his night stand, rinsing off the sweat. He rubbed a towel through his hair and dressed in his armour before heading out into the village that was barely waking up. 

Scouts through the night would have left reports for him in the War Room, and he liked to look at those before he did anything else; just in case there were any urgent developments overnight. Besides, the Lady Herald along with Seeker Cassandra were due to leave in a few short hours, so he wanted to make sure all final preparations had been made. Not that I particularly want to see her, he told himself firmly. 

However, as he skimmed the reports in the empty Warm Room, he found his mind wandering again. He had begun to realise that he had seen Lady Trevelyan at a very vulnerable and private moment which was none of his - nor anyone’s - business. And yet he couldn’t explain why he felt like he wanted it to be part of his business. He wanted to know her as a person and not some noble figurehead, even if she was a mage. 

His thoughts once again turned to her younger sister, Cecelia. She had reminded him of his sister Rosalie who was around the same age. Not that Cullen knew much about his siblings anymore, save what they occasionally wrote to him about in their unanswered letters to him. Branson and Rosalie had given up trying to write to him after his silence in return and appeared to have taken the hint. They had been young children when he had left to join the Templars and probably had little memories of him. 

But Mia - stubborn like himself - had persisted. And perhaps it was finally time to write her another letter, to warn her and his siblings of the Breach and to be wary of any rifts appearing in South Reach. He was lucky that all of his siblings were alive and well, unlike the Herald, who had just lost two sisters, as well as all of those who had perished at the Conclave. They had all been someone's son or daughter, sister, brother, mother, father… 

Cullen ran a hand through his hair and tried not to dwell too much, lest he lose himself in it. So he pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, dipped his quill into an open inkpot and began to write: 

Dear Mia, 

Things have changed considerably since my last letter, with the official forming of the Inquisition here in Haven, we are at the mercy of the Herald of Andraste herself - a mage and a noble woman from the Free Marshes. There is little for me to say of her except that our working relationship has already been strained due to an abundance of conflicting views. Nevertheless, I believe in the Inquisition and my time here is busy preparing our growing army ready for Maker only knows what. I won’t bore you with those granular details. 

I realise this letter is possibly somewhat of a shock for you, considering it is so soon after the last, and this is an essay compared to what I usually send you. All I can say is that I’m grateful you and our brother and sister are nowhere near Haven. 

That being said, there are plenty of reports coming in of rifts appearing all over Ferelden and most of Southern Thedas. I implore you - if a rift is seen in South Reach, please keep everyone away - including Branson - and send word to me immediately. 

Take care, all of you, and pass on my regards to Branson and Rosalie. 

Your brother,

Cullen

There were a million other things he wanted to say to Mia and now he longed to write more to each of his siblings… but the Chantry bells peeled to indicate the hour, so Cullen folded up his letter and pocketed it: he hoped one of Leliana’s swiftest birds could deliver it for him.

Cullen left the War Room with some reports in his hand and headed back down through the village. Many were stirring now, and he walked briskly to ensure he wasn’t intercepted with idle chatter and miss the Herald’s departure. Fires were being lit, and servants scurried around fetching water and firewood. A delicious smell of bread was coming from the kitchen and his stomach rumbled. He quickened his pace keen to wave them off and head to breakfast; that was if they hadn’t already left.  

He need not have worried, for when he approached the stables, only Cassandra was there, fully dressed in her Seeker armour, her back to him. He followed her line of sight and saw her watching two figures in the sparring ring. As he shielded his eyes from the morning sun, he squinted at the figures and recognised them. 

“Is that... ?” he began.

Cassandra nodded beside him. “The Herald is training with the elven apostate, Solas.”

A trickle of unease crept down his back as he stood and watched with Cassandra. The pair of mages used long sticks instead of their staffs - not too dissimilar to wooden training swords. Solas held his stick with his left hand, his feet apart in a good stance. Cullen couldn’t hear what he said, but Solas appeared to instruct the Herald, as the elf demonstrated a feinting move. Cullen’s eyes were drawn to Trevelyan and he sucked in a breath as she turned, imitating Solas. Her face was flushed with the cold mountain air and there was a look of deep concentration as she listened to the apostate’s advice - a small frown on her brow and a nibble on her lower lip, he couldn’t help but notice. They then began to spar in earnest: their sticks twirled with no magic as they remained focused entirely upon their technique of movement in a fight. The two mages moved well together, and Cullen felt that peculiar pull in his gut - fear? He wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t help but continue to watch them spar and he observed that Solas’s eyes never left the Herald’s face. She, on the other hand, concentrated on her footwork; eventually outstepped Solas, whacked him on the shins then behind the knees, causing the elf to lose his balance and fall on the hard ground. The Herald’s staff was pointed at Solas’ neck and a brief look of triumph crossed her face.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Cassandra said, making Cullen jump. He had forgotten she was standing with him. 

“Hmm?” he made a non-committal response as he watched Trevelyan stretch out a hand to help Solas to his feet.

“You have nothing to worry about, Cullen,” she continued. “I will be keeping a close eye on each of them - especially when they are together as such.” 

Cullen nodded, but the twinge of unease didn’t abate. “I know you will Cassandra,” he replied evenly. Although the Herald’s magic was only one small part of what he had been thinking: the rest was a completely frightening feeling he was not familiar with, nor ready to admit what it was to himself, let alone Cassandra.

“You’re always watching, aren’t you?” a new voice called, and Cullen’s stomach lurched as Lady Trevelyan herself and Solas walked over to him with Solas. He was unsure of how to answer her. Yes, he wanted to say, but not for all the reasons you think.

Thankfully Cassandra interjected. “Can you blame us? We aren’t mages ourselves but are still drawn to magic and its uses. It was part of our livelihoods respectively before all of this.”

Cullen looked anywhere other than the Herald, but he could feel her eyes on him and he didn’t know if that made him uncomfortable or quietly pleased. 

“I suppose you’re right,” the Herald sighed. “But even so. I would appreciate it, Commander, if you could please stop watching my every move, like I’m one of your charges,” she said wearily, rubbing her forehead. 

Her words had struck a little too close to home - it eerily reminded him of when he had been infatuated with one of his charges as a new recruit, over ten years ago. Clenching his fists, Cullen glanced over his shoulder at the stables. “Well then, you will be pleased to know that I won’t be joining you on your ramble through the Ferelden countryside,” he replied flatly. “And it seems your horses are now ready for your departure.” He started to walk back towards the stables with Solas and Cassandra following him. Leliana and Josephine were also at the stables, waiting to wave off the party. 

He pulled out his reports and passed them to Cassandra as she mounted her horse. “If the roads are clear, it should take you around five days to reach the outskirts of the Hinterlands,” Cullen said. “Corporal Vale departed yesterday and should be a day’s ride ahead of you and will leave signals if there any dangers to be aware of along your route.”

Cassandra thanked him, but her attention was diverted to behind Cullen, where the Herald had mounted her horse in silence and the mare had skitted, unaccustomed to her new rider. 

“Woah girl, easy,” she cooed in an attempt to soothe the horse. 

Cullen strode forward and took the reins in his hands before patting the mare down and hushing her. “You can’t show her you’re afraid,” he said honestly, hoping his willingness to assist would be seen as a small token of peace between them. 

But instead the Herald frowned down at him. “I know that, thank you very much Commander,” she said tartly. 

“I understand the horse is the mascot of House Trevelyan, is it not?” Leliana said suddenly.

The Ambassador nodded and Lady Trevelyan inclined her head. “You’re right. My ancestors were one of the first humans to breed and sell fine horses for profit: they started the whole trade of horse dealerships in Southern Thedas.” There was a note of pride in the Herald’s voice, and Cullen tried his best not to roll his eyes. Her family invented trading horses? Not bloody likely. Maker’s breath, what drivel has she been fed as a noble growing up! He glanced at Cassandra who appeared to be containing herself too. 

“I understand that’s how your family came into nobility,” Josephine said with a smile. 

As The Herald nodded, Cullen couldn't help but interject. “Well if that’s the case, then you should know how to handle a horse better than anyone,” he said sarcastically. 

“Well perhaps you should mind your own business,” she retorted, snatching the resigns out of his hands. 

Cullen clenched his jaw. “And you should know when to accept help when offered, no matter how unwillingly,” he ground out. How was it, just the night before he had found himself noticing... other things about her? How in the world could he even think this was the start of an ill-advised infatuation when he enraged her so, and vice versa? 

Before the Herald could reply, Cassandra rode past them. “Let us depart, Lady Herald - the road is a long one.”

“Indeed,” Solas said, following the Seeker. “It would be good to cover as much ground in the daylight as possible.” 

Another, croaky voice joined in. “Let’s just get this over with,” a bleary-eyed Varric grumbled from his pony.

The Herald paused and looked back at Cullen. “Just tell me one thing, Commander…” He nodded for her to continue. She cocked her head to the side. “Do you not trust me?” 

Cullen sucked in a breath. It was a heavy question, thick with hidden accusations. He searched his mind for an answer that would satisfy, but he was far too slow.

“That’s what I thought,” she said flatly and an unexpected look of disappointment crossed her face. At me or herself? He wondered. She dug in her heels and set off at a canter to catch up with the rest of the group.

“Maker preserve you!” Leliana called, and offered a small wave to the group. 

As he watched her ride away, Josephine tutted from beside him. “Goodness, what is going on with you and the Lady Herald?” 

Still looking at the retreating back of Elsie Trevelyan, his mouth felt dry as he replied “A mutual sense of loathing.”

<- PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER -> 

[romanroths]

howdy. my name is mar, i’m 23, i’m out here in est, i go by she/her. this is my emo fuck, roman rothschild as titus. i don’t have a connections page set up yet so fjslkfj. just like this badboi and i’ll come hit you up. so mf excited to be here! feel free to add me on discord @ nyc's salad rat#9307

the basics.

skeleton: titus name: roman alexander rothschild age: 22 faceclaim: nick robinson  gender: cismale  pronouns: he/him degree: chemistry 

the start.

his mother and father were only seventeen when roman was born, freshly out of high school. it would be a lie to dub the pregnancy as anything other than a massive accident, born out of the incessant desire to be known and seen by someone else at that age, right down to your core. what better way to do that then to let them in fully, spreading yourself open so wide that maybe someone might like even the ugly bits of you? maybe they loved each other, but maybe they didn’t. roman never did quite figure it out. they must have at least liked one another to some extent to stick it out, to produce two more lives after him. augustus and lucretia. they weren’t many things but they were consistent. 

new money. how very fitzgerald for a boy from england. how very ironic it is with a name like rothschild. roman’s mother had always claimed they came from royalty, that their blood was tinged with blue. that always seemed like bullshit as far as roman himself was concerned. just because things sounded important did not always mean that they were. but then, one day they were important. fortune has a funny way of finding the most entitled. childhood was almost painfully boring. no traumatic stories or wondrous tales. he was born in bath, and was raised in a flat that was under furnished and a bit small, but cozy nonetheless. he loved it there, and even after moving into their cavernous home in london when the money trickled in, felt more at home in bath amongst the olden architecture. the city was ancient, just like his soul. most of his youth was spent under the sky, devouring books by natural light, a quiet and calm boy who hardly ever even scraped a knee. his mother had resigned herself to looking after roman once he was born, dashing her dreams of being a grand actress for wiping the spit off of roman’s chin. maybe that’s why she harbored a hair of resentment for him. his father went forth to achieve his mba, specializing in computer sciences. he’d later go on to invent some very important, very complicated anti-virus system that ensured the protection of your pc. it was bought and then patented by apple on roman’s eleventh birthday. money was no longer an object. 

graduating to a higher social bracket proved to be more difficult than roman had anticipated. his mother had no issue in the matter, almost immediately swapping her dulled coats and modest silver for furs and diamonds. his father seemed relieved somehow, even if he spent even more time away than before. (though, it was later revealed that this was no longer due to work but due to the twenty-five year old secretary that seduced him. the family functions on a very, don’t ask, don’t tell basis. they all still pretend they don’t know.) even his siblings seemed more taken with their situation, getting lost in harrod’s with his mother, fetching treats they never used to be able to afford and filling their rooms with fun and frill. only roman was miserable. he longed for home. the nosiness of their street caused him to spend the night gaping at his ceiling, tears brimming his eyes. no matter how badly he willed it, he could no longer remember what the air in bath smelled of. he could no longer make out what the local bakery’s hot cross buns tasted like. all the money in the world could not cure his seemingly terminal case of homesickness. 

the preparatory school he attended was a buffet of different flavors of the rich and very posh. some who were even actually were related to the crown, and not in the naive sort of way his mother had claimed. most of them seemed to speak a language of their own, already so determined of their futures. future parliament members just like their parents, or perhaps diplomats. there were even a few children of celebrities, who roman discovered either had a thirst for the crafts of their parents or absolutely abhorred it. there was no middle ground with the children conceived by artists. 

during this period of solitude, roman as we know today was formed. once a sweet and relatively shy boy, he became a scribble of snark, sarcasm, and wit. it was not meant in malice, like many of his classmates and peers thought, but simply his sense of humor, outlook, and demeanor. anyone who was willing enough to befriend him, found him to be composed surprisingly of boyish grins and mischief. he was not the block of ice people made him out to be. all one had to do was offer him the warmth of their trust for him to melt. 

the skill that permitted him into imperium happened somewhat accidentally. worried that their eldest son was falling into a depression, his parents had him seated with a psychologist at fifteen. unbeknownst to him, his mother had stolen the journal he faithfully confided in and presented it to the spidery woman responsible for unspooling the tangle of roman’s thoughts. while she did find some of the contents troubling, most of all she was impressed with the nature in which the boy wrote. a penchant for words, able to bewitch the page and to turn it into the picture perfect image of whatever he envisioned in his brain. poetic and dark, like a brewing storm. she encouraged him to follow this talent, to untether it from his moments of melancholy and allow it to speak for stories. which is what he did. by seventeen he had published two books of poetry, and was working on a murder mystery story, involving two reunited lovers piecing together the murder of a recently deceased childhood friend. despite the fact that the works that he had published were done so anonymously, ashcroft was able to uncover the truth. and so as he entered university, he was accepted with much prestige into imperium. the one and only place that roman felt as though he might belong. that he might actually be happy.

until octavia’s death, of course. 

roman had loved tragedies until he had become one. that all he was now, tragedy with a heartbeat. was it better to love and have it taken from you? or was it better to have not loved at all? all he knows is that he was certain his heart had endured enough when she’d left the first time, he did not know what egregious sin he’d committed to lose her the second time. there was no peace for him anymore. nothing could quell the rainstorm in his soul. not even the things that used to work. laying out in the library with leather books in hand, walking around campus with the rest of the club and laughter in their voice, coffees with too much sugar, the first snowfall. all of it, devoid of anything but misery. ache. death. the only cure would have come in the form of her, octavia’s nimble fingers in his hair. missing her was so jarring, he felt that it was only a matter of time before he too would join her. 

as naive as it was, roman felt grateful for the ghostly visits. first he’d chalked it up to insanity. what else could it be? at least now he could see her, he could hear her, beyond the times when he pulled up videos of her on his phone while the sounds and sights of her were snuffed out by the sounds of his own wailing. he’d rather a shadow of her presence than nothing at all. 

rage came next. he wanted it to be lysander. needed it to be. lysander was responsible for all dissolution of his happiness. it was lysander who had seduced away the one person he’d ever loved. clearly it had to be lysander who had selfishly expelled her from the world too. it felt easier to condense his hatred to one person… roman wasn’t sure if there was enough space left in him to hate anyone else. but to learn this was wrong? roman had no idea what to make of it. it caused him to wet his sheets each night with sweat, to carve bloody moon imprints onto his palms. he felt ravenous for revenge. 

the brain.

[ based off loosely off of: camille preaker, theodore laurie, ponyboy curtis, & draco malfoy ]

+ romantic: it’s no secret that ro is a massive romantic. anyone who saw him interact with octavia could see it clear as day. he genuinely enjoyed the little things in a relationship many thought organically lessened with the hands of time. however, he continued to be spontaneous, attentive, and sweet. he continued with love notes, and presenting flowers whenever he could. even in the way he looked at his love seemed to be veiled in something ancient, something innate like he’d always known her in all of his lives. roman’s romanticism did not stop at tiv, though. it leaked into his poetry, as intense wafts of emotions always seem to steal our words. but there is even a romantic manner in which he treats his friends. he’s a little bit of your boyfriend when you’re close enough friends, to be perfectly honest. the boy has a earnest love for making those he cares for feel looked after. not all loves are amorous in nature, but that does not mean they are not to be cultivated with the same dedication to magic as the one he shared with his beloved. 

+ empathetic: sometimes a negative, mostly a positive roman has the unbearable burden of a heart too large for his mind. he sees whispers of goodness in every person (save for fucking lysander) even if he does not want to. if someone is under duress, or is wallowing in some sort of pain, roman’s instinct is to alleviate their plight. sometimes it comes begrudgingly, as though someone is holding a gun to his temple to execute such a task. not even a hint of a smile dressing his face, but he does it nonetheless, knowing he may be robbed of his sleep if not. but for his friends, he’d gladly die doing right by their hearts. 

+ noble: perhaps roman is of aristocratic blood after all, because roman is the most noble of them all. he’s not quite sure when the moral compass forged itself into his soul, and when it began to guide nearly all of his actions, but one day he woke up and was highly aware of the importance of sticking to one’s words. once he adopts something as the decent thing to do, he has a hard time shaking it. it shackles him. it ensnares him to do the right thing each time. for this reason, he’s been in trouble a few times for sticking his nose where it doesn’t necessarily belong, getting into tiffs with moronic bullies who pick on others or sleazy men with wandering hands. sometimes he wishes he could just mind his own fucking business. it certainly may have prevented him a black eye or two. 

- cynical: you could almost say that from the moment that roman kissed octavia, he could taste the doom on her lips. he certainly did not anticipate her grim ending, but he always knew she was too good for him. too beautiful, too happy, too perfect. just as her fickle gaze wanders, so shall she. but, this frame of mind was not unique to just this singular circumstance, it was roman’s entire mantra. all good in life would be expunged from him eventually. one must always anticipate the worst, and be pleasantly surprised when things pan out. for example, he’s a writer and yet he studies chemistry. why? because he’s afraid that his writing isn’t as good as he believes and will need a fall back. as of now, his fallback is pharmaceutical school. he finds happy endings in movies to be unbelievable. how is it realistic that everyone ends up happier than ever? bullshit. no fucking way. 

- self-destructive: (tw: drug/alcohol mention) he drenches himself in gasoline with the cynicism, but he lights the match by participating in self-destructive behavior. drinking and drugs become a regular part of ro’s life when he’s lounging in a pool of his own pain. he finds it best to numb it, to muffle the screams of doubt in his head with sharp shops of bourbon and snowy lines of cocaine. besides, he always tells himself it may make him a more interesting writer. what’s life without a little scandal, anyway? 

- aloof: despite having a pure heart, roman has a difficult time expressing himself. with page and pen, he manages to do so, but in person? to unlatch your cage of ribs and let someone inside? to watch the softness in your eyes when you admit a secret, or a snippet of deep affection? his shrink had chalked it up to the fact his parents never told him that they loved him. awkward kisses on the head on birthdays and maybe a stiff hug or two in between, but roman himself has always had a painfully hard time coming across as soft as he truly was, no matter how hard he tries. 

the quirks. 

has a tattoo of joan of arc on the left side of his ribcage. that sounds poetic but he also has a tattoo of the lochness monster with sunglasses on that he got while drunk in mexico one summer break.

presses flowers. usually he presses them to make bookmarks. leaves his favorite ones in his favorite books at the library for people to enjoy. if you ask him directly if he’s behind this random kindness though, he’ll tell you to fuck off.

has a pet goldfish that he’s successfully kept alive for six whole fucking years. her name is peaches. i think he’d fully lose it if peaches kicks it sometime soon too.

incredibly gifted when it comes to billiards. is known to drive further out of town to new bars to hustle people for money.

very much a “here’s my other headphone, let’s stare out the window together depressively” when on buses and train with his friends.

if you listen really hard in the library at like 8 pm, you will find him softly cry into the last book octavia checked out. come say hi, pals!

has very conflicting senses of style. likes clean lines and pristinely clean shirts and slacks which he then pairs with his most worn out chucks, and most lived in sweaters. if his shoes are clean and tidy then he has to be in a leather blazer. has this man ever brushed his hair in his life? absolutely not, but literally nothing he owns will ever appear wrinkled.

only has one pin on his leather messenger bag: “eat the rich” it says, as if he and literally most of his friends don’t consist of “the rich.”

his favorite book is love in a time of cholera

is a bit sentimental. he’s the type to keep movie tickets and receipts from good days he’s had with friends. he has them all in a big box, and when things are too heavy to bear he likes to sift through it all and remember all the pieces in time where things didn’t feel so ghastly. 

carries around a disposable camera. roman’s too lazy to get into actual film, but he likes the concept of physical photos, so he’ll usually have his wallet, keys, a book, and the shitty camera stuffed into his coat at all times. please note that his keys have an obnoxious amount of keychains for a man of his age. his favorite one is a koala whose eyes pop out when you squeeze it, gifted to him by his little sister. keeps a photo of his sister, octavia, and his best friend in his wallet, always.

he still hasn’t finished his book. needless to say, his publisher is really fucking pissed. every time someone brings it up, he says, “it’s almost done.” it’s not. not even close.

always always always makes wishes in fountains. keeps coins on him just for that purpose. and no, he never does reveal what he actually wishes for. 

the letter.

tivi, 

the other day i read somewhere that drowning is relatively quick. between the midst of the panic and terror, the average person only has between thirty to sixty seconds before they involuntarily suck in a mouthful of water. the pain of this process is supposed to be so severe, that you pass out. but just before you do, the lack of oxygen sends you into a state of euphoria. you feel nothing but the swath of water’s gentle embrace. it blankets your thoughts, and the water’s clasp around you is meant to bring you comfort, the same way babies like pools. it feels maternal, safe. i used to think love was like that. both terror and elation ribboned and sandwiched down into a single person. it was morbid, to compare death and love, i know that now. but perhaps my self conscious was always preparing me for this. the death of you. the death of my heart. the death of all things colored and pure in this life, all of which is to be buried with you and our child. do you think our baby would have liked pools? 

the pain is visceral. i can feel it, heavy and harsh in my lungs. in the crevices of my bones. in my arms, where the warmth of you lacks. i can even fucking taste it, even the bitter burn of scotch turning to ash in my mouth. no one knows how to approach this, or what to say to me. i keep receiving tight-lipped looks of people awash with pity and sympathy. you always hated when i cried. i did that a lot, didn’t i? a stupid fucking commercial about a father taking his daughter to ballet class and suddenly i’ve got my fists balled up hot and tight, and my eyes are at the ceiling trying to evaporate the ocean in my face. you were the only one i felt safe enough to be a complete an utter wreck in front of. but don’t worry, your headstone will get regular updates of my too loud, too long series of sobs. i’ll be forever faithful. 

i found ten synonyms in the thesaurus for “miss.” pine for, long to see, ache for, feel the loss of, regret the absence of, yearn for, feel nostalgic for, long for, need. none of them seem to fit this all consuming rot that you left behind in my heart. nonetheless, each of these substitute meanings live inside me. when i walk, i can feel them all shifting around, clashing around my insides, against one another, like bits of a snow-globe. except none of this feels glittery. i know it sounds childish, but before the day begins, and just as the misery begins to sink in, my first instinct is always to reach for my phone and call you to tell you about it. there was always honey to be found in your words. god, i fucking miss you.  

i have much to thank you for. it’d be naive to believe i could shrink all of it down into a single page, but i’ll try my best to do you justice. thank you for your patience, that of a saint at times. thank you for allowing me the great honor of your affection. thank you for every shard of laughter you extended to me. thank you for never calling me out on being a fucking awful dancer when i most certainly was. thank you for being the shepherd to my darkest secrets. [ REDACTED SECRET, BAYBEEEE ]  thank you for existing in my life, and washing my world with worth. i wish i could forget it now, but i’m afraid i’ll be chasing this, you, for the rest of forever. at least i have something to chase, i guess. thank you, thank you, thank you. 

tiv, wherever you are… please know that i love you and have loved you from the very moment we met. i would have died for you, but i don’t know if i can live like this for you. i feel carved out, hollow. you took with you every glimmer of light i had left. it’s too dark now… and enough of the prose for a second, i keep crying so god damn much i can barely see. like literally, i think fucking going blind too now. great. guess it really is dark now, huh baby? you would have hated this joke. 

come back. even just for a little while. i love you. i love you, i love you. should have said it more. 

i love you. 

forever yours, 

ro

the extras. 

pinterest board

spotify playlist

thank you for reading all of this if you did lol.

[starryviolentine]

Brody’s Diary (Revised Edition): Chapter 1/10

Part one of the “Pre-Apocalypse Adventures” Series

Dedicated to @vilavenderm23, who came up with the long-haired Violet headcanon that I adore, for her birthday.

Ever since I found out that Violet and Brody used to be close friends before Minnie and Sophie disappeared, I’ve always wanted to know more about the backstory behind their relationship. This is just my personal pre-apocalypse headcanon about these two precious children. Brody is Violet’s roommate and also her very first friend at Ericson. What happens when Violet gets blamed when Brody’s special diary (aka anxiety relief journal) goes missing?

For as many times Violet has dozed off in science class, today is not one of those days. The science teacher makes an announcement at the beginning of the lesson that tomorrow they would be dissecting a cow’s eye. A real, actual cow eyeball. How cool is that? The eleven-year-old doesn’t even care that Louis is assigned to be her lab partner. For the rest of class, Mr. Stanley shows a slideshow about what to expect during the procedure, complete with detailed explanations of the tools they will use, the anatomy of an eyeball, and lots of grotesque pictures.

There are a few calls of “eww” and “gross” and one kid in the back laughs and makes gagging noises, but Violet has never been more excited about something school related. When the bell—not just the standard end-of-class bell, but the extra-long chime sequence signifying the end of the whole school day—rings, Violet hops up and quickly shoves her things into her backpack, slinging it over one shoulder. There is only one thought on her mind.

She can’t wait to tell Brody.

In just a few more weeks, Violet will have been at Ericson Academy for an entire year. Looking back at her time here, she recalls just how tough things were when she first got to the school. Violet didn’t want to be here at all. She was absolutely miserable. The days went by so slowly that Violet was sure that she was going to go nuts, and then her mother would probably ship her off to a crazy house next. They would lock her up and throw away the key and leave her to rot there for the rest of her life. Not that being at a boarding school was any less awful. On a campus surrounded by tall brick walls and a front gate that’s always locked, Violet felt like a prisoner doomed to serve a life sentence.

Violet didn’t want to make new friends. She didn’t want to go to her boring new classes. She hated—no, despised—being forced to meet with stupid grown-ups who all claimed they wanted to “help” her. Violet didn’t want their help. They were always forcing her to think about things that she just wanted to forget. How was that supposed to help her? Here she was, only eleven years old and already seeing a shrink. Multiple shrinks, actually. Everything about her life was so lousy and depressing that Violet truly believed that things were never going to get any better. And for a while, just like the pessimistic girl expected, they didn’t.

Until they did. 

Nothing at Ericson Academy was worth Violet’s time… with one exception. 

Right from the start, there was one person who was there to talk to her even when Violet had nothing to say. Who kept her company even when she wanted to be left alone. Who smiled at her even when she felt like scowling and flipping everyone the bird. And, well, with someone like that in her life, it was really hard for Violet to stay angry at the world.

That person was Brody. 

If Violet was a raincloud, Brody was the sun. Even during those dark, grey weeks when all she wanted to do was sulk and brood, Brody’s vibrant rays of color always found a way to shine through her cracks and light up her day. Brody is nice and funny, and she tells the best stories—ones that keep everyone on the edge of their seat from beginning to end because the way she tells them sounds like they came straight out of a storybook. As it turns out, having somebody like Brody around makes everything better somehow. Believe it or not, Violet no longer minds being stuck at Ericson’s. 

Well, she doesn’t mind as much.

Violet makes it back to the dormitory and climbs up the stairs to the second floor lounge. Just as she’s about to make up her mind whether to wait there for her friend or just meet her in their room, the twin-tailed girl herself marches straight up to Violet as though she had been waiting for her arrival.

“Not funny, Vi,” Brody starts, hands on her hips and lips turned into a frown. “Give it back.”

Violet has no idea what Brody’s going on about, and the fact that the girl seems angry at her catches her off guard. “What?”

“I know it was you!” Her friend’s voice steadily rises in both volume and pitch as her emotions start to take over.

The confused blonde backtracks and tries to think of what she could have possibly done to make Brody mad, but she can’t think of anything. “What are you talking about?”

“My diary, Vi!” Brody snaps. “Don’t play dumb!”

“I didn’t take your diary.”

The girl scoffs. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Are you sure you didn’t, like, leave it somewhere?” Violet asks. Maybe by giving Brody ideas of where her diary might be, she can prevent this crime from being pinned onto her unfairly. “You take that thing everywhere.”

“It was on my desk this morning and now it’s gone!” Brody yells, stepping closer to Violet and glaring at her. “The only people who can get inside our room are you and Therissa, and I doubt it was her.”

“But I—”

“You’re the one who’s always telling me how dumb it is!”

“Brody, listen!” Violet takes a step back, trying to put a little more distance between them now that her friend is getting uncomfortably close. She itches for some personal space. “I didn’t take it.”

But Brody doesn’t listen. In fact, she doesn’t seem to be hearing anything that Violet’s saying. “Stop, Vi! Just give it back and I won’t get mad!”

You’re already mad, Violet wants to point out, but she holds her tongue. “I don’t have—”

“Don’t you tell me a story!” the livid girl seethes, taking yet another step closer to Violet. “Don’t you dare lie to me! I know it was you!”

Trying to keep her cool despite the growing frustration inside her, Violet clenches her jaw and takes a few deep breaths. Brody keeps cutting her off and she hates it.  “You’re not listen—”

“Do you have… any idea how…” Brody shakes her head, letting out a strained growl. The girl is close to hysterical and is no longer making sense. “You… I can’t…!”

Violet knows how important Brody’s diary is to her. Sure, she’s poked fun at her a few times for writing in it every single day and bringing it with her everywhere she goes, but she would never take it and she needs Brody to know that. She tries one last time to get her friend to listen. “Brody, I really didn’t — ”          

“GIVE. IT. BACK!” Brody bellows, and Violet flinches as the command resonates through her like thunder. For a few seconds she just stands there, shocked. The silence that follows is so deafening that Violet can hear her own heart pounding in her head. Slowly, the words start to sink in and she, too, erupts in a fit of rage.

“Back off!” shouts Violet. Before she even realizes what she’s doing, she reaches out and shoves Brody away forcefully. “I never touched your stupid diary!” As soon as it happens, she regrets it immediately. Brody stumbles backwards but quickly regains her footing. Guilt catching in her throat, Violet backs away a few steps and dares to take a peek up at the auburn-haired girl for her reaction.

Brody has an incredulous look on her face, but it instantly changes back to anger and she points an accusatory finger directly at Violet. “You…! I don’t ever want to talk to you again!” With that, Brody sticks her nose in the air and stomps away, leaving Violet stunned and, to be honest, still really unsure of what just happened.

Suddenly, Violet is hyperaware of all the eyes that are staring at her due to having witnessed the whole ordeal. She needs to get out of there. Doing her best to ignore the whispers and the pointing, she flees from the lounge with her head down so as to not make eye contact with anybody. Thankfully, her shared bedroom isn’t very far. Within a minute Violet bursts into the room, already kicking off her shoes. She climbs up to her top bunk and aggressively flops facedown onto her bed.

There’s a strange, tight feeling in Violet’s chest that won’t go away. It started earlier while Brody was yelling at her, and it lingers as if making sure today’s events stay fresh in her mind. Talk about annoying. Now all Violet can think about is how unbelievably pissed her roommate is, all over something she didn’t even do, and how she very well might have lost her first and only friend at Ericson’s.

“I don’t ever want to talk to you again!”

Growling in frustration into her pillow, Violet curls up and resigns. She doesn’t want to see Brody right now, or even think about Brody, at least not until she gets an apology. Blaming people without any proof isn’t fair, and Violet broods over being wrongly accused by somebody who’s supposed to be her friend. Maybe Brody will come to her senses once she realizes the truth, but, until then, Violet decides that she just won’t care.

[red-wardens]

Red-Warden’s OC Page

Because this is all on my OC Page (that I have a link to on my sidebar), but is therefore inaccessible to those who using tumblr app or tumblr from their non-computer devices, I am copy and pasting my OC Page onto a post for anyone interested :) My Warden Squad + Hawkes + Inquisitors 

Under the cut because pictures + descriptions = long post.

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Picture Credits: Isseya Mahariel (@Vasirah), Kieran Tabris (@noquiethere), Ronan Aeducan (@blue-spectre), Nora Brosca (@chillyrose), Cassian Cousland (@varrric)

Ages: Start of Origins (Dragon 9:30), Start of Inquisition (Dragon 9:41)

Blue Surana: the Leader (my “canon” Warden Commander) and Most Powerful Warden on Squad 

5'4, silence and duty and eccentricity; elf mage, Fire mage (Specialization: Arcane Warrior/Spirit Healer/Battle Mage), royal blue eyes, expressionless face, seldom talks but when she does her voice is very toneless; strong sensitivity to loud sounds/bright lights; generally has a physical touch aversion; True Neutral, Virgo

During Blight: age 18, bobbed white hair tied back and straight-across bangs; has difficulty processing emotions and understanding feelings/actions of others; generally keeps to herself, somewhat scary/spooky aura; 

During Inquisition: age 29, waist-length white hair and straight-across bangs; sclera of eyes is darker and some of her veins are black/blackening due to the taint (affects her more than most Wardens)

LI/sexuality: mutual pining for Sten; Asexual/Grey-romantic

Creator Notes: Though there’s no official word for it in Thedas, in Modern AU Blue is diagnosed as a child with high-functioning Autistic Spectrum Disorder. She is also half-Middle Eastern, half-Indian coded.

Hero of World State 1 (survives Archdemon)

Blue’s Aesthetic Tag

Isseya Mahariel: the Second in Command and the Arlessa of Amaranthine

*also Becomes Warden Commander when Surana steps down to look for Cure for The Calling

5'7, sternness and skill and pride; Dalish Archer, Rogue (Specialization: Ranger), dark green eyes, beautiful but often looks annoyed/disapproving, alcoholic tendencies; low key really likes halla; Lawful Neutral, Capricorn 

During Blight: age 19, thick black hair in long thin braids, impatient but not impulsive, prone to yelling, very prideful and sure of herself, generally unsentimental 

During Inquisition: age 30, the Grey Wardens are her life (married to job trope, but also married to Zev), scars from archdemon fight, firm but fair; wants kids but the Warden taint makes it hard; lost faith in Elven gods but still respects Dalish culture   

LI/sexuality: Zevran Arainai; Heterosexual 

Creator Notes: In Thedas her Mahariel parents are from Rivain; in Modern AU she is Kenyan-Japanese mix coded with predominantly Kenyan culture (understands Swahili). 

Hero of World State 2 (survives Archdemon)

Isseya’s Aesthetic Tag

Alyss Amell: the Healer/medic of Squad; generally non-combatant beyond setting glyphs and in-fight healing

5'2, sweetness and hope and tears; human mage, Creation Mage (Specialization: Spirit Healer/Blood Mage/Rift Mage [by Inquisition time]), pale blue eyes, half-Orlesian and fluent in the language, loves reading/studying, shy and gentle, blushes easily; Chaotic Good, Cancer

During Blight: age 21, light brown hair slightly past shoulders and tied back with a pink ribbon; kind but timid, no self-confidence and no “fight-or-flight” instinct only “freeze and cry"; huge affinity for sweets and breads

During Inquisition: age 32, still kind-hearted but braver and more sure of herself, still shy but can speak up in front of others now, hairstyle now the “bisexual bob”, new hair ribbon is a pale blue 

LI/sexuality: Leliana; Demisexual/Biromantic

Creator Notes: In Thedas her father is Orlesian so her mom Revka Amell decides to keep her maiden name to make it easier on her children; in Modern AU she is French-American coded and was diagnosed with Severe Depression and Generalized Anxiety Disorder at age 14. 

Hero of World State 3 (dies slaying Archdemon)

Alyss’ Aesthetic Tag

Kieran Tabris: the Vanguard, always first to charge into battle

5'9, candidness and loyalty and a fiery temper; City elf, Two-Handed Sword Warrior (Specialization: Templar/Reaver),  motivated by spite and aesthetic (also attention), talks about his mom a lot; Chaotic Neutral, Aries

During Blight: age 20, pretty but petty with a loud foul mouth, has never had a single chill in his life; raging hatred towards humans (except is neutral to human mages), idiotic tendencies, a pain in the ass to Mahariel 

During Inquisition: age 31, has obtained some chill but not much

LI/sexuality: has a son with Morrigan (one night stand, never sees her again, doesn’t want to), was in an on-and-off relationship for a couple years with Velanna but they eventually broke up for good; Bisexual/Grey-romantic (strong aversion to humans). 

Creator Notes: In Thedas he and his mom came to Ferelden from an island to the East of the Amaranthine Sea. His mom married Cyrion after Adaia and City Elf Warden (the real Tabris Warden) both died. Kyung-jae is his real name and “Kieran” was the name he adopted in Ferelden while learning Trade language. He is not blood related to Sorris or Shianni; in Modern AU he is Korean coded and diagnosed with ADHD and ODD when he was 9. In any AU he has poor eyesight. 

Not a ‘Hero of Ferelden’, exists only in Multi-Warden AU

Kieran’s Aesthetic Tag

Ronan Aeducan: the Battle Strategist of Squad; the Lazy Genius™ 

5'0, naps and brilliance and easy-going neutrality, dwarf noble, Two handed Battle Hammer Warrior (Specialization: Berserker/ Spirit Warrior),  great at sketching and painting; good at remaining impartial towards things; Neutral Good, Aquarius

During Blight: age 27, man-bun and many earrings, avoids responsibilities but is chill to talk to; huge guilt complex and overthinks things but keeps anxiety and intrusive thoughts to himself

During Inquisition: age 38, generally the same but slightly less lazy; has reconciled with his past and mostly found peace

LI/sexuality: n/a; Asexual/Aromantic

Creator Notes: In Thedas, while his brothers look like their father, Ronan looks like his mother. Modern AU he is Indian coded and can speak Hindi and English.

Not a ‘Hero of Ferelden’, exists only in Multi-Warden AU

Ronan’s Aesthetic Tag

Nora Brosca: the Wildcard of Squad; great in battle, not so great at taking orders

4'8, laughter and blades and boldness, dwarf commoner, Dual-Wielding Axe Rogue (Specialization: Assassin/Legionare Scout); Chaotic Neutral, Leo

During Blight: age 22, medium-length wild red hair and freckles, jokes and puns; solves problems with murder, kleptomaniac tendencies and habitual liar; brave but not loyal (self-preserving)

During Inquisition: age 33, shorter red hair and more freckles, even more jokes and puns; has had casteless tattoos removed; nugs are now friends not food; now deeply loyal to friends/wardens

LI/sexuality: Sigrun, Lesbian

Creator Notes: In Modern AU she is German coded born and raised in Brazil, speaks fluent Portuguese. 

Not a ‘Hero of Ferelden’, exists only in Multi-Warden AU

Nora’s Aesthetic Tag

Cassian Cousland: the Tank of Squad; the “Stay Behind Me” Hero

5'11 (slouching) 6'1 (prosper posture), kindness and justice and passion; human noble, Sword and Shield Warrior (Specialization: Champion/Guardian), moves his hands a lot while talking, laughs easily, passionate romantic, will always do The Right Thing™ but often struggles deciding what the “right thing” is; Lawful Good, Libra

During Blight: age 24, scruffy hair, adopts all the dogs, long scar from top to bottom left of face from Rendon Howe; likes to journal everything and write stories,

During Inquisition: age 35, slightly longer scruffy hair, adopts more dogs and orphans of Mage-Templar War, has published some of his books

LI/sexuality: Nathaniel Howe; Gay

Creator Notes: In Thedas his mother’s parents are from Antiva and he can speak Antivan, moderate PTSD from his experiences during the Blight; in Modern AU he is Mexican coded and speaks fluent Spanish and English. 

Not a ‘Hero of Ferelden’, exists only in Multi-Warden AU

Cassian’s Aesthetic Tag

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Aesthetic Boards: Click here to see their pretty aesthetics!

My OC’s Summarized in 5 GIFs: Click here!

What they each think of The Taint/The Calling: Click for Mild Angst

If they each had 1 Pokemon: Click to see their partner!

My OC’s Zodiac/Astrology Sign Explanations: Click if Curious

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Claira Hawke: the “Champion” of Kirkwall; the Hot/Cold Mess

5'5, conversation and anxiety and adaptability; Blue-Red Hawke, human, Dual Sword Rogue (Specialization: Shadow), Alyss Amell’s cousin; dynamic but fickle, brave but get panic attacks, literally runs away from problems, changes demeanor depending on who she is with; Neutral Good, Gemini

Fled to Kirkwall: age 25, good intentions but has no clue what she’s doing, fumbles around and gets by on more luck than skill (sometimes wit), weary around strangers but won’t shut up around friends, her mabari’s name is Bear.

During Inquisition: age 36, takes Anders (and their 3-year old son Silas) to the Wardens to hide them there with her cousin and her friends while she goes help the Inquisition 

LI/sexuality: Anders; disaster Bi

Creator Notes: In Modern AU she is English coded and has had Panic Disorder and several eating disorders since she was 13. Loves cats but is allergic to them (and to many other things).

Champion for World State World State 3 and the Multi-Warden AU

Important Headcanon: In the Multi-Warden AU, both twins live (Varric lies to Cassandra that Carver died to keep his whereabouts hidden) - Carver becomes a Warden and Bethany a Circle Mage; but in her canon World State 3, both of the twins die (Carver is killed by the ogre, Bethany dies during the Deep Roads Expedition)

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Claira’s Aesthetic Tag

Henley Hawke, The Champion of Kirkwall; the Insomniac Goth 

5'10, tired eyes and sharp edges and blunt apathy; Red Hawke, human, Spirit/Primal focused Mage (Specialization: Blood Mage), tattoos to hide dark-eye bags, rude and anti-social attitude mostly because she’s so exhausted all the time from her insomnia; Neutral Evil, Taurus

Fled to Kirkwall: age 25, cool, capable yet completely uninterested in anything but making gold and keeping her rivaled brother Carver and her mabari “Better Carver” (“BC”) alive. Very “I’m not here to help anyone or make friends,” (Varric is literally her only friend)

LI/sexuality: Sebastian Vael (Rivalmanced); pan-romantic/asexual

Creator Notes: In Modern AU she is Irish coded and still has chronic mediation-treated insomnia. Also she’s very goth punk and dyes her hair often. In Thedas she uses magic to make it that color of burgandy. 

Champion for World State 2 

Described in 5 Gifs

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[alivinghopes]

Emotional Numbness

Weekly Discussion

At some point or another we’ve all heard these words before:

“Suck it up princess!” “Be a man!” “Stop being a cry-baby,” “Get over it,” “Stop being so sensitive,” “Get thicker skin!”

While these words were likely spoken without consciously intending us long-term harm, they nevertheless point to a common and undeniably tragic truth in our society: that expressing your emotions is a sign of weakness, rather than strength.

If you were born into an emotionally repressed culture that valued the “masculine” ideals of efficiency and logic, it is likely that you struggle with some level of emotional numbness.

If you were born into a family that shunned any form of strong emotional expression, it is even more likely that emotional numbing is an issue for you.

And if you experienced an extremely traumatic life event that was simply too overwhelming for you to handle (from which you haven’t recovered), I can almost guarantee that you suffer from emotional numbness.

So how does emotional numbness impact virtually every part of our life? And what advice can I share with you after going through my own struggle with this issue? Keep reading and you’ll find out.

What is Emotional Numbness?

Emotional numbness is a defense mechanism employed by the mind to avoid intense and overwhelming emotions such as fear, hatred, jealousy, and grief. When you go emotionally numb, you lose the ability to feel and experience your emotions on a psychological and emotional level. In this sense, emotional numbness is often clinically connected with dissociation, which is the disconnection from one’s memories, identity, environment, body, or senses.

What Causes Emotional Numbness?

As with most issues, emotional numbness goes back to childhood and the way we were raised by our parents. Being abused by our parents physically, emotionally, sexually, psychologically, or spiritually can contribute towards our inability to self-regulate emotions, which results in emotional numbness. Feeling alienated or disconnected from one or both of our parents, or family at large, can also contribute towards emotional numbness. Being punished whether directly or indirectly for expressing our emotions in childhood also creates emotional numbness.

Numbing our emotions may also start after a severely traumatic experience, such as witnessing acts of violence, being assaulted, experiencing rape, suffering intense loss, or anything that we didn’t have the capacity to psychologically and emotionally handle in the moment. For this reason, emotional numbness is often a symptom of PTSD and various anxiety disorders.

Emotional numbness is also influenced by our culture and wider social circles, particularly those that emphasize being stoic, rational, and emotionally invulnerable (e.g., British, Chinese, American, Russian).

The Danger of Emotional Numbness

If you even have the slightest inkling that you might be emotionally numb, it’s time to listen up. Emotional numbness is not a small character flaw or minor area of self-growth to improve in – it is a serious problem which needs to be addressed immediately.

Speaking from experience, emotional numbness has formed the root of many issues I have faced (and still continue to face) in my life. Due to my upbringing in an emotionally stunted, dogmatically religious family whom I felt disconnected from for the majority of my life, I never learned how to handle strong emotions. I was punished verbally, emotionally or physically anytime I expressed strong emotions, and freethinking or any form of dissent was rejected, resulting in being ostracized.

The combination of having a British father and a mother who was traumatized by her own emotionally unstable mother – on top of an oppressive fundamentalist religion – led to grooming me as a stoic and “stable” person who was taught that expressing emotions was not only bad but shameful.

As you can see, sometimes there are numerous factors at play that may contribute to your inability to regulate intense emotions, and therefore resort to unconsciously numbing them. In my case, I learned that strong emotions = punishment in one form or another, and so I learned that they were dangerous to experience.

The danger of disconnecting from your emotions is that it can lead to a host of mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual issues. Such issues may include dysfunctional coping mechanisms (obsessive compulsions), mild to severe depression, spiritual emptiness, inability to enjoy life, inability to form close and fulfilling relationships, disconnection from inner self, confusion, irritability, fatigue, addictions, chronic illnesses, and somatic illnesses (illnesses produced by the mind). In extreme cases (and I’m talking about situations where emotional contact is nil), emotional numbness can lead to acts of cruelty.

Why is it ‘the Secret Illness’?

I call emotional numbness the secret illness because it is so pervasive in our society, and so socially acceptable, that it often flies underneath the radar. In a society that largely doesn’t know how to handle strong emotions in healthy ways, being stoic and “level-headed” is valued – yet this very same calm and collected facade often conceals unhealthy detachment from one’s feelings. Thus, emotional numbness is a secret illness because so many of us struggle with it, yet don’t even realize that we have it until chronic issues start emerging.

13 Signs You’re Struggling With Emotional Numbness

Emotional detachment is not always a bad thing. It comes in handy when you need to maintain boundaries, avoid undesired energy overload from others, and even help others in crisis situations. But emotional detachment turns into its unhealthy twin (emotional numbness) when it becomes an automatic inner defense mechanism. “What’s so great about feeling strong emotions?” you might ask. The answer is that without feeling our emotions, we don’t have the capacity to live and learn from them or experience the beauty and depth of life.

Here are some of the most significant signs of emotional numbness that you should look out for:

Inability to express strong negative or positive emotions

Inability to “fully participate” in life (i.e., feeling like you’re a passive observer)

Feeling that life is like a dream (a sense unreality)

Living on autopilot

Lack of interest in activities others find enjoyable

Feeling distant from others

The tendency to withdraw from friends and family members

Emotions are only felt in the body as sensations, but not by the mind (or else are completely muted in the body and show up only as illness)

Dislike of people who express strong emotions (both positive and negative)

Not feeling anything in situations that would usually generate strong emotion

Panic or terror when strong emotions eventually breakthrough

Feeling empty inside

Physical and emotional numbness or “flatness”

In extreme circumstances (such as in PTSD sufferers), emotional numbness may even influence the desire to commit suicide. If you are considering suicide, please seek out support immediately.

How to Overcome Emotional Numbness?

Like any psychological defense mechanism, emotional numbing can be complex to deal with, and often requires support from a trained professional such as a therapist.

If you feel that emotional numbness is significantly impairing your life, please do an act of self-compassion and seek out support either locally or online (there are even free counselling services online).

For the time being, here are some helpful practices which I have personally found to increase my ability to feel, cope with, and express strong emotions:

Anchor yourself to your body. As mentioned above, emotional numbing is connected to dissociation (mental disconnection from one part of yourself). In my case, whenever I experience strong emotions, my automatic response is to either (a) only feel the emotions in my body, not my mind, or (b) to have a complete meltdown. In both cases, one of the best self-soothing mechanisms I’ve learned is to anchor myself to my body through mindfulness and physical contact. Similar to what a mother does with her child, I tightly but gently hold one area of my body – usually my hand or stomach. This method helps me to feel contained and grounded in my body. I also recommend using shapewear or a pressure vest to help you in extremely emotionally turbulent periods to anchor yourself to your body (here is a good example of shapewear). Shapewear is used by women and men to keep “love handles” and other body parts slim and defined. For our purposes, shapewear is like a hug to the body that will help you feel safe and ‘held together.’ Pressure vests are a little more expensive and they are used by people with sensory integration disorders (such as autism) to relax.

Deep breathing. Whether used alone or in conjunction with the above-mentioned technique, deep breathing is a simple and easy way to help you mindfully move through whatever you’re experiencing. This practice is particularly useful when intense feelings such as fear or rage break through. There are many books out there that talk about the importance of deep breathing (such as this one), and there are many online tutorials with breathing techniques. I recommend sticking to something simple, something you don’t have to think about too much, and something that doesn’t feel forced. The point of deep breathing isn’t to follow someone else’s technique perfectly, it is to use your breath (in whatever way suits you), to calm your mind and body. Also, I recommend breathing slowly, deeply, and softly instead of forcing deep breaths (which can increase anxiety) – let your breath be natural. Read more about how to relax using deep breathing.

Keep a journal of sad thoughts. I realize this suggestion may sound a tad bit melancholic, but it’s a practice worthy of your time and effort, particularly if you’re wanting to feel and express your emotions. Journaling is also a powerful form of shadow work (a way to express what you would usually suppress). In a physical journal or online diary, spend five to ten minutes every day writing down something which triggers even the slightest pang of sadness in you. For example, you might write down a memory of your dog who died, an issue in the world, something someone said to you, a scene from a movie, a daily struggle or virtually anything that is upsetting (or what you imagine would be upsetting). Creating a sad thoughts diary has two main benefits. One, it helps you express your emotions, even if in an indirect way at first. And two, it acts as a catalyst for feeling and letting out your emotions, particularly when you need momentum (I’ll elaborate more on this soon). Always try to finish your sad thought journaling with something uplifting, like reading the uplifting news subreddit, spending time with someone you love, playing with a pet, or watching something entertaining on YouTube or Netflix.

Catharsis (let it all out, baby!). When emotionally numbing ourselves becomes our default defense mechanism, we tend to have a huge amount of suppressed emotion lying just beneath our conscious awareness. In order to safely and effectively express your suppressed emotions, try some form of catharsis. Catharsis may involve screaming into or punching a pillow, using your sad thoughts journal (mentioned above) to stimulate sadness and crying, intense emotional-fuelled exercise, impassioned dancing, or dynamic meditation. Regular catharsis should be a must on your journey. Without regularly ‘letting it all out,’ you run the risk of experiencing the repercussions of festering emotions (i.e., depression, emptiness, chronic illness, etc.).

Yoga and self-massage. Yoga is a well-known way of helping to clear and balance your energy. Not only that, but yoga often has a way of releasing emotions stored in the body. I recommend doing slow and gentle forms of yoga such as Hatha yoga for at least ten minutes a day. Remember, the goal isn’t to become some Instagram-perfect yoga star; it is to connect with your body, mind, and heart. The truth is that our unexpressed and repressed emotions are often stored within our bodies. I like to think of our bodies as being reflections of our unconscious mind: they are maps that help us to figure out what we are keeping locked away, and what unresolved issues we need to face. In my article about chronic muscle tension, I list the nine types of emotions trapped in different areas of the body. In order to release these emotions, I regularly use something called the ‘Acuball’ to introduce fresh blood flow and energy into these tense areas. I like the Acuball because it gives me a deep tissue massage, while also helping me to stay grounded in my body, relax, and release pent-up stress. (You can get the Acuball here).

Creatively express your feelings (or lack thereof). Write a song, doodle in a journal, paint a picture, create a collage, find some way of expressing what emotion you last felt. If you struggle to feel anything at all, express that artistically. Grab those greys and blacks and turn that damn page into your own work of art. Pay attention to how you feel afterward. Does even the slightest feeling of satisfaction enter you? Journal about these emotions.

Take care of your inner child. As it was your child self that likely copped the trauma that caused you to default to emotional numbing, take care of this part of you. Practice inner child work and find ways of comforting and nurturing this vulnerable place within you. You may even like to create empowering affirmations for your inner child to help him or her access emotions. For example, you might repeat to yourself when you are in a difficult circumstance, “It is OK for me to feel,” “It is safe for me to feel sad,” “My anger is valid,” “Being vulnerable is being strong,” and so forth.

Dedicate space and time to feeling. In our busy lives, it is very easy to numb and distract ourselves with social media, the TV, shopping, food, social commitments, and other things that constantly cause us to look outside. Looking inside is much harder and requires far more self-discipline, hence why most people don’t do it. If you are serious about overcoming your emotional numbness, you will need to dedicate space and time to all of the activities I have mentioned in this article. If you struggle with self-discipline, I recommend making yourself externally accountable by joining a meditation group or other practice to help you turn inwards. Please don’t skip this step, it is imperative that you spend time exploring your inner self, and in particular, what you are repressing and why.

ㅤ

Emotional Numbness Q&A

Here are some commonly asked questions about emotional numbness. Hopefully they’ll answer any remaining concerns or thoughts you may have about this topic:

What causes emotional detachment?

The simple answer is trauma. Usually, emotional detachment (or numbness) can be linked to early childhood experiences such as being abused mentally, emotionally, sexually, or physically. However, not everyone who experiences emotional detachment had tough childhoods. Sometimes, other traumatizing experiences later in life can trigger emotional detachment as a protective mechanism (such as divorce, job loss, rape, illnesses, war, etc.).

Can numbness be a sign of anxiety?

Yes, emotional numbness can mask intense feelings of anxiety – it’s the mind’s way of protecting itself from being flooded by overwhelming emotions. Numbness is a primal reaction to fear and is also known as the freeze response. There are three main reactions to anxiety-provoking situations that we have: fight, flight, and freeze.

How to fix emotional numbness?

To fix, or rather regain the ability to feel again, it’s important to be gentle with yourself. Try reconnecting with your body, practicing deep breathing, doing some catharsis, journaling, and creating a safe environment for yourself. Seeking out professional support is usually crucial, as emotional numbness is usually a major sign of a traumatized nervous system. To regulate your nervous system, you need a safe holding environment, which a professional therapist/counsellor can provide.

[beccawastaken]

My life summarized Pt. 1...

I started this blog cause there is always so much in my head, it moves at the speed of light, some of it makes complete and utter sense, some of it sounds great til the very second it rolls off my tongue and then sounds nothing like it did in my head, some of it is just random nonsensical stuff that seems to have fallen off a stand up comedians cue cards and straight into the part of my psyche that prefers her own lyrics. It makes it very hard to focus on one task to completion, I even tend to put down my guitar and journal for months on end...so sad!

I must admit that I have worked my ass off to try to make some kind of sense of it all and now when I am unable to rather than let frustration take over I tend to find my random head ramblings amusing. I mean it is often a frustrated, shaking my head at myself kind of amusing but still...baby steps right? 

Sometimes the thoughts can be so intense and so rapid that its overwhelming and it takes every ounce of my strength not to scream til it stops. At its worst its almost like there are so many thoughts moving so quickly that it can sound like a constant high pitch buzz in my head. Super exhausting, and difficult to explain to those around you. People tell me to just go to sleep...ever tried sleeping with a shop vac on or inside a construction site? That would be comparable to this, plus, sleeping also isn't my forte so I’m double fucked so to speak.

The human mind and psyche intrigues me to no end. The way it works, and how the basic brain functions are the same across society yet our perception and the cogs and wheels inside each skull are as unique as our deoxyribonucleic acid. For each and every one of us, the way we tick can be vastly different from one another, from the person beside you on the bus, to that guy you’ve worked with for years to a lover or spouse and often really have no way of knowing. I mean how often do we turn to each other and say “can we talk about how your brain works?” We just take for granted that it does and don’t give it a second thought.(haha you will come to notice my love for puns)

Its the intricate differences between us that keep me interested in this self sabotaging species, I mean really, Earth doesn’t need humans to survive, in fact it may be better off without us! Who knows, what I do know is that while im here on this seemingly massive planet im going to make the most of it. 

I have a wicked sense of humour (ask anyone haha) and I enjoy messing with people (in a jovial way of course). Im talking like practical joke type of messing with people, light, innocent funny shit. I have been referred to as a brain ninja...I took it as a compliment, however, when you are on the receiving end its possible that it isnt nearly as enjoyable. I do my best not to be mean (I said I do my best, I am not perfect) cause you know, I’m no psycho, although some will attest to that statement not being true, I have honed my inner psycho and now only use her when absolutely necessary. Like if some douchelord crosses one of my angels or my grandson. Then my wrath should be feared, simple enough right? (WOW that escalated quickly! O_O)

I just do not want to waste my life, I spent so much of it not knowing how to handle daily life, assuming (naturally cause why wouldn’t I as a single child raised by someone that constantly blamed others and the world for her problems) that everyone’s mind worked the same, everybody deals with the racing and loops of thoughts you cant kick, or falls asleep with a song stuck in they’re head and wakes up and it starts again as if paused. Every morning. (Don’t drop that duh duh duh....grrr) For days! I mean doesn't everybody worry about every move they make, and lay in bed with they’re eyes closed trying to sleep and checking the clock twenty minutes later only to find SURPRISE, its been three hours! Or this relentless saviour complex I have, I can solve almost anyone's problem or at least help them find a path they are more comfy with but for years when it came to mine, I just couldn’t. This is just a few of the things i deal with or have been forced to deal with this life, Im sure i will touch on more. 

I have my children to thank for helping me learn how to deal with my version of life and not giving up on me when I know it would have been easier at times. (Dont drop that duhduhduh....ugh) I want to be honest in this blog, I pride myself on my honesty yet shy away from the darker, not so beautiful sides of who I am as if they don’t exist to the outside world. The thing is, I do not look sick, in fact I look great, besides a few extra pounds. My illness is not a physical one yet it has complete control from the inside out a lot of the time. I work very hard on a daily basis so I do not look like I am falling apart.

I feel emotions at a much higher level than the majority of humanity, I know this now. I don’t feel a lil bit of anything, if im sad, im so sad that even just being in my presence can break your heart. If something good happens and I feel a twinge of joy, I literally have to physically hold myself still sometimes cause it will surge like a lightening bolt through me and often some strange squeak comes out, fingers fully extended as if the energy just exploded form my core and out my extremities. Then, just as fast as it surges it disappears and there I am a woman bordering forty with this maniacal smile on my face like the joker and hair standing up like the professor from Back to The Future. Its quite a sight I am sure, and as much as it has been really hard to work with this side of myself I would rather be inside looking out and have to fix my hair then the onlookers forced to decide between the choice to ask if I am alright or back away slowly. Same with anger, although we have a bit of a deeper connection than other emotions, yea, thats right, we tight. Let me explain...or try;

I like to think my anger trigger point was when grandpa died, but looking back that is ridiculous, I was pissed at both my parents for what they put me through during the divorce but refused to take it out on them, they were in enough pain, they couldn't see it but i sure could.  When I am angry I scare people, I seem to fear nothing (not sure if that’s brave or not) and once I am angry there is no going back, I am completely incorrigible, illogical and refuse to listen. I have scared off men twice my size, not with violence of the physical kind, my verbal violence can be so articulated that I honestly think some people are scared to the core. I have shocked myself at times and thats not easy. Once I realized that I was growing into my version of the hulk I had to do something, I was starting to hate everyone and everything. 

I started replacing the empty yet extremely fucked up (for lack of a better word) threats with just simply making light of what it was that triggered me, albeit in an aggressive manner however it has proven effective in attempting to analyze what set me off and try to stop the rage fuelled rant.

I really wanted to give you an example but as I was trying to find one it proved difficult so im gonna call that progress. Anyway this venting became humorous to those around me, they all knew me so well that they would turn they’re heads and try not to laugh (ever been laughed at when your livid? its not cool, same as if are upset and someone says ‘calm down’ calm down, CALM DOWN?! like fuck off n all if you honestly believe im not trying, you think i wanna feel this way? like this is some kind of sick joke for me? pfft people!) in an attempt to not be caught in the crossfire of my verbal war. 

At first this angered me too (go figure, Hulkbitch) then one day, someone laughed and I took a step back and thought about what I had said and started laughing. Clearly my loved ones weren't laughing at my agony, but the words and descriptions i used to figure it out did tend to be funny. It takes a lot for me to get angry like that now, if I do tho, I still vent with sarcastic wit and make myself laugh to bring myself out of it. 

I think I have myself in line pretty well now, I guess I should give some history here, I was a very happy child on the outside but a ball of nerves within, my mother was extremely mentally ill (which i did not know til after her passing) and my father was a violent alcoholic. Luckily I was sheltered from the worst of what they put each other through as they separated when I was 2, but fought and fought and fought over me for nine years. My mum would insist dad never wanted me he just didn't want her to have me, said that I was never good enough in his eyes cause he wanted a boy. Dad, would point out the homeless lady pushing all her belongings in a shopping cart and say “hey kid, thats where your mum is headed, just you watch”. I know now they were just dealing in their own ways with what was happening between them but it really messed with me. 

My father, my daddy, quit drinking not long after the separation, i to this day believe that he did this not only for himself but for me, to show me that no matter what you can make changes, just gotta face the problem head on and deal with it so you can move past it. He was always a tough, vulgar, strong, stubborn, hilarious and short lil french man with an ego the size of Goliath. He taught me not to take shit from anyone if I believed in the topic at hand and to learn to turn a cold shoulder when needed. Emotions were not discussed, Im not even sure to this day if I can remember him ever saying I love you, but he didn’t have to, I know he did. 

Mum had her own ways of dealing over the years, she was all emotion, raw and uncut. She would always react first, think later, which meant she felt the need to apologize a lot.  For her mistake, for not being good enough, for not doing well enough this was so hard to watch. She would repeat the same self defeating patterns she had been doing her whole life and expecting things to change. Definition if insanity much? shitty part is back then they had no fucking idea what insanity was, nor did they care to look. Had someone just took her side and spoke for her she would still be here, if only she was honest with me about how sick she was, I may never have gotten as sick as I did. She thought she was protecting me...

This woman was the sun to my moon and I loved her more than words can ever express. She never believed me when I said it, she always said right up til the end that nobody ever loved her. I know this was not true cause I figured my dad wouldn't get so mad about stuff if he didn't care, the opposite of love is not hate, its indifference. Mum was always in and out of the hospital and it was super hush hush, I assumed she had cancer. I was petrified to lose her, so I didn’t ask questions, just waited.

The custody battle went on and on, I remember my dad pushing our 1970somthing car up the street for some reason, didn't phase me much. I just said “oh look theres my daddy, he looks mad!”. We went to Expo ‘86 in British Columbia and mum was subpoena’d to come back to the prairies for court immediately, so she had to leave her vacation just to go back and find out it was remanded.  They were both so angry all the time, I thought it was my fault...had I not been there there would be nothing left to fight about right?

Okay so divorce was finalized when I was 11...Grandma and grandpa (mums side) loved the shit out of me too, ive seen pics of gramma in the military which made sense as I grew up as to why she was so tough but she must have been retired by time I was born. They bought an old ‘70s van and converted it into beds in the back, a table and even a port a potty! They lovingly got personalized plates with my name and the number “2″ after it. They took really good care of me, always loved me and wanted what was best.

I remember around 10yrs old I realized my initials were B.S. and I was not impressed at all as not one word that came out my mouth (at that age) was BS. I was insulted and wanted it changed, plus I knew it would make mum happy if I changed my name to hers. The divorce was finalized my initials were changed to B.J....JUST in time for puberty, (woooooooo) yeah, didn't live that one down for a very long time.

My reason for bringing up my grandparents is so that you all know that aside from this somewhat bleak story thus far, I had many people that loved me, including mum and dad, they just preferred to fight about it. 

Shit, fuck, damn, I just had a memory, not a good one but I spoz thats why our brains block things out eh? I do not know how this came about, my mother was very abused growing up and it took a toll on her.  I remember mum and the  grandparents fighting, i remember gramma telling mum to get her head out of her ass and i remember trying to picture that...I was not going to be seeing them for a while til things cooled down.

Mum was sure that my grandpa had molested me, I am not going to say it didn’t happen but as far as I can recall my grandpa was the sweetest most loving man ever. anyway, mum was questioning me, yelling, badgering me and generally acting crazy i spoz, this was before I know what that looked like.  She kept asking inches from my face if he had done anything to me and i maintained that he hadn’t. Finally hours later I was tired and hungry and she was clearly still psychotic she yelled at me are you sure (for the millionth time) I finally yelled out “fine, he did it!” I had no idea what he had done, or when, cause i wasn't there i just wanted her to stop. She was making herself crazy and it broke my heart. I didn't see my grandparents again for three years. Grandpa had gone senile and was not himself, didnt remember close family members etc. When I got there, I ran in the house and we met at the doorway, me at the bottom of the entrance stairs and him at the top. I smiled, and he looked at me puzzled, then started crying, then laughing then crying. I was so glad he got to remember me. I missed him so much.

This was all before I was even a teenager. Grandpa died not long after he was put in a care home cause gramma wasn't able to care for him. His death was my first experience with such a thing, I had no way of knowing how to deal with a loss like this...so I guess I just didn’t.

[writingguide003-blog]

Follow these 23 comedians and writers to survive the Trump era

New Post has been published on https://writingguideto.com/must-see/follow-these-23-comedians-and-writers-to-survive-the-trump-era/

Follow these 23 comedians and writers to survive the Trump era

Lindy West (left), Van Jones (center), Paul Krugman (right)

Image: Evan agostini/rainmaker photo/paul vallejos/ap

We’re sorry America, but for many of you, your deepest, darkest nightmare has finally come true: the questionably coherent reality television star of white nationalist dreams has officially become leader of the free world. Donald Trump is president.

It’s been less than a month since Trump won the election, and Americans everywhere are looking for signs of hope and reassurance. Sure, there’s no data to support a theory of hope (just spend a nanosecond on Trump’s Twitter, before closing your eyes very tight). But there are writers and comedians on Twitter who can provide something close to it, and remind you that there are other caring, reasonable people out there sort of like you.

SEE ALSO: Everyday household objects more qualified for public office than Trump’s cabinet

Below is a list of people to follow on various social platforms who can help you survive the next four years.

If just want someone to tell you it’s going to be OK (without lying)

1. Van Jones

Van Jones might be best known as the astute CNN commentator who popularized the term whitelash, but in recent weeks the pundit has unofficially become the nation’s de facto therapist. His most recent three-part video series interviewing Trump supporters made reaching across the aisle seem actually plausible, and he was one of the few liberal pundits to successfully predict Trump’s rise.

If you need to be reminded you that there are still rational, compassionate, not-Steve Bannon conservatives out there

2. Evan McMullin

McMullin, the former House GOP policy director who ran against Trump in the 2016 election, has been loudly denouncing the PEOTUS for embracing his party’s extremist white nationalist fringe.

Remaining silent now is allowing the Party of Abraham Lincoln to drift towards the Party of David Duke. https://t.co/JGEllCQZ3Q

Evan McMullin (@Evan_McMullin) November 23, 2016

3. Ana Navarro

Navarro, a conservative and CNN contributor, has been lashing out at her party for the past year, inspiring some of the best GIFS and tweets of this election, or any election, ever.

This @ananavarro speech could be the best single moment in the campaign pic.twitter.com/6zVBwbquXH

Seth Abramovitch (@SethAbramovitch) October 8, 2016

4. David Frum

Frum, senior editor at The Atlantic, is a moderate neoconservative who is so eminently rational and clever it almost makes neoconservatism seem cool?

If flag-burning merits loss of citizenship, what should be the penalty for a Nazi salute by a Trump supporter?

David Frum (@davidfrum) November 29, 2016

If you need to know that there’s still love in this world

5. DeRay McKesson

DeRay, a leading activist in the Black Lives Matter movement, produces a Twitter feed that is simultaneously full of grief, critique, and meaningful calls to action. He’s best known for tweeting “I love my blackness, and yours,” but there’s so much more like it.

Sleep well, y’all. Remember to dream.

deray mckesson (@deray) December 1, 2016

If you want to know if you’ll still have a job in four years

6. Paul Krugman

The New York Times columnist, economist and on-the-nose curmudgeon carefully and methodically debunks each one of Trump’s obscene assertions about the economy with get ready for it actual facts.

Another metric: Trump would have to do one Carrier-sized deal a week for 30 years to save as many jobs as Obama’s auto bailout

Paul Krugman (@paulkrugman) November 30, 2016

If you want to take down Trump and build a brand-new beautiful world (or something)

7. Rebecca Solnit

The author best known for Men Explain Things to Me (think: mansplaining) doesn’t have a Twitter account but does have an active Facebook following, where she shares calls to action and deeply empathetic essays that remind you why you want to make those calls in the first place.

8. Representative Keith Ellison

The progressive Congressman is gunning to become the next head of the DNC. Anyone who’s anyone (dorks) are watching Ellison to see what kind of vision he has planned for the party.

My plan for the DNC:https://t.co/stLKdNIOIA

Rep. Keith Ellison (@keithellison) December 1, 2016

If you want to spend the next four years laughing in a subtle-yet-depressed way

9. OhNoSheTwitnt

The comedian who delivered some excellent masturbation jokes in the pre-Trump era has now dedicated herself full-time to witnessing the (potential impending) apocalypse around us so we don’t have to.

Hopefully Trump won’t accept the results of the election if he wins.

(((OhNoSheTwitnt))) (@OhNoSheTwitnt) November 9, 2016

10. Maura Quint

Her feed isn’t all Trump (thank God) but when she goes there, she doesn’t let go.

I’d rather see someone burn the flag in an act of protest than wear it to the beach over their crotch thinking that was an act of respect

maura quint (@behindyourback) November 30, 2016

11. Kumail Nanjiani

The actor and comedian from Silicon Valley and Portlandia carefully balances despair with more despair.

This is the first time in our lives that fighting Nazis doesn’t require a time machine.

Kumail Nanjiani (@kumailn) November 22, 2016

12. Dave Itzkoff

Of course, the world is imploding around you but you’re not the only one who sees it. Itzkoff, and this Kermit GIF, does too.

Mr. Trump, acts of hate are being committed in your name around the country! TRUMP: … They might recount an election you won” TRUMP: pic.twitter.com/3yqluEJFqU

Dave Itzkoff (@ditzkoff) November 27, 2016

If you just really need someone to cut through the bullshit. All of it.

13. Joy Reid

Say what you will about MSNBC, but commentator Joy Reid has committed her Twitter feed/full life to exposing each and every one of Trump’s lies, hypocrisies, and wild allegations. Nothing seems to pass by her. (Truly nothing. She’s on Twitter a lot).

Trump claims the world will “respect us again” despite the fact that under Obama respect for the U.S. is high while the world loathes Trump.

Joy Reid (@JoyAnnReid) December 2, 2016

14. Jon Favreau

Favreau was Obama’s chief speechwriter from 2005 to 2013 and is now host of the podcast “Keepin’ it 1600.” Don’t believe that tiny bit of good news about Trump that the rest of the world has on blast? He doesn’t either.

The most bizarre part about “nasty woman” is that it came during an answer about the Social Security Trust Fund.

Jon Favreau (@jonfavs) October 20, 2016

15. Julia Ioffe

Columnist and Politico writer Julia Ioffe will, thankfully, never force you to find the silver lining.

IDEA: What if you could strip someone of their citizenship for their tweets?

Julia Ioffe (@juliaioffe) November 30, 2016

If you’re a teensy weensy bit concerned that our planet is on its way to hell

16. Neil deGrasse Tyson

The celebrity astrophysicist (who ever thought there would be such a thing?) has more than 6 million followers and is the voice of reason in a world of climate change deniers.

#IDreamOfAWorld where Politicians are scientifically literate, empowering them to make informed decisions that affect us all.

Neil deGrasse Tyson (@neiltyson) November 27, 2016

If you lack the words to describe what you’re feeling right now

17. Merriam-Webster

Sure, it’s a dictionary. But language is inherently political, and the mysterious talented ghost who runs Merriam Webster‘s Twitter right now has done some of the best subtweeting of the election season.

‘Fascism’ is still our #1 lookup.

# of lookups = how we choose our Word of the Year.

There’s still time to look something else up.

Merriam-Webster (@MerriamWebster) November 29, 2016

If you want to know if what Trump is doing is legal (it’s probably not)

18. Laurence Tribe

The liberal scholar and constitutional law professor at Harvard who has argued before the Supreme Court dozens of time should be far more popular than Alan Dershowitz, but sadly isn’t.

Sad lesson: Trump knows how to use optics to create counterproductive illusions; Obama assumed reality counts more than image https://t.co/rR1hHsNIYC

Laurence Tribe (@tribelaw) December 1, 2016

If you’re in that “angry caps lock tweetstorm” kind of mood

19. Judd Legum

Legum, an editor at Think Progress and master tweeter, has crafted some fine tweetstorms (and real pieces of journalism, blablabla) that can fulfill all your primitive, rage-tweeting desires.

3. But Trump has skills. His biggest skill is PROJECTING AN IMAGE OF SUCCESS, whatever the reality

Judd Legum (@JuddLegum) December 1, 2016

If you just want to check in and make sure feminism is still alive

20. Lindy West

West, the hilarious Guardian columnist best known for her relationships with trolls, will remind you that, no, feminism isn’t dead, it’s just really sad right now and needs some space, okay?

anyone else having this problem where you can’t watch children’s media about girls being bold & fearless & having hope w/o sobbing like baby

Lindy West (@thelindywest) November 29, 2016

21. Brittney Cooper

Brittney Cooper, founder of the Crunk Feminist Collective, might not be the most active tweeter, but every story she writes and collective post she shares is worth your full attention.

I know most of you don’t have words. I don’t either. But I found a few for this hard day. https://t.co/2nX9Y9lSoj

Brittney Cooper (@ProfessorCrunk) November 9, 2016

22. Roxane Gay

If you don’t know about Roxane Gay, now you do. Gay, author of Bad Feminist and a sometimes columnist for The New York Times, dissects human emotions like no one else.

Anyway here is the segment. https://t.co/LXkvJK8LQY

roxane gay (@rgay) November 23, 2016

If humans are being too horrible right now and the only thing that can give you peace is a barnyard animal

23. Goats of Anarchy

This goat is just like you a sad, frightened creature who only feels happy in a duck costume. Get a goat costume, or better yet, get this Instagram account.

Today, Polly and her duck suit captured the attention of media outlets all over the world. You may have seen her story… it’s been everywhere! In light of that, I thought I would bring back her duck videos that we took while visiting @tractorsupply. Is there no duck emoji?

A video posted by Goats of Anarchy (@goatsofanarchy) on Nov 25, 2016 at 5:15pm PST

RELATED: These are the most shocking quotes to come out of Trump’s 60 Minutes interview

Read more: http://mashable.com/

[psychotherapyconsultants]

How to Deal with Anger When You’re All Too Good at Avoiding It

For many of us avoiding anger feels automatic and natural. Because anger doesn’t feel good. Because we associate anger with cruel words, broken glass and ruined relationships.

In other words, as psychotherapist David Teachout, LMHCA, said, we associate anger with destruction, and avoidance is how we attempt to maintain our emotional and mental safety and health.

According to Michelle Farris, LMFT, a psychotherapist and anger management specialist, if you grew up in a home where anger turned abusive, you might think that suppressing your anger is actually a healthy thing to do. “Witnessing unhealthy anger and rage makes it tough to see its value.”

But anger has value. A lot of it.

Anger tells us that something isn’t right, and we need to make a change, said Farris, who has a private practice in San Jose, Calif., where she offers supportive counseling and online courses that focus on improving relationships, anger management and codependency.

Maybe you need to set a boundary. Maybe you need to tell someone how you really feel.

“Allowing emotions to be a part of your relationships keeps you and the relationship healthy, and the lines of communication stay open,” Farris said. After all, healthy, close connections require honesty, “and though it is a risk, telling someone why you’re upset gives them the opportunity to heal the hurt or correct their mistake.”

Teachout said anger is a neon flashing pointer to what matters most to us: our values. “We simply don’t get upset about things we don’t care about… When we ignore our anger, try to suppress it, we’re actually suppressing the care we have for what we find important.”

Anger also energizes us. It empowers us to stand up for ourselves, and for others.

Not expressing angry feelings just makes them fester (and fester and fester). “They feel like bricks on your back, always present and weighing you down emotionally,” said Farris, who offers a free email course on anger called Catching Your Anger Before It Hurts.

Over time, not expressing our anger also leads to long-term stress, because “the body stores the emotions that cannot be expressed until they can be released.” This damaging cycle, she said, has been linked to: increased risk for anxiety, heart attack and stroke; a weakened immune system; and “a tendency to overreact because stuffed emotions are harder to control.”

But even though you might have a complicated, thorny relationship with anger (and might’ve had one for years), you can change that. Below, Farris and Teachout share their helpful tips.

Catch anger early. It’s very hard to stay calm and effectively express yourself and understand your feelings when your anger becomes a tsunami. Farris advised against dismissing times you’re mildly annoyed. Instead of thinking “it’s not that bad yet,” pay attention and intervene early. Check in with yourself regularly. “The earlier you catch [anger], the more manageable it will be to contain and express in a healthy manner.”

Early warning signs of anger differ in different people, Farris said, but here are some examples: Rapid heart rate, negative thoughts, sweating, feeling irritable, minimizing upset feelings, stomachache, headache, muscle tension, using profanity and blaming the other person.

Zero in on the broken value. Anger points to “a behavior that didn’t support [one of our values] in the way we’d like or, to our perception, actively sought to undermine it,” said Teachout, who joins with individuals and partnerships on their mental health journey to encourage a life of valued living and honest communication at his practice in Des Moines, WA.

This is why he suggested when we get angry to immediately ask ourselves: What value is the upsetting behavior threatening or undermining? Maybe it’s loyalty, honesty or respect. Maybe it’s fairness, kindness or authenticity.

(Also, “notice that you still care about that value so you haven’t lost who you are or become destructive,” said Teachout, who offers therapy, coaching and groups for the whole person because you’re more than your suffering.)

Once you’ve pinpointed what you care about, consider how you’d like to support it—and act from this place, instead of from a place of defending what’s been threatened, Teachout said. “This immediately takes the focus away from being about the other person and returns it to the core of who you are, your values.”

What does this look like? According to Teachout, let’s say someone lied to you (thus undermining your value of honesty). Acting from a defensive place might look like yelling, hurling insults and internalizing the betrayal. Acting from a supportive place might look like telling the person: “That really hurt because I care about honesty” or telling yourself “My anger is letting me know I still care about truth/honesty and that it means I can support it,” Teachout said.

Take a genuine time-out. “The best tool for anger management is a time-out,” Farris said. Which means physically leaving the space (if possible), and practicing calming behaviors. “Don’t keep retelling the story of what went wrong,” which only boosts anger. Instead, she suggested taking a walk (or doing any other vigorous exercise, which “gets the negative energy out of the body and releases oxytocin which helps calm you down”). She also suggested journaling and listening to soothing music or an inspirational podcast.

Communicate effectively. Farris stressed the importance of naming your feeling, and using an “I” statement, such as: “I feel angry that you didn’t respond to my texts last night.” For some people, “I” statements can feel canned or awkward. Reversing the phrasing can help, she said: “When you didn’t return my texts last night, I was really angry.”

The other key is to name the specific behavior that bothers you, without generalizing, judging or criticizing, Farris said. “When you name what happened as fact not a criticism, the other person is less likely to get defensive.”

That is, instead of saying “I feel really angry when you attack me in front of our friends,” you’d say, “I felt really angry when you made that joke in front of our friends last night.” According to Farris, “’Attack’ is more of a judgment, and doesn’t describe what happened.”

Also, make sure that you’re communicating while you’re relatively calm or in control. Farris has a rule of thumb she uses: “If you can’t listen, you shouldn’t be talking.”

Feeling and expressing your anger when you tend to avoid it can feel foreign and deeply uncomfortable. The first, second, third or thirtieth time. But with practice and the above suggestions, you can reconnect to anger’s value, and let it support your relationships and your life.

from World of Psychology https://psychcentral.com/blog/how-to-deal-with-anger-when-youre-all-too-good-at-avoiding-it/

[thewalkingsnapplecap]

Kimchi Temper

Illustration by Jovanna Tosello

Kimchi Temper

By

Euny Hong

Koreans have a culturally specific, ultra-distilled form of rage so potent that some believe one can literally die from it. The Korean word for this rage is han, which is basically the racial memory of thousands of years of being invaded and put-upon.

The disease caused by han is called “hwa-byung,” which translates to “anger illness.” It is an actual, fatal, medically recognized condition. It’s even in the DSM, which refers to it as a “culturally specific disease.” Colloquially, I’ve heard han called “kimchi temper.”

I fully admit to playing the han card, i.e., flying off the handle at people and later saying, “Sorry; I’m Korean,” at which point most is forgiven, even if the forgiving party doesn’t quite understand why.

Within the Pacific Rim, the wrathful Korean is something of a regional stereotype: Koreans are said to drink a lot, to love crying, and to have fits of white-hot, blinding rage that channel the ancestral anger of 5,000 years of being pillaged and colonized.

An Australian veteran of the Vietnam War, for example, once felt it necessary to tell me that Aussie troops knew the Korean troops would be the most bloodthirsty. The Americans seemed to agree: A U.S. Department of Defense report on South Korean participation in Vietnam stated that the Koreans “usually surrounded an area by stealth and quick movement … The enemy feared the Koreans both for their tactical innovations and for the soldiers’ tenacity.”

Han is most likely what James Bond creator Ian Fleming had in mind when he wrote in his 007 novel Goldfinger that Koreans “are the cruelest, most ruthless people in the world,” adding that they have no respect for human life. In this scene, the supervillain of the title is explaining to James Bond why he picked only Koreans as bodyguards, among them the stocky, grunting, subhuman karate expert Oddjob, who decapitates people by hurling his razor-sharp black bowler hat at them.

Fleming’s description of Koreans is widely regarded as racist, but my desire to be offended is contradicted by a sheepish How did he know?sort of feeling.

The world has also become familiar with the Self-Destructively Vengeful Korean stereotype, thanks to films like Park Chan-wook’s 2003 masterpiece, the ultraviolent Oldboy — which depicts a man cutting off his own tongue with a letter-opener and another tricking a childhood nemesis into having sex with his own daughter, among other such gruesome things.

Are Koreans more wrathful than other people? It’s hard to be sure. I can speak only to my experience: Korea is the only nation where I’ve regularly witnessed grown-ass men getting out of their cars to fistfight over road rage. (My dad’s explanation for this phenomenon: “Koreans don’t have guns, so they do not hesitate to confront each other physically.”)

It’s the only nation whose citizens send me emails threatening to show my articles to my parents — more on that later.

(To all the would-be trolls out there threatening to snitch on me: My parents are already painfully aware of my disreputable scribbles. My dad described my first book — a novel called Kept: A Comedy of Sex and Manners — as “inaccurate and treacherous.” When I appear on TV, all I get from my mom is “That lipstick is very … red.” There’s nothing you can tell them that they haven’t thought of already, and they’re better at this than you are.)

Korea is also the only country in the world whose representative airline is run by a family dynasty that is better known by the term nut rage than by their business achievements or even their actual name.

The moniker originated during a notorious December 2014 incident in which Heather Cho, the daughter of the Korean Air Chairman and CEO, had a Caligula-esque meltdown on a Seoul-bound flight departing from New York’s JFK airport. The triggering event was that her macadamia nuts were served in a bag rather than a bowl. Cho assaulted the head flight attendant and forced the pilot to return the plane to the gate so the cabin staffer could be removed from the plane. Cho spent three months in jail on the charge of endangering a flight.

In April 2018, Heather’s sister Emily allegedly threw a glass of water at someone’s face during a meeting, giving rise to the term water rage.

Violence aside, there is a particular brand of Korean butt-hurt that I have never seen elsewhere. More personally, I’ve been the brunt of Korean han as a writer. The topics I write about usually involve France, the United States, Korea, or Judaism. But among those groups, I only ever get hate mail from Koreans. And lots of it.

In 2014, after I published a piece in the Times of London about Koreans’ reaction to a national tragedy, a bunch of Koreans fired nastygrams at me. One such wounded party, whom I’ll call by her initials, KKK (really!), wrote me a threatening email via my author website: “I am so shamed [sic] that you are identifying yourself as a ‘Korean’-American. I am going to share your articles with your parents as well as all my fellow Koreans.”

KKK also complained to my UK publicist and agent. “I’ve just heard from your new friend [KKK],” my publicist chuckled to me on the phone.

KKK wrote to the Times of London’s editor and to the foreign-news desk as well. The reason I know this is that KKK cc’d me on the email. Here’s an excerpt:

“If you want to know more about what’s been falsely written, I would be very happy to comment by referring each line … please share the apology announcement … I am ready to hear any feedback from you, my dear the Times.” [sic]

I’m sure the Times got straight on it.

The irony is that Koreans were mad at me for describing Korea as a very emotional nation. To which they responded by being even more emotional.

What makes me even more upset about this sort of hair-trigger fit is that I feel, irrationally, that Koreans shouldn’t act like that. And I’m aware of the contradiction here: I get mad at how mad Koreans get and we all get mad at each other in a han clusterfuck. A hansterfuck.

But surely nurture has to triumph over nature at some point. Anyone born and educated in the United States, regardless of how irascible their parents are, is taught by teachers and peers to work out bad feelings through cardio and yoga, to express difficult emotions with “I” statements instead of being combative. Would this not keep han at bay? In many cases, it does not, I’m afraid.

The reasons for han’s persistence are several. For one thing, most Korean-Americans are only a parent or grandparent away from the devastating Korean War (1950–53). Some wartime atrocities like the Holocaust are studied and discussed broadly; this is not true of Korean War–induced trauma. There is no Korean Claude Lanzmann. There is no Korean Elie Wiesel or Alexander Solzhenitsyn. Korean culture does not traditionally encourage therapy. And these unprocessed feelings do get passed on to the children. How could they not?

Han is not at all compatible with American life. It is also not compatible with Christianity, a religion espoused by a great many Koreans at home and abroad. The dissonance between Korean anger and the Western, Christian-influenced belief in forgiveness induces a tremendous internal conflict among Korean-Americans. To be Korean-American is to experience the excruciating pain of one’s innate nature turning against one’s environment.

Why, in modern life, are we discouraged from expressing anger? Why are we told that the solution to negative feelings is to “breathe into it” or to “observe your own anger”? I’m not saying that a better solution is to give everyone in the room a different weapon with which to torture one bad guy (the plot of another popular Korean film). But telling people how to manage their feelings is dismissive. It’s lacking in empathy. It’s smug. And it denies the important role that anger plays in survival.

Anger is part of the “fight or flight” response. It alerts you to danger; it alerts you to injustice. Anger spurs people to action — the #MeToo revolution and the Never Again anti-school-shooting movement would never have arisen if any one of those women, if any one of those kids, had “breathed into” their anger.

After a tragedy, grief is crippling. Sometimes, the only thing tossing you a lifeboat is your own rage. Isaac Bashevis Singer’s wonderful 1966 novel Enemies, a Love Story depicts an all-too-human scene in which a Holocaust survivor, Herman Broder, is about to kill himself but refrains from doing so because he’s outraged with his lover for cheating on him. In other words, he starts out the day being too aggrieved to live … and ends it being too angry to die.

Anger saves lives. Really. It’s worth considering that han is a more normal — and necessary — human instinct than anyone would like to admit.

Euny Hong is a journalist and author, most recently of The Birth of Korean Cool: How One Nation Is Conquering the World Through Pop Culture (Picador 2014). Her work has appeared in the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, the Financial Times, the Times of London, and elsewhere. She would like you to follow her on Twitter: @euny.

[sarahburness]

Longing for Silence in a Noisy World: How I Found Myself (and Peace) in Stillness

“Silence is not the absence of something but the presence of everything.” ~Gordon Hempton

Years ago, when I first started my emotional healing journey, I was longing to reconnect with who I truly was and free my mind of all the paralyzing thoughts and feelings that were wrecking my well-being and happiness.

After months of finding new ways to improve my life, I finally felt happy. I was healthy and fulfilled and knew exactly what I wanted out of life.

I decluttered my personal space from unwanted things and people, completely changed my morning routine, and finally started living in the moment. Life was good and complete.

Until I would hit a roadblock.

Unplanned circumstances, stressful situations, and loud noises in crowded places would trigger emotions of resentment and annoyance.

The pressure of constant automatic speaking, my voice echoing in my head rethinking what I said and dwelling on what didn’t sound the way I wanted it to, kept me restless and agitated. I was also highly sensitive to negativity and judgment from others, and that influenced how I dealt with a particular moment.

That’s when it hit me: Even after all the progress, when I thought that I had finally started living the way I wanted, I still felt anxious and easily irritated by my daily life. While I thought that I knew myself well, I had yet to learn where the frustration was coming from and what was causing me to feel stressed.

Naturally, as an introvert, I longed for quiet time, away from the world, in silence.

As a child, I would spend hours writing and reading in my secret hideouts, in complete solitude. It was in my nature, who I truly was. But as I grew up, things changed. The noise of everyday life was too loud, and I needed to find a way to create calm in my daily environment.

Still, no matter how hard I tried to bring silence back into my life, I saw it as a defeat.

I was fighting the urge to accept it. I was taught not to recognize the value of silence, and I believed that quiet meant wrong.

This is true for so many of us. Instead of understanding and accepting ourselves the way we are, we go through life thinking that something is wrong with us because we don’t fit into the society’s norm of what is “socially acceptable.”

Later on, after analyzing myself further, it became clear to me that what was causing uneasiness had nothing to do with external influences but rather with how I filtered information and what I allowed to come through to me.

I found myself programming my responses based on other people’s level of comfort, because I didn’t want to upset anyone. And instead of focusing on my needs, I worried about what others would think.

I bogged my brain down with endless problems, worries, and self-sabotaging thoughts that ultimately made me feel anxious and stressed.

In situations where I needed to stand up for myself, I would instead back down and do nothing, thinking that if I failed to comply, I would be criticized and rejected. This was especially true in a toxic relationship with a person whose influence was detrimental to my well-being.

And though I forced myself to stop withdrawing from the world that wanted me to talk constantly, I longed for silence that would help me heal.

That’s when I realized that the silence I craved more than anything was the silence I had already experienced as a child. So, I returned to practices that brought me back to the energizing, much needed moments of stillness.

Writing in my journal helped quiet down my thoughts and feelings of irritation. I found meditation helpful in preparing for a busy day ahead. I learned that staying away from the noise that was exhausting, both physically and mentally, helped me hear myself better.

Even though it took months to master the incredible power of silence, this restorative practice allowed me to always be in control of the noise around me, having the power to never let it get through to me.

The invigorating silence became a regular part of my life. It helped me understand who I’ve always been and free my mind of meaningless thoughts, opinions, and beliefs.

By silencing my speech, I experienced a sense of enhanced awareness and steadiness, which changed my perspective on things that had previously caused me unnecessary stress.

During this time, I recognized that I’d often spoken out of fear, because I constantly felt the need to explain myself. And although I’ve always been protective of my time, I never knew how to guard it fully, so I would let others steal away the moments I needed just for myself. This would make me feel anxious because I found it hard to say no to the things I didn’t want to do, and I’d then inevitably feel resentment toward myself.

Practicing silence taught me that silence isn’t uncomfortable, and that pausing for a few seconds before saying yes gives me a chance to connect with what I want and need.

It helped me realize that people only understand from their level of perception, so I stopped justifying my actions and choices. I stopped telling people more than they needed to know and kept my privacy sacred. I realized that when I stopped talking I was able to hear what my heart was telling me.

And it wasn’t just my voice I silenced; I also learned to silence my judgment. When I stopped judging people and situations, I surrendered my ego. I realized that no matter how much I tried to have things my way, I was bound for disappointment, so I learned to let go of the outcome.

This profound experience helped me to develop patience and understanding for people’s reactions and situations I encountered. I learned to control the way in which I responded to challenges and negativity around me.

At the time, I traveled often for work and remember experiencing countless delays at the airport due to bad weather conditions. I witnessed raging passengers lashing out on ground personnel in the most outrageous manner. I, too, would let unnecessary stress build up instead of accepting that this kind of situation was out of my control and recognizing that I could choose to stay calm and look for alternative responses.

Staying silent and observant broadened my perspective and helped me monitor my thoughts in order to understand situations better. This practice has brought an immense peace to my everyday life, helping me embrace patience and stay mindful toward myself and others.

While I understand that there will always be people I don’t agree with, I know that being judgmental is hurtful and unnecessary, and it takes away the positive energy that could be turned into something meaningful.

It certainly doesn’t feel good to be judged, so who gives me the right to judge others?

This realization helped me decide to stop gossiping. Each time I’d find myself in such a situation, I would tactfully change the course of conversation by bringing the person who initiated the gossip in the spotlight. People love to talk about themselves, and this has given me an opportunity to learn more about them and focus not only on the words they say but on their whole being and behavior.

When I stopped talking about the people I disliked, I moved on to the areas of my life that needed love and attention. I started focusing on my health, happiness, and personal growth. I chose to exchange the emotions of anger and resentment for feelings of love and acceptance.

Silencing my need to be judgmental also helped me to let go of the negative thoughts without getting emotionally attached. So, every time I’d encounter such a thought I would put it in writing. I’d let myself become aware of it, but wouldn’t let it overcome me and ruin the moment I was in. It helped me silence my emotions of fear and anger by staying observant and understanding why and when they reappeared.

We waste so much time on nonsense we don’t need to hear. We talk when we don’t have to because we are afraid of being misunderstood.

Let peace and quiet become your priority. Acknowledge the noise around you but don’t try to fight it. When you accept that there will always be noise in your life, you’ll understand how easy it is to control it. Because there is always a way to turn it off.

You can switch off the blithering noise of your car radio, put your phone on silent, and turn off the notifications. You can stop reading the news and limit the time you spend on social media. You can stop listening to what you don’t want to hear.

And when you find it hard to escape the noise around you, start writing. When your brain is overloaded with information and longing for rest, help it by jotting down your thoughts, emotions, and ideas and unload some burdens, leaving room for it to relax and rejuvenate.

When you find silence, you find inner peace.

“Silence isn’t empty, it’s full of answers.” Can you hear it?

About Tee R. Sebastian

An avid world traveler, Tee has found a sense of freedom and self-appreciation while wandering. She is the founder of GrowBrilliant, a blog that focuses on self-care, personal growth, and self-awareness. Through her writing, she helps introverted women gain confidence, discover who they truly are, and fall in love with their extraordinary traits. You can download her free daily self-care journal here.

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The post Longing for Silence in a Noisy World: How I Found Myself (and Peace) in Stillness appeared first on Tiny Buddha.

from Tiny Buddha https://tinybuddha.com/blog/longing-for-silence-in-a-noisy-world-how-i-found-myself-and-peace-in-stillness/