#turns out the fact that i have been feeling progressively sicker for the past month and my long history of stomach problems was NOT anxiety! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

planetdemon · 3 years

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I just wanted to be a swan

pairing: bang chan x reader

genre: angst, fluff, but mostly angst

warnings: low self-esteem, body hate/dislike, eating disorders, swearing, food, insecurities, arguing DONT READ IF YOU DON'T FEEL COMFORTABLE WITH IT!

wc: 2.003

note: so this scenario has been going through my head for quite a while now, and I tried writing it by myself lol. Hope it's good ;) I've also sent a request to @channienet about the same topic, so make sure to check her interpretation out as well! enjoy!

summary: Due to Chan's heavy working schedule, spending time alone was a thing you couldn't quite befriend with, especially after you've noticed some changes you have gone through. There is a to change it, but it isn't quite... let's say healthy. How will Chan react, after he finds out? Will he even care? (dude I'm shit at writing summary lol)

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Taking a bath was normally something that should be considered relaxing or calming. You've always enjoyed letting the hot water surround your body whilst taking all the dirt and negativity off that you have collected during stressful days at work.

But lately, taking a bath wasn't as enjoyable anymore as it once was. Chris has been working a lot lately, due to the kingdom stage and their nearing comeback. He has been spending more and more time at the company, working on producing new tracks for him and the kids, often staying at the dorms because they were closer to the studio than the apartment you shared. So you were left alone, by yourself.

Even though you wished he would be by your side while you were falling asleep, you couldn't be mad at him. You knew what his work meant to that boy and you would never tell him to stop doing what he loves just so you could spend some time together.

But being alone also meant that you had to kill the boredom somehow and, thanks to Felix's Brownie and Cookie recipes, you had the perfect thing to do in the meantime. Baking and eating delicious desserts.

You were just stepping out of the bathtub, grabbing the towel you had prepared, and drying yourself with it. Once your body was half-dried, you turned around to hang the towel back at the hanger, so it could dry properly.

And at that moment, you knew, you've fucked up. You couldn't avoid looking at your wet, naked body in the hot, steamy mirror near the hangers.

You always hated looking at it, but thanks to the sweets you had been eating lately, looking at yourself only made you feel sicker than it ever did.

You couldn't tear your gaze off the excess of flesh around your tummy and thighs and the stretch marks, that decored your boobs only seemed to scream "Look at me!". You slowly turned around and saw the tiger stripes creeping up your bum and the undersides of your arms.

'Fucking disgusting', that little voice in your head sneered.

'How could I let this come this far?', you thought. At this point, you were somehow happy Chris wasn't here, knowing he would be disgusted with how you've changed.

You've always felt a bit insecure by his side, knowing you could catch up with neither his attractiveness nor his muscular godlike body. But seeing yourself like this destroyed every little self-esteem you had left in your cells.

It has been nearly two months since 'the incident' in the bathroom and you couldn't shake that feeling of disgusts off. Not even for one second.

You only wanted to try a one-week detox diet that was blowing up all over social media, hoping you could lose a little bit of weight, so you would be back to normal. But seeing the numbers on the scale dropping so unbelievably quickly only made you realize that you could look even better than you thought you could.

You kept on following the diet and restricting everything that wasn't included, not noticing that restricting also damaged your mind.

One time, Han and Felix asked you if you wanted to have lunch with them and the others, but fear crept up you back as soon as you thought about the food they would have ordered, knowing that you would only gain weight again if you didn't follow the rules.

So you stayed home, keeping yourself isolated from your friends and most importantly, Chan.

You were lying on my bed, scrolling through Tumblr when Chris' Caller ID showed up and your phone started to ring. You sighed lowly, not wanting to talk to him.

Over the past few months, you stopped showing up at the studio, being afraid the boys would notice the changes your body went through, thanks to the diet. You were happy about it, knowing that you were losing weight, but you haven't reached my goal. You were afraid, they would judge you the way you did when you looked at yourself.

"Chris?"

"y/n? Han just told me that you weren't coming over. Are you okay? Y-" Chris's muffled voice appeared and you felt instant regret deep in your guts, knowing how much fun you guys had when you spent time together back in the days.

"Yeah, I'm okay Channie, don't worry. I just feel a little sleepy. I'll come next time. Promise" You tried your best to sound optimistic or at least not too sad, hoping Chris would believe your lie. "Okay," he mumbled, "I love you, baby girl".

You knew you were in big troubled the second Chris opened the fridge, seeing no food in there.

He randomly decided to stay over the weekend, saying that he missed you. You weren't ready for this, knowing that you couldn't hide the signs of the 'passion' you had developed in time.

"Why is there no food?" You fumbled with the arms of Chris sweater you were wearing while looking at the ground. "I've forgotten to go grocery shopping" You answered.

"But there is nothing in there, y/n. Nothing" He walked over and took hold of your cold hands while looking you straight in the eyes.

"Why is there no food?" Chris asked again.

"I just told you I forgot to go grocery shopping, Chan. Relax" You snapped back, getting anxious about the fact that he could notice something.

You were nearing your goal, even though you knew that you could never be satisfied with how you looked. He couldn't just come over and ruin all the progress you've made after being not here for so long. He doesn't have the right to do this.

"Don't fuck around, y/n. You always have at least some butter in your house. Where is the butter? Where is Ramen? You must have some food here!"

Your body started to shake as you heard his voice rise, keeping your gaze low, not daring to look him in the eyes right now. He was right.

You always had something at home, so you could quickly cook something when you were hungry. But you didn't saw a point in keeping food at home if you wouldn't eat it anyway. It would just rot.

"Y/n look at me" he whispered, after realizing that you were trembling. Chris gently grabbed your chin to make you look up at him. You were expecting to see anger, but the only thing you saw in his brown orbs was sadness.

You started to tear up after you noticed it, knowing that he put one and one together. You missing out on lunch with the boys, you not showing up at the studio to bring him food and spend with him there, listening to his tracks, you not having any food at home. It was obvious, but you still hoped he wouldn't notice.

Chris slowly took you in his arms, noticing how your figure felt smaller and bonier than before. It made him sick, knowing what you did to yourself. 'Why would my girl do something like this?' he thought 'how could my little princess torture herself this much?' But he couldn't find a 'because'.

In his eyes, you were the best thing that happened to him. You were the prettiest girl on earth. Warm tears were running down his pale cheeks, dropping to the floor.

He couldn't stop blaming himself for what you did. Maybe if he would have been there, he could have stopped you. Maybe if-

"Channie?" You quietly asked, looking up at his tear-stained cheeks. "Channie why are you crying? We can go to the store and grab something if you want. You don't-"

"Why have you been doing this to yourself, y/n?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why haven't you been eating"

Well, shit.

"What are you talking about, Channie?"

"Don't fucking lie to me, it's too obvious for you to do so. Why haven't you been eating?"

"I... I, I'm pressured Chan" You answered, knowing that he wouldn't believe you if you would tell him otherwise. Telling him the truth was the only option at this point, even though you didn't want to.

"Pressured?"

"Yes"

"Princess, I don't understand what you mean by that"

You shook your head and let go of him, before walking over to the couch and sitting down with a low sigh. "Maybe you shouldn't understand," I said.

"Jesus, y/n" I heard him mutter under his breath. He walked over and sat on the floor, in front of you, looking at you with a scared expression.

"Please tell me what's in that pretty little head of yours. I can see that you have lost weight, but I don't understand why. I mean, you are the prettiest human I have ever seen in my whole life, why would you do something like that?"

"Why do you even care? It's not like you here anyway" you simply said, grabbing your phone, trying to ignore him.

After he noticed your intentions, he quickly took your phone out of your hands, placing it on the coffee table behind him.

"Hey! Give me my phone back, you dump a-"

"Fucking stop it, y/n. Stop ignoring me. I care for you because I love you! You are my everything and I know I haven't been home lately, but at least I tried making time for you and inviting you to the studio", he said, "but you never came! Don't act like it's only my fault we haven't seen each other."

You looked at him with wide eyes, shaking your head. He was right, it was also your fault. And you hated the fact that he was right. "I-"

"Please y/n, please stop turning away from me and closing up. I-I know it's not easy to open up, but I'm here for you. I'll always be."

"Well, I... I couldn't, no, I can't feel happy when I look like this, Channie. I mean, look at you, look at your perfect body and your perfect personality and your perfect everything! I don't fit in. I don't fit in, because I am the ugly duck surrounded by beautiful swans. I just... wanted to be a beautiful swan, Channie."

That's it. You've made it. You've told him what was going through your mind all the time.

He slowly pulled you off the couch, into his lap. He could feel your seat humps against his thighs, how bony and strong they were. Chris shook his head in disbelieve, another wave of sadness crushing over him.

"You are perfect, baby girl. You are perfect in every single way. You always were the most beautiful swan I have ever seen in my entire life. I love everything about you, y/n. I love how your thighs wiggle whenever you run towards me when we meet, I love how curves look in that dress I brought you a year ago, I love how your stretch marks are decorating your body like silverish paint. I don't want you to change for me, because you are perfect the way you are. Jesus, even Hyunjin said you are even prettier than himself, and that means a lot. Please don't hurt yourself like this, princess. You are destroying yourself"

He took hold of your hands and kissed your palm.

"I promise I'll stop working so much, so I can spend more time with my beautiful girlfriend, but please... stop hurting yourself" he whispered, searching for any signs of discomfort in your eyes. But you just set in his lap and listened to him.

"Hyunjin thinks I'm prettier than him?" you asked awkwardly.

Chris chuckled and nodded "Is this the only thing that got stuck in your pretty little head?" He asked.

You smiled a bit, leaning your forehead against his while closing your eyes. "I'll try to get better, Chris" you whispered.

It wouldn't be an easy journey going back to 'normal. Once the hole is there, digging is difficult. But it is possible, especially if someones helping you.

#bang chan imagines #bang chan angst #bang chan fluff #bang chan images #skz imagines #skz chan #skz angst #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #stray kids angst #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfic #bangchan fanfic #fanfic #x you #x reader

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frost-or-fire · 4 years

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Sonadow AU

Sonic haves NIDS, prompt ideas

Eggman is cooking up a plan to finally be rid of Sonic, so, he turns to chemical weapons. He gets his hands on everything; gas, ballistics, anything.

Eggman makes a plan, trapping Sonic in a snare in the form of radiation.

Sonic doesn't know much, he just runs head first into danger and doesn't acknowledge the fact that there weren't many machines for him to battle against.

Little did he know that he was soaking up the radiation with every clobber.

The N.I.D.S doesn't take effect immediately, but builds up slowly in his system.

A month passes but everything still seems normal, but signs were showing.

Sonic would be out of breath. His limbs would feel more heavy than usual. He's tired all the time and even haves a small appetite/ gets sick/ or overall refuses to eat.

Sonic doesn't seem to notice these facts, but Tails and their friends are able to recognize these changes.

Tails being Tails would secretly swipe some of Sonic's quills to look for the source to their problem and is quick to call Rogue for any possibility that she recognize this illness.

Rogue, however, have seen it before but dismissed the case to Shadow since he seen many diseases before and had first hand experience with these things.

Shadow comes around, knowing but unknowing about why Rogue is giving him this sort of case to deal with since it was still touchy about his past.

One thing leads to another, Shadow ends up bumping into Sonic on one of his runs and gets challenged for a race that he can't quite back out of.

Halfway through the race, Sonic would collapse with a sudden asthma attack (that he is not aware of) and thinks that he is dying of suffocation. Luckily, Shadow was familiar to this and instinct kicked in for him to save Sonic in time.

They return back to Sonic and Tail's home where they take some tests to further see what the problem was.

They find out that Sonic haves N.I.D.S

It was a big surprise for all of them, their friends start worrying and fretting over Sonic, Shadow is over came with strong emotions from past experiences, but Sonic.. Sonic takes it the hardest. His life slowly being dashed away, his one talent being stolen, being unable to run was heartbreaking. Which then leads to a domino effect of him unable to protect Mobius.

Edit, cuz this is getting good:

Shadow agrees to help them, but only because he wants to fight for a cure to get rid of this disease that was killing his deceased friend.

Amy is the one who ends up playing nanny (not that she is complaining) and tries to keep Sonic in bed. Key word: try.

Sonic would always find a way to get out of bed, whether to watch tv on the couch, stretch his legs, go outside for fresh air.

Knuckles is on Angel Island, trying to pull answers from the Master Emerald, because deep down he really cares for Sonic.

Shadow and Rouge try to extract information through G.U.N. from where the progress had stopped after the Incident on the Ark so that they have a fighting chance for Tails to finish what Professor Gerald had started.

3 days have passed, Sonic finally reached his peak. He escapes from the house out of being stir crazy. His friends freak out.

Sonic runs with caution, not forgetting about his earlier asthma attack, and takes breaks in between his sprints.

He ends up at Emerald Coast. Its dark out. A concert have taken place there and is now over.

Sonic finds someone. His younger brother, Manic.

They end up talking about life, catching up on their whereabouts. -Manic at some point offered a smoke to Sonic but he politely declined- Sonic then breaks down the matter of info about his medical condition. Manic remained calm but let's out an uneasy breath when Sonic finishes.

They make plans to meet up so that they can hang out like old times.

Sonic returns to his house . . . Shadow was waiting by the door with a mask of disappointment. "It been 8 hours. Everyone were worried." He would say, scolding Sonic as if he were a mere child. "I'm my own person, I can go where ever I want," Sonic would retort, shrugging him off and walk into the kitchen. "Yes, you are, and it's none of my concern either, but your so called friends were losing their heads when you up and left. Where were you?" Shadow follows close behind, his voice low with not much concern at all. "Oh, y'know . . . Out." Sonic grabs a snack from the fridge, something small and distasteful. "No. I don't know." And the Conversation will down hill from there.

Morning comes, Sonic is Impossibly sicker (the pollen did a number on him. [Also quick research, N.I.D.S. isn't a real disease but a similar disease to this would be Immune Dysfunction Syndrome: it includes unrelenting fatigue, cognitive impairment, flu-like symptoms, and chronic pain. My theory on this, and to explain why Maria lived on the Ark for most of her life, is because of her fragile body couldn't handle any sort of environment that she was put in. So to say, it's raining or snowing, Maria catches the common cold: it would literally kill her. Maria's immune system is weak and could not survive any sort of sickness that an ordinary child would go through. Thus leading her to live in a sterile climate.])

Amy dresses Sonic in a sweater and heavy socks under a mountain of blankets, serving only soup that would most of the time go wasted. Meanwhile Tails checks him over and discovers that Sonic had caught a flu, or what seems like a flu. . .

Shadow then takes it upon himself to decide they had to go to the Ark. Sonic's condition was worsening. Tails needs more information and their G.U.N. attempts weren't working.

They have to go to the source.

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quakerjoe · 4 years

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In the end, not even the Progressive Bernie Base showing up for Hillary in larger numbers than her own supporters did for Obama in 2008, could prevent the inevitable. A massively flawed candidate who failed to electrify the Democratic base and make the case to Rust Belt voters- why she is the better option than the Populist candidate spraying out anti-trade rhetoric.

Blame whatever you want. The blame rests squarely on all of us. But there is so many lessons to learn from the 2016 Primary and General Election. Populism and Progressive policy became the central topic. Healthcare is a right. The ultra-rich are KING in America, and they must be reigned in. Primary process should be more fair. Flowery platitudes aren’t enough to generate excitement for the poor to turn out, etc.

Literally ZERO of these lessons were learned. Even in the face of an ACTUAL Corona-virus pandemic, with over 30 million unemployed, more and more uninsured at the time of writing this- the Democratic party has done nearly nothing to fix the problems from 2016. Actually, in all my shock- they’ve made them worse. The Democratic party pulled every string it could. Bent over backwards to not only stop Bernie Sanders, but stifle Progressives and our policy agenda. All in an orchestration to crown their nominee just years after a 2016 lawsuit said the DNC can meddle how ever they like in their own “Democratic process”. All to push a man who did next to no campaigning in any states past South Carolina. A man who didn’t actually work for your vote, but instead- coasted on “Hope and Change” establishment nostalgia, for when times weren’t so chaotic.

So for pragmatism sake, let’s push all that aside for just one moment. We can debate all day about how “fair” Joe Biden’s path to the Democratic Nomination has been. But let’s view Biden on his own merits for his candidacy’s sake. What’s the incentive for Progressives to vote for Joe? Well- unless you’re sticking to the concept of the very first paragraph of this article, the answer is: There isn’t one.

If Hillary Clinton were a flawed candidate, Biden may just be the worst nominee in history. A long history of terrible behavior including coddling racists, racist behavior, repeated threats at slashing the safety net, warmongering for a devastating Iraq war that’s helped kill endless innocent civilians all based on a lie, the nomination of Justice Thomas and controversial treatment of Anita hill, the Obama administration’s failure to even pass a Public Option with a Super Majority government, while pushing a healthcare plan that was little more than barely a small step in the right direction.

Now- Biden stands as the presumptive Democratic Nominee, and with a sizable Progressive Bernie Base up for grabs, what has Joe Biden done to earn our vote?

Answer: Nothing. Well, at least nothing significant.

Three items come immediately to mind on what Joe Biden is doing to “reach left”.

1: Joe wants to lower the Medicare age to 60. By comparison, Hillary Clinton wanted to lower it to as low as 50.

2: Joe Biden wants to eliminate student debt for those making under $125K. By comparison, Bernie Sanders wanted to eliminate it universally.

3: Nebulously- Joe Biden and Bernie Sanders have created “working groups” on various policy issues focusing on education, criminal justice, climate change, immigration, the economy, and health care policy. As of yet, nothing has come of these “groups” on policy.

As the Primary was coming to a close, I as a Progressive- was completely open to Joe moving (not reaching) left on policy positions.

Overwhelmingly, if you ask Sanders supporters what they care about most, it’s Policy.

What will you do for the underprivileged working class people of America?

What will you do for my children and grand children facing a Climate Change future?

What will you do for your Mass Incarceration mess, ending the drug war, legalizing Marijuana, and freeing non-violent drug offenders?

What will you do for the upwards of 45K people who die each year because health care is not affordable?

The 67% of American bankruptcies being due to health care costs?

BUT. Sanders supporters also believe in principle. Consistency. History. Fighting for change. Decency. Human rights. We’re also majority young people (a group Joe Biden did not do well with). Perhaps these things could be talked out. But now there’s a bigger elephant in the room. One that establishment Democrats and Joe’s supporters are ignoring.

Joe Biden was credibly accused of rape.

Democrats spent months yelling about “Believing Women” during the Kavanaugh Confirmation hearings. Rightfully fighting for Christine Blasey Ford’s story to be heard- knowing it would be a fruitless task at the hands of a twisted Senate Republican majority. Now, establishment Democrats are making the media rounds with Biden campaign talking points with denials and every attempt to downplay Tara Reade as not a credible accuser, even as several corroborations of her story have surfaced, 1 of which was an archive video of who Tara Reade alleges is her mother discussing the issue with Larry King on CNN in 1993. Meanwhile, Joe Biden’s campaign has it’s surrogates and supporters on news networks shielding Biden. Nancy Pelosi downplays the accusations, Kirsten Gillibrand (who helped cancel Al Franken) is downplaying the accusations. Alyssa Milano, prominent #MeToo voice, who made a performative appearance at the Brett Kavanagh hearings, now wants to “change the rules” on the movement in favor of a sort of ‘Due Process’- a process that many perpetrators cancelled by #MeToo never got, in favor of protecting Joe Biden.

What this means to me is that Democrats think it’s perfectly fine to be selective on who and who doesn’t deserve to be heard and taken seriously, based on who’s on your team. As if it should be that easy to just shed your principles like Snake skin, hypocritically protecting one predator, while gunning for another that doesn’t fit with you politically.

In 2016, I was perfectly fine voting for the “lesser evil”. Now that the party has loudly stated that not only does my values, principles, and policy demands for the poor and sick of America, not matter- I should fall in line with a candidate that has helped endless innocent people die overseas with America’s imperial military reach, helped endless people die at home because they cant afford a doctor, said that he has “no empathy” for young people- the same young people that have to live and suffer under the conditions of Climate Change while he’s dead and gone, sexually assaulted and violated multiple women, said that nothing will fundamentally change for the same rich people who are now gaining BILLIONS under pandemic conditions while their workers get sicker, if they’re even employed at all.

Moderate establishment Democrats and voters tell me that Trump is the number one threat. That we need to “vote blue no matter who”. Just how “blue” is Joe biden? Just how dissimilar is Joe Biden and his supporters from Trump and his following? For all of the cries of the “angry Bernie Bros” online, I see countless accosting and abusive discourse examples from Biden supporters calling any dissenters “Russian Bots”, or “MAGA Hats”. Being told that I’m somehow a Trump voter by default, for not immediately supporting Biden. All this when all I’ve ever seen from “the Bernie Bros” is aggressively holding smear artists to facts and truth in a thick environment of misrepresentation of Bernie Sanders and his platform.

So- Why shouldn’t Progressives vote for Joe Biden?

This Democratic party doesn’t give a damn about you. Nor does it care about Progressive policy. The party and its supporters spend all this time, smearing Sanders and his base as “Not democrats”, angry “socialists who want free stuff”, “How are you gonna PAY for it?!” etc etc, all while claiming to support SOME form of our policy, and then dropping it the second it doesn’t feel politically advantageous. This party threw everything it could into stopping YOU. With tactics like voter suppression, using a silly app suspiciously funded and supported by shady actors in Iowa, taking WEEKS to give final results, running Super PACs against Bernie and our movement, fear-mongering about Bernie when he did win states, gas lighting the public on “elect-ability”, using a literal pandemic against Bernie to guilt him into dropping out while attempting to blame him for continued spread of COVID-19, while they sent voters to the polls and we didn’t.

And after zero policy concessions, zero good will, repeated demands we fall in line after more than a year of being slammed and disrespected, showing up for Hillary Clinton and then being blamed for her loss anyway, which is inevitable again if Joe loses? Are we just going to keep allowing that? Just how long do we have to hold our noses, voting for Moderate do-nothing lite Republicans who would sooner see you die, than provide you affordable and universal healthcare, because a Billionaire would stand to lose money. Even NOW, during a Pandemic this party has done next to NOTHING to secure the livelihoods of American citizens, as more and more die, get furloughed, and cant pay their bills. All while Trump and Republicans take credit for pitching more common sense plans (even though they want to send us all back to work/school to feed the machine).

This- is the “resistance” party? THIS is the best we can do? Performative rage against a fascist clown while propping up an accused rapist warmongering corporatist with cognitive decline and previous racist tendencies? THIS is what the party keeps telling us we better support or be shamed as somehow supporting the “bad guy”?

Listen, #NotMeUs- this will never stop. This party will NEVER stop using us as a prop for our ideas and passion, then throwing us under the bus when they think they no longer need us. They cannot continue to be allowed to drag us further to the right with guilt trips and shaming. They will NEVER take you seriously unto you take serious action. We’ve been preaching about “action” this whole campaign. Why should that “action” stop in the ballot box? Have some foresight for just a moment and envision how this plays out in future elections, unless you stand up and make them WORK for your vote.

I, for one will not vote for Joe Biden. But I wont shame you for your vote, no matter who it’s for. Why? Because the party did a terrible job at earning -your- vote. I’d maybe only criticize you if you don’t show up at all. There’s so many down-ballot candidate who need support. Even if you leave the President box unchecked, at least show up for the other races.

But consider: There are other options that have been stifled for way too long. Perhaps its time we give them a shot, no? Green Party is running Howie Hawkins and a platform that is much closer to our principles that Biden would ever try for. Justin Amash just jumped into the race if you’re a little more on the Libertarian side. Jesse Ventura is also discovering running on the Green ticket as well. Just imagine Jesse ‘The Body’ Ventura on the debate stage with Donald Trump? Popcorn for DAYS.

In order for us to be taken seriously, we must prove that we’re capable of holding the party accountable. Not voting for them is the ultimate accountability, and you get to keep your principles intact.

Now- to the ultimate argument you’d inevitably get: “You would be helping Donald Trump secure 4 more years”.

My response? You don’t have to bare the blame for that. You wont be at fault for Joe Biden losing any more than those who chose not to vote at all. It’s on the party to earn these votes. That’s how elections work. If you hate the candidate and don’t feel good about them as a person, why is it your responsibility to put them in office? To me- one of the most personal things a person has, is their vote. Not their dollars, or their Tweets. It’s checking a box for the person YOU chose to represent you. If that person doesn’t believe in hardly anything you personally believe in- why is it that they deserve your vote, again? How is it that they’re are somehow entitled to that vote? They don’t, and they aren’t. I’m looking at you too, Republicans.

In closing…

Progressives, I’m sorry to break it to you but- Medicare For All is not on the ballot. Taxing the rich is not on the ballot. Ending corruption and crooked politicians is not on the ballot.

But- ending a terrible two-party system IS on the ballot. Taking your personal vote back, IS on the ballot. In my opinion- the only wasted vote, is the one you were demanded in giving up to what you don’t believe in.

-LZ

https://medium.com/@legacyzero/why-sanders-supporters-should-not-vote-for-joe-biden-a9146bee189b

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lovefollowsknowledge · 7 years

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My Vocation is Love

Life has been crazy lately. I’ve had something almost everyday after school and almost every weekend for the past month. It’s been awesome, but it’s just been a lot ;) It’s also been keeping me from writing. Well that’s not entirely true. As busy as my schedule has been, that’s also how my mind has been. I’ve come up with a lot of things I want to write about, but for some reason every time I sit down to write it just doesn’t come out. Or it does and it’s just completely incoherent. But there’s also been times I’ve written, and I feel ready to publish, but then I start to become really self-conscious and I stop. I start thinking things like no one would want to read about what I wrote, no one cares about my own personal story, it’s way too long for anyone to read the whole thing through. I get thoughts like it’s too much or sometimes I think it’s not enough. I just get bombarded with a million different thoughts of doubt. Doubt in myself but also doubt in what God is doing in my life. Like maybe I’m making it up. Or I’m being too dramatic. But lately I’ve been seeing more and more messages that essentially say to just go ahead and do it. Trust the grace that’s been given. Trust the way the Lord has been working in your life. One line in particular came from St. Faustina’s diary, “I have wasted many of God’s graces because I was always afraid of being deluded.” That’s exactly how I feel! Like the things the Lord puts on my heart to share, the miraculous ways He’s working, how truly alive He makes Himself out to be to me - like all those things I’m just making up or being too dramatic or making a bigger deal of things than they really are. But then there’s another line in the diary where St. Faustina is talking to Jesus. It goes, “In one of my morning talks with Him I said, ‘Jesus, are you not an illusion?’ Jesus answered me, ‘My love deceives no one.’” So boom baby. I cannot convince anyone of any truth, I cannot dumb down the glories the Lord has shown in my life. I can only be faithful to what the Lord has put on my heart. So here we go!

Every year I like to write a birthday blog either reflecting on the past year or sharing my goals and dreams for the next. However, I’ve been having a hard time coming up with the right words because I feel like this year just kind of happened to me and for the first time I have no plans for the future. But I finally came up with 2 words to describe this past year and 1 word to describe this next: humbling, frustrating, and adventure.

Humbling. I may have shared this already, but I’m gonna go ahead and dive into it again anyway. I used to take pride in how active and independent I am. My whole life I was always a part of something. In middle school I was ASB president. In high school I did sports, ROTC, drama, band, clubs, leadership, and was in honors/AP classes. I was never home, and I loved it! Not because I hate home, but because I just really love being active! I love serving (in whatever context or capacity that may be), and I absolutely loved being involved. And if I were to be honest, I loved leading. I loved that I could be the person to answer everyone’s questions. I loved that I could be the person people could look up to and be inspired by. As graduation was approaching, I was extremely excited to find a school out of state. Partially because I just needed to get away, but mostly because I wanted to prove I could make it out there on my own, that I didn’t need my community’s or family’s support. And again once I started college I jumped right back into being active. I was on different prayer teams, retreat teams, mission team. I was part of a household and eventually became coordinator of that household. I took pride in the fact that I was a double major with a minor (even though at my school that was completely normal haha). I was always busy. And any opportunity I had to travel the country on road trip or travel the world around Europe, I took it! Busy body was the name of the game. Fast forward a little, I graduate, get my first job as a youth minister, and after a year into my job I get seriously sick and I have to quit. That was a low blow for me, but I didn’t let that stop me. It didn’t take long for me to start making plans with my new found time off. I was going on hikes, going on trips, leading YA events. And as soon as those events were done, I moved onto my next plan which was to move to Michigan! Fast forward some more, I move to Michigan, give every ounce of energy to my job as a youth minister, and yet again after a year into my job I get even more seriously sick. This time around I waste completely no time, and I jump right into planning for the future. I start studying for my GRE and researching intensely to find the perfect grad program. But that flops and I move onto my next great idea - religious life. But then that flops and I move onto my next next great idea - dating through apps and online services. It was crazy! I’d just hop from one thing to the next. But as time progressed I seemed to only get sicker, and as many times as I heard from people back home begging me to come back I was even more staunched in my ways to prove I could make it on my own out in Michigan. But after months and months of treatment, I finally decided to come home. And of course as soon as I get back to Cali I start making plans. Right away, I start talking with my sister and cousins to move in with them. I rewrite my resume to fit the available jobs I’m finding. I refuse to let this move slow me down...And then I turn 26 and I swear everything in my life came to a screeching halt. My birthday must’ve been the last time I went out, the last time I chose to push beyond my exhaustion and rising symptoms.

As soon as I turned 26, I had no choice but to relinquish all the independence I’d always clung so tightly to. The active life I’ve always strived for, the great and many plans I had for the future, all of it just felt demolished. I was diagnosed with lupus, and my life was turned upside down. I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again, when I was in the hospital I couldn’t walk by myself, stand by myself, use the bathroom by myself. I couldn’t feed myself, I could barely talk for myself. And when I got out of the hospital, I had to let my dad bring me my meals because getting up was just too much of an ordeal. I used to have many many plans for myself. I used to have adventures planned out for the week, trips planned out for the month. But at that point all I could literally plan out was what I was going to eat for my next meal and what time I would wake up for it. There was simply no other choice but for me to rest in bed. Even if I wanted to say screw it, I don’t need rest, my body was simply not allowing it. There was no other option but to rely on the people around me. There was no other option but to be still. And it was like that for a long time. I never left the house, not even for Mass. I couldn’t see anybody unless they came to visit me. And any time I did leave the house, I couldn’t drive myself, so I was restricted to my dad’s schedule and his own outings. After a few months I was starting to feel a little better, so of course I jumped right into planning mode. I made moves to discern religious life again, I bought a ticket to visit Michigan, I bought a season pass to Universal studios. But with every single thing I planned, the door closed right in my face. Even when I tried to make moves, tried to make plans, tried to get busy again, it simply was not an option. And it has just been the most humbling thing. After making all my own choices for adventures, trips, activities, after always having a plan for my future and knowing the necessary steps to take to get there, I was finally being forced to stop, rest, and be still. I was finally being forced to receive. To receive help, receive support, receive love. I remember as everyone around me was taking care of me, and I was having the hardest time accepting the situation, I kept repeating to myself something I learned from Ate Josette and Kuya Raff (which I later found out was actually St. Francis de Sales haha), “Ask for nothing, refuse nothing.” I wouldn’t ask for anything (extra) but I also wouldn’t refuse anything if someone wanted to offer some sort of help or gift to me in my time of need. It was just the most humbling thing but definitely a way for the Lord to crumble to pieces the crusts that surrounded my prideful heart. It was humbling, but it was definitely one of the ways the Lord used to give me life in a way I had never known it before. Because it allowed me to receive love. Which I am just the worst at. I’m all about giving and receiving only from the gifts that come from that giving, if that makes sense. Like my receiving was the thanks I got at the end of a talk or retreat, or watching the transformation of kids’ hearts right before my eyes. My receiving the fruits that came out of my service. But this year the Lord has been teaching me that His love is free. That I don’t need to do anything or be anything in order to be loved by Him or by my friends and family.

I think I’ve always clung to an active lifestyle and to such great grand plans for my future because yeah I love the busyness of it all, I love serving, I love giving but also because I needed that affirmation. I needed to prove I was worthy of love because of the great things I can do and the great things I have already done. I think that’s part of why I loved being the leader so much. I think having the answers and being the go to person spoke to me that I am great, I am a worthy person because I am contributing greatly to the situation. I needed to contribute in great ways so people would know me and so people would love me. I know, it all sounds so very prideful, and I think that’s the point. I think this year the Lord wanted to free me from these lies. These lies that my busyness, my contribution, the impact I leave on people’s lives that’s what makes me great and worthwhile. That’s what makes my life worth it. That’s what gives my life dignity. I needed to break from the lies that my service is what makes me lovable and good. I needed to be seen, so I could be known, so I could be loved. I took so much pride in my service because service equaled greatness and the greater I was the more lovable I was. But this year service was completely not an option. And I know I did dabble in service here and there throughout the year, but even when I tried to dive all into that the door still closed. This year the Lord gave me no option but to sit, be still, and receive. And while it has been hard, it’s also has been the most freeing and life giving thing. Because then there’s no more of this restless striving. There’s just peace and rest. Which brings me to my next point...

Frustrating. This whole humbling process has been completely frustrating. Because my natural instinct is to resist anything that tries to slow me down. I’ve been seriously sick in the past, but like I said the moment my time opened up I always filled it with more plans. But this time that just wasn’t an option, and it’s been the most frustrating thing! I guess it goes hand in hand with the weightlifting I’ve also attempted to do this year. Thankfully we were working out in the comfort of Hydie’s garage, so we didn’t have to worry about the experienced, heavylifters we’d find at the gym. But still. It’s kinda super embarrassing, at least for me, to start with the bar because it just looks so panzy. But the truth is, when you’re first starting, that bar is a beast! So we’d do different work outs, some to work our legs, some to work our arms. The ones to work the legs weren’t necessarily easy, but I was progressing pretty steadily with them. Increasing 5lbs every session as the program says. The arm work outs, on the other hand, were a whole different story. You start with the bar for all the exercises and increase by 5lbs every session. At my best, I was squatting 145 and deadlifting 170. But in the same week, I was also benching and rowing 85 and overheading 60. But even at those weights I was never completing a full set. And after a while the program would finally say to deload on my arm workouts. Which is super humbling especially because my leg workouts were going great, but more than anything else it was super frustrating. Because as much as I wanted to lift that bar over my head, I just couldn’t do it. Or as much as I wanted to get that bar up to my chest, I couldn’t do it. And I would end sessions feeling like crap like “what can’t I do this!” But at the end of the day I had no choice but to deload and work my way up but in smaller increments (increasing by 1lb instead of 5). And that’s how I felt like my life was going. In some ways I felt like I was getting stronger faster, but in other ways I simply was not ready. And it annoyed the crap out of me. Like the traveling business. I felt physically ready to travel, but my doctors knew, my parents knew it just wasn’t time. Or when I felt ready to jump back into service. To me I saw it as a real possibility, but again my parents knew, my doctors it just wasn’t an option yet. It was so annoying, and I resented my parents a little bit for it, tbh. Just as I resented the Lord, except I resented Him quite a bit more. I was just straight mad at Him. Mad because I felt He wasn’t being faithful to His promises that He would satisfy the desires of my heart, or His promise to take care of those who are faithful to Him. Mad that He had taken me all this way just to close the door in my face. Mad simply because He wouldn’t let me do what I wanted to do. This year has been completely frustrating, and I blamed God for every bit of it. To the point, Mass had become this annoying chore I had to sit through every week. An hour where I would spend either sleeping through or rolling my eyes to every verse or word from the priest that essentially promised God’s love and providence. I thought it was all BS.

Till finally I went to the Steubie conference, and I let it all out. But I also let it all in. For the first time in a long time when I saw God’s love alive in those youth, in the worship leaders, in the speakers, for the first time I didn’t resist or roll my eyes, but by the grace of God alone I opened my heart to it. I had a moment when I was criticizing the service team in my head for all the faith and hope they had in the Lord. Any time I saw someone faithful I would think, “They must’ve never gone through shit.” Like their life has been easy. But I had a moment where as I was thinking that, it was followed by another thought, “Probably the reason they have the strong faith they have is because they’ve gone through shit.” They’re faith is as strong as it is because it’s been tested by fire. It’s gone through Hell, but it never gave up. It kept clinging to God, through all the flames, and it came out even stronger. I had another moment when I was criticizing the youth in my head thinking, “They are so naive. They have no idea what a waste of time this is. They have no idea how disappointed they’ll be in the future.” But then I thought, “I was once them. Before being jaded by this world and clinging more to hopelessnes than to hope itself, I was that kid singing my heart out. Crying out to God that I would never leave Him, that I would do whatever He wants, go wherever He leads.” One of my favorite lines as a youth was, “I would give the world to tell your story because I know that You’ve call me...Jesus I believe in You, and I would go to the ends of the earth.” That was the absolute cry of my heart, and I meant it with every bone in my body. And at that moment of the conference I thought, “This is where it counts.” Not just as a youth and not just when I’m feeling good. But now. When it hurts. So that weekend I finally spoke my frustrations, I spoke my aches and pains. I spoke to a priest, and I spoke to one of the speakers and both times they said, “keep coming.” Even if it hurts, even if it makes no sense, keep coming. And so I did. Which leads me to my last point...

Adventure. After praying and praying consistently and having my heart slowly turn back to God, the Lord drops this job in my lap. And this job has got to be the pinnacle of my entire year. It is everything this year has been - humbling and frustrating. I have a job, yes, and that is a huge accomplishment considering everything I’ve been through. But this job is part-time and it’s an aide position. I’m not the teacher. I’m not the one calling the shots. I’m not the one up there speaking. I’m not the one with all the answers. In fact kids will raise their hand, and I’ll approach them to try to help, and they’ll say, “Oh you can’t answer this. This is for Mr. so and so.” Or they will ask their question to me and I have to say, “I don’t have an answer for that, let me ask Mr. so and so.” I am not the lead. I am not in charge. In fact, my job is to sit on the sidelines. Not assistant teacher but assistant to the teacher. And it’s frustrating because those are the things I love to do. I mean yes, being the go to person. But more than that, I love teaching. There is just a certain life and joy I get when I teach or when I speak. It’s a real gift. And it’s frustrating that I have to sit in a classroom and not do what I love, not teach. So the first month or so of school was really hard. Because I just felt like a waste. I felt like I wasn’t using my gifts and talents the way I normally do, and I felt I had no way to effect change. Because I feel like my gifts lie in speaking and in writing, but this job doesn’t allow for that so much. And I was starting to feel like this job had no purpose. Like I had no purpose because I wasn’t serving in the capacity I normally do. People would ask me how I like my job or what my plans were with this job, and I honestly couldn’t answer them. The job was a lot harder than I thought it would be because of the humility it’s calling me to, and I had no plan because it literally just fell into my lap. Both of which were kind of freaking me out. I didn’t like the struggle this job had become, and I didn’t like that I had no plan from here. But as the weeks progressed in my work, suddenly the kids were really learning my name and were really asking for my help. They were asking for my opinion, they were telling me their opinion, they were asking for stories, they were telling me stories. I realized, without even trying, I had made a presence with these kids. Just by doing my simple job of grading papers, walking around the classroom, and doing recess and lunch yard duty. Somehow, I had made a presence. And this is where the Lord stepped in and kind of tied it all together.

I was getting frustrated and even restless and anxious because I was starting to feel like I had no purpose. I simply missed serving, I missed using my gifts for the glory of God. I’m sure there was pride tied up in there, but there was also just a genuine desire to serve and to speak truth. And I was getting frustrated by the humility my job was calling me to because I felt it wasn’t allowing me to do that, at least not in the leadership way I’m used to. I brought that to prayer one day, just telling the Lord how weird it is I’m not serving, how weird it is I’m not in any sort of leadership role, how weird it is I’m not discerning religious life anymore. But then I realized in that moment, as weird and as frustrating as it could be, it’s also been incredibly freeing and refreshing, for many reasons. 1) because my relationship with the Lord, the love I receive from Him no longer relies on the service I give Him. This lack of service, lack of activity has given me the gift to receive the free love of God. 2) I get to be with youth without the pressure of being in charge, without the pressure of making the calls. All I have to do is follow. Follow the lead of the teachers. And in that I get the freedom to just simply be with the youth. And then I realized, I am just about to embark on my latest and greatest adventure with the Lord!

I have lived my whole life striving to be in the limelight. I wanted to be well known and loved by my classmates at school. I wanted to be looked up to and inspiring to the people around me. I wanted to be seen as someone super holy for entering religious life. I wanted to be Catholic famous for my speaking and writing, get into that network of people that gets asked to do conferences and speaking gigs all across the country. I wanted to be great by being known. But just through my current life circumstances, and the kind of life my health is calling me to live, the Lord is teaching me and showing me a much smaller and littler way. A way where I am no one but a girl on the sidelines, a fill in, a substitute, someone who merely passes out paper towels and baby wipes, who makes copy runs and hangs up posters, who walks around the room to keep kids in check and make sure they’re on task, someone who merely blows the whistle when kids do something stupid at recess or blow the whistle when it’s time to come back in. I am truly replaceable at my job. So much so we have parent volunteers that come in and basically do my job for free. My job is no big deal. And that used to frustrate me a lot. But through this job, the Lord is teaching me two very simple things, which I have heard over and over in the past decade but have never let sink in until now, “the little way,” as St. Therese says, and “small acts with great love,” as my beloved Mama T says. I feel like with this job the Lord is calling me to be humble, yes, but in a way that He’s calling me to be small. To not be a leader. To not rely on my words, on my gift to speak or my gift to write. I feel like He’s calling me to not limit my service, not limit the works I do for His Kingdom, not limit the ways I strive to radiate His love to just my speaking and my writing. For the past few months I feel like He’s been calling me to learn to love in all contexts. I’ve been trying to figure out what that means exactly or what that could look like, and I think this job is it. I need to learn to love not with my words, not with great speaking gigs, or great writing pieces, but I need to learn to love simply with my presence because that’s all I have with these kids. All I have is my presence. The essence of my job is all practicality. My job consists of a bunch of little tasks that need to get done right now. There is nothing deep, nothing profound. There’s not even a lot of space for that. All I have is my presence. My presence as I walk around the classroom, my presence as I walk around the lunch table, my presence as I was about the blacktop. All I have is presence. And that used to bother me because I felt so limited, but now I’m starting to see that every little encounter I have with a student is an opportunity to bring Christ’s presence to them. But it’s an opportunity to love with Christ’s love, to love even when I’m growing impatient with them, when I’m irritated, when I’m feeling close to hopeless about certain situations. Now I’m seeing that this job is an opportunity to be stretched and to love in a much truer and purer form. This is the gift of my job. Through my job I am learning that just because the Lord isn’t calling me to religious life or to full time ministry or service on some grand scale, doesn’t mean He’s no longer calling me to service. Doesn’t mean I’m no longer called to love. Doesn’t mean I’m no longer called to radiate His love. Just because God’s no longer calling me to full time ministry doesn’t mean He’s not close to me anymore. Which are all lies I was buying into. But as each day passes, I’m starting to see He is ever so present to me in each of these kids. Each of these kids is an opportunity to quench the thirst of Christ, His thirst for our love. Each of these kids is an opportunity to bring Christ the Living Water to quench their thirst for love.

I have no idea where this could lead me nor do I even have a plan of where this could lead me. Something else I keep coming back to is something my therapist taught me, “don’t focus on what you don’t know, focus on what you do know.” And well I don’t know why the Lord closed the doors that He did to me. I don’t know why I ended up with this job. I don’t what the Lord is going to do these yearnings in my heart. I don’t know if I’m called to be a teacher. I don’t know if I’m called to religious life. I don’t know if I’m called to marriage. All I know is that I work a 19 hour job at St. Catherine’s as a teacher’s aide with my best friends. Those are the facts of my life. And I can get frustrated and feel humiliated by my state of life or I can enter into possibly the greatest adventure of my life thus far. Where I completely let go of control, where I stop taking the lead, where I simply follow. An adventure where I no longer resist but I let the Lord stretch me as He sees fit. An adventure where I no longer seek for what is not but enter into what is. An adventure where I learn to love in a way I’ve never loved before. Through simple acts with great love. An adventure where I refuse Him nothing. I may not know why I ended up where I am today, why I have the job I have, but one thing remains the same; I am still called to love. Be it as a youth minister, a religious sister, a wife, a single person. As St. Therese said, my vocation is love. And I think this is the adventure the Lord is calling me to. To no longer be concerned with esteem, with titles, with roles, with even Vocations, but to simply choose to love in all contexts, to the greatest capacity He is calling me to. That love isn’t about what I’ll get out of it, what I’ll get in return, love is just about loving. For the free gift that it is. Just as He has shown me this past year with my sickness and recovery. The free love that I’ve been given without having to first give in my service, this is the free love He’s calling me to give. Not thinking of what people will think of me, positively or negatively, but to just love. No agenda. A love not focused on me and the gifts I can offer. Just love. Regardless of my position.

All the frustrating, annoying, yet freeing process of being humbled this past year has all led up to this year to come. Not that I am now a perfectly humble person, but that He continues to call me on to such humility through this job, this job of being nothing but present to these kids. This new ministry of presence. So I have no plan for the future, no plan for this next year. All I know is that I’m excited to enter into the heart of a Christ, into the heart of the Father, into a life fully immersed in the Holy Spirit, so I can receive and learn to give His love in a very new, purifying, and life giving way.

If you made it this far in the blog, join me in giving all glory and praise to God through Mary. For everything He’s done thus far and everything He will do in this next year.

Cheers to 27!

St. Faustina, pray for us! St. Therese of Lisieux, pray for us! St. Teresa of Calcutta, pray for us! LDM.

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ladydracarysao3 · 7 years

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In Love, Serenity

Chapter Twenty Nine: Fear & Fatigue

Excerpt:

He winks at her just before lunging and lifting her into his arms as if she weighs nothing. The feeling gives her as much of a thrill as it did the first time he lifted her in the war room months before.

He carries her to her bed and throws her playfully onto her sheets. She bounces with a squeal. She’s never had the pleasure of seeing him so confident about wanting her. Perhaps he really did miss her desperately. How long has he been planning to take her this way, she wonders.

He begins stripping from his armor and Izzalea adores the sight. Layer by layer, he peels off his mantle, back and breastplates, gauntlets, bracers, and shirts until he is left barechested and grinning.

“Cullen,” Izzalea says in a throaty moan. “You surprise me.”

“Is this alright?” he asks, kneeling on the bed and leaning over her as she lies flat against the sheets.

“It’s more than alright. I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

[Read Chapter 29 on AO3] or [Start from the Beginning]

-Izzalea-

The desert sun is hot and burning, even as it begins to set. Izzalea looks down at her ever darkening skin, her arms bare from discarding her tunics long ago. She should be protecting herself from the sun, but the days are so hot, and she sweats so much that she just cannot handle the touch of stinking, wet cloth anymore. She’s resorted to wandering around with the least amount of cloth she can get away with, loose sleeveless shirts with linen pants that she rolls up to her knees. She would refuse shoes, too, if it wasn’t for the fact that the stone is so bloody hot, so she fashioned together the lightest slipper-of-a-shoe she could dream up.

She wishes she could wear even less, but she’s still Inquisitor. She needs to be decent. But thankfully, in a keep made up of mainly fighters, there is an atmosphere of a brotherhood. A comradery that has helped her relax, even if just a little bit. No one gives her a second glance as she walks around, her brown skin showing and deepening under the sizzling sun. There are no faint-of-heart nobles poking around to be shocked and appalled at having just witnessed the Inquisitor’s unsheathed calves and forearms.

It’s the little things that are keeping her going and she has so precious few of those anymore. The lack of nobles squawking at her day in and day out is the silver lining to this entire wretched existence in which she’s found herself.

Izzalea leans on the walls on the ramparts and stares to the east. Adamant Keep is out there. It’s waiting.

She’d tried to talk to Clarel, she really did. She took a team to the fortress and called out for parley. As they approached the gates of the massive structure, however, arrows came raining down upon them. If it hadn’t been for a well timed barrier cast by Solas, she’d probably be dead.

Now, more Grey Wardens arrive at Adamant daily. Izzalea has scouts positioned outside the keep around the clock. Watching. Reporting.

Eerie lights can be seen in flashes from the center of the keep at night, and agents report fires of bodies being burned far from the keep’s walls. The dead are snuck out in the cover of darkness, taken far to another old ritual tower, and set ablaze. Clarel is definitely hiding what she is doing from her men.

People are being murdered for sacrifice every night . Corypheus’ demon army grows every night . And every night , Izzalea stares to the east, wishing she could stop it…

She will stop it, though. The Inquisition's ravens have been especially busy over the last two weeks, and now her army is marching across Orlias to meet her. They will stop this, together. They have to. There is no other alternative.

With the support of the Empress and the aid of Lady Seryl - who proved to be a very advantageous ally in supplying the Inquisition with new and stronger trebuchets - Izzalea’s army will lay siege on the fortress and stop the demon army by force.

Cullen is very confident that with their access to modern equipment, the walls of the ancient citadel will come crumbling down, giving them the ability to storm the keep and destroy Corypheus’ plans. She just hopes that the Wardens who’ve not been enslaved will see reason. She cannot stomach the idea of killing all of the Wardens in southern Thedas. No matter how misguided they are at this juncture, they are still Grey Wardens. They are still heroes.

Izzalea sighs as she stares into the dimming eastern sky. Cullen is out there. He is coming to her. She squeezes her eyes shut and mumbles a prayer to the Maker to keep him safe.

Amidst the endless letters sent by ravens, Leliana had slipped a note in one to warn Izzalea of Cullen’s condition.

“He is still functional, but his fatigue is worsening. He leans on the closest steady object whenever he stands and his skin is only growing more pekid. He tries to hide his weakening health, but he fails. I do not want you to be surprised when you see him.”

Cullen is deteriorating due to his lyrium withdrawals, and he is continuing to fight the battle alone. When he told her months ago that he’d stopped taking lyrium, he warned her that he could go mad or even die. She could tell quitting was extremely important to him, and encouraged him to stick to it. She’d hoped they could find a cure or something to help him, but she allowed her focus to fall. Now he’s growing sicker, and she can’t help him. He’s traveling across vast lands, he’s going to fight in a siege battle, and there is nothing she can do to bolster his strength.

If he dies, whether from the withdrawal or falling to someone’s blade due to his weakened state…

No.

She can’t think about that.

Cassandra agreed to watch Cullen, assess his progress - or lack thereof. She is a Seeker, if anyone knows whether or not Cullen can handle this, it will be her. They can meet before the battle and decide if he needs to stay behind, or stay in the very back while their army charges forward.

If he even makes it to her in the first place…

She scrunches her face and rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands. She has to stop thinking like that. The situation’s out of her hands right now. All she can do is pray that it won’t end in Cullen’s death. He will endure. He has to. Izzalea has enough to worry about without adding fears that the man she cares for may be taken from her.

The blasted mark on her hand decides that now is the time to spark and sputter, sending a jolt of bright energy against her face. Izzalea yelps and cringes from the pain. She forms a fist and considers smashing her stupid mark through the battlement walls. It hurts. A lot. It started its frequent pulsing as she entered the desert, and it’s only gotten worse as the days pass.

She’d hoped it would calm, hoped it was just a temporary fluke. At least mark isn’t growing, it’s just sparking, and ringing, and screaming at her all the Maker-damned time. She’s tried her best to hide it, because she doesn’t want anyone to know she’s in pain. Her people can’t know she has a weakness.

She knocks her fist against the stone a few times as the stinging subsides, but she still hears its song in her ears. Her only break from the ringing is when she sleeps… if she sleeps. If it’s not the heat or green-glowing-torture keeping her awake, it’s her dreams. Truthfully, she doesn’t want to sleep. It’s become too much. She’s not completely sure if it’s him, or if it’s just nightmares. But it feels like it’s him, and it’s maddening. Night after night, since reaching Griffon Wing Keep, Corypheus has haunted her dreams.

She can’t see him, but she hears him. He taunts her. Twists her. Sets her soul on fire with anger. He threatens her and everything she holds dear. He won’t shut up. She screams that she’s not afraid, that he is revealing his fear of her by attacking her sleep.

Corypheus is nervous. He should be.

But the lack of rest is catching up to her. Her emotions are getting harder and harder to control. Every time she shuts her eyes he’s able dig past her defenses a little deeper, screw with her mind a little further. He’s trying to break her, and she’s terrified that it’s working.

So she doesn’t sleep. She barely eats. She just paces, and stresses, and writes to Skyhold.

Her mark flares up again and she yells out in frustration, punching the sandstone wall as she does.

“Inquisitor?” she hears Solas ask softly behind her.

Izzalea spins and blinks, trying to control her breathing and forcing her heart to stop beating like a hummingbird’s wings. She hadn’t heard him approach. “Solas,” she says, clutching her chest. Her nerves are so shot. She shouldn’t be this easy to sneak up on.

“You need to let me look at that,” he says and points to her fisted hand. It aches and green glows from between her fingers. “It’s been hurting you consistently for a while now. You aren’t hiding it from anybody.”

She grunts and tries to think of a lie, but she’s so tired, she just…can’t. Her shoulders slump forward as she places her hand in his palm, mark glowing and facing up.

“I was hoping it would just kind of…knock it off, eventually.” She sighs her words, shoulders slumping forward even more. She sounds stupid. Her logic has definitely been flawed, but Solas is kind and doesn’t chastise her.

He peers at the mark for a moment, then waves his hand above it. Blue and white glyph-type markings appear in the air over her hand and the pain lessens. The mark still sputters, still sings, but the sharp ache that shoots up her arm every time it acts up subdues. She flexes her fingers and turns her hand around, inspecting it like it’s the first time she’s seen it.

“What did you do?” she asks softly, bewildered and thankful.

He smiles and touches her cheek where the mark struck her earlier. She feels his healing magic mend a cut she didn’t even know was there, and with a cloth, he wipes a bit of blood and sweat from her face.

“I cannot make it stop, but I can at least try to aid against the pain,” the mage says as a white light from his fingers cleans the cloth, leaving behind no trace of grime. He carefully folds it and slips it in his pocket.

“I’ve been speaking with the other mages,” Solas continues. He places his hands behind his back and paces past Izzalea to peer out into the horizon toward Adamant. “Aurora confirms it wholeheartedly. The Veil is particularly thin here, feels as if it is stretching thinner every hour.” He turns his steely gaze back to Izzalea. “There is a powerful entity lurking in the Fade. I believe it is the cause of your mark’s…malfunction.”

“Fabulous,” Izzalea huffs, sinking her back again the crenelation. She wonders if that is why Corypheus has also been able to invade her dreams.

Solas turns back to stare into the void. “I believe it to be a fear demon, growing stronger every night. It feeds upon the fears of the forces within Adamant, the forces here...” Solas pauses and turns his head to his shoulder with downcast eyes. “And the fears in you, Inquisitor.”

Izzalea starts to object but he cuts her off.

“You’ve become ragged,” he says, a slight harshness to his voice. “You need to rest or your defenses will continue to strip until you are left with nothing.”

“I’ve just been having a hard time sleeping, that’s all,” Izzalea says.

“I can provide you with an enchantment that will allow you to sleep through the night.”

Then she’d be trapped with Corypheus’ threats all night long. That’s not something she’s interested in. “Thanks, Solas, but--”

“I apologize, I suppose that sounded like an offer,” he says as he turns back to her. He takes her hand in his, firm but not hostile, and presses a rune into her palm. His eyes stare into the depths of her sleepy soul. “It is a demand.”

She allows her eyelids to drop, too exhausted to put up a fight. Plus, she knows he’s right…

“I could join you in the Fade if you like. Similar to how we walked through Haven after arriving in Skyhold.”

She wonders if he is testing her. Could it be possible he knows about her nightmares? She can’t risk him hearing Corypheus. She can’t risk anyone finding out she’s weak. “No…No thank you, Solas,” she says finally. “I will take your enchantment, but will be fine dreaming alone.”

“As you wish.”

When she makes it to her quarters, she places the small rune that Solas gave her under her pillow. She is going to have to risk listening to her enemy for an entire night to even attempt to gain an amount of strength back. Who knows, maybe Corypheus will be busy tonight…

Staring into a looking glass on a table next to her bed, she sees how haggard her appearance has become. Her eyes are bloodshot, her skin is drooping, and the undersides of her eyes are puffy and dark. She looks terrible. Weak. All she can think as she stares at her reflection is, failure .

“Get your shit together,” she mutters to herself with determination and a deep frown.

She sits on the edge of her bed and whispers a prayer to the Maker. She asks him to protect her tonight, to keep the nightmares from unfolding for one night. That’s all she needs. Just one night to regain some strength, some sanity, and perhaps she can find a way to fight back tomorrow.

She blows out a small candle by her bed and takes one last glance through an east facing window. She sees a faint flash of green far off in the distance, and her heart sinks. If she is going to stop this madness, she needs to be strong.

Lying down on her bed, she nuzzles her head into her pillow and above the rune. With a deep breath, she closes her eyes allowing herself to drift into the Fade.

When Izzalea opens her eyes, she’s in her room at Skyhold. The air is so much thinner there. It feels cool and refreshing on her seared skin. She sits up from her bed and looks around with a smile. It feels good to be back here. She’s missed this room. She feels safe here.

She hears the clatter of his boots on stone, and quickly, the golden curls of his hair appear through the railing as Cullen climbs the final steps of her tower’s staircase.

She feels elated to see him. Maker, he’s beautiful. What a sight for her tired, sore eyes. Izzalea rushes from her bed, running with barefeet slapping against cold stone. “Cullen!” she yells in jubilation.

She practically knocks him over when her body collides with his. He laughs and holds her tightly. “Good morning, my love,” he says between deep, breathy chuckles. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, I believe so, the best I’ve had in a long time,” she says with a smile and backs out from their hug with a long toe-to-fingertip stretch. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“As am I,” he says with a wicked smirk, his scar curling in that enticing way that it does. “I missed you desperately, Izzalea.” His voice has grown darker and her chest flutters.

“Oh, have you?” She smirks back.

“Cullen,” Izzalea says in a throaty moan. “You surprise me.”

“Is this alright?” he asks, kneeling on the bed and leaning over her as she lies flat against the sheets.

“It’s more than alright. I’ve been waiting for this for so long.” She feels dizzy. Her heart beats with so much excitement that it’s spastic, made even more spastic when she feels his hand glide up the length of her inner thigh. She gasps and heat pools in her smalls. She looks into his gorgeous, golden, smoldering eyes. “Cullen…”

He leans down and brushes soft kisses against her lips as his hand cups at her heat over her pajamas. She moans and press her hips forward to rub herself firmer into his palm. Cullen smiles and leans back, breaking their kiss. Izzalea bites her lower lip, overcome with warmth and feelings about how much she adores this man.

Just as she is feeling compelled to tell him how she feels about him, how much he means to her, a deep furrow appears between his brows. He looks at her with such deep concern that it’s worrying. Attempting to speak, only husky grunts crack in his throat. The pulls his hand that was seated between her thighs and knocks his fist against his chest. Panic then sparks in his eyes just before they roll back, only showing white while his eyelids flutter wildly. Cullen slumps, rolling backward onto the bed next to her.

“Cullen?!” Izzalea shrieks and sits up. She shakes him by the shoulders, “Cullen what’s happening? Cullen, wake up!”

He doesn't respond aside from low, disconcerting gurgling sounds, his mouth open and jaw loose. Izzalea continues to shake him, screaming for him to wake up, when he suddenly starts convulsing. His body springs into vicious shudders and jerks, limp and shaking violently at the same time.

Izzalea screams, “No! No, no, no, no, no!” She doesn’t know what to do, how to stop his fit, how to save him. She needs help. She starts to get up to scream from her balcony. Scream for healers to come quickly, when he stops. Just as suddenly as his convulsions began, they stopped. His body lies still. Terrifyingly still.

“No…” Her voice cracks. She rushes to feel a pulse, something to tell her he is still alive, but he isn’t breathing, his heart’s not beating. “No, Cullen,” she cries, tears streaming down her face, her body aching and trembling. “Please, wake up.” Her voice is only a crackling squeak of a sound as sobs overpower everything else. “Help,” she cries through the choking tears, but no one can hear her, no one can help. He’s gone.

The lyrium…

It must have been the lyrium…

Why did she encourage him to quit when she knew he could die? Now he’s gone.

“This will happen to your precious commander.” The voice rings in her ears so loudly that it’s almost deafening. “He is dying. Now . As he marches to your aid.” The booming voice of Corypheus echoes against the walls. “And Calpernia is watching. She is waiting for him to fall. When he does, Herald, she will be there to bring him back.”

“What are you talking about?” Izzalea calls out in anger, wiping her eyes of salty tears. It is then that she hears the tiny tinking sounds. Millions of tiny little tink-tink-tinks echo as droves of small red creatures pour from every opening, every crack, every crevice in her bedroom walls. A tiny army of red lyrium creatures. Like small lyrium spiders. They flow as if one unit from the walls and toward the bed.

Izzalea growls and crashes against them, desperately trying to protect Cullen. She throws her feet, her fists, anything , to push them back or crush them. Her body bloodies against the sharp rocky creatures. There are too many of them. She’s overrun. The creatures cover Cullens body and begin eating and tearing away at his flesh.

Izzalea screams in horror. “Stop this! Stop this, you monster!” She jumps off the bed, backing away as Cullen’s body is destroyed right before her eyes.

This isn't real, she tells herself. Corypheus trapped her in another nightmare. He is feeding off of her fears about losing Cullen to lyrium. She needs to calm down. He can’t be allowed to manipulate her like this. But seeing Cullen ripped to shreds is too much. It’s too much!

“Imagine the crippling effects to your Inquisition, once I have your commander. I believe he is much better suited helping Calpernia than your ridiculous Inquisition, don’t you?” The voice roars like violent thunder in her head. The mangled body on her bed starts to move.

Cullen sits up, the tiny red creatures forming large crystals of lyrium that jut from grey, decaying flesh. His eyes glow with a bright, radiating crimson and he stands, glaring into her.

“No. Cullen. Stop. Stop this, Corypheus!” Izzalea screams.

Cullen begins taking slow, ragged steps toward her and she backs up faster.

“Cease your ridiculous plot to undo me, Izzalea, and I will stop torturing your dreams. Submit to me, and I will make you a General. I will save your precious Cullen, and you will only know glory. For that is what you want most in this world, is it not? Your pride hunts for glory. You feed off it. I will bestow it upon you. You need only submit.”

“Never!” Izzalea screams at the top of her lungs. She rushes to her wardrobe and with a powerful shove, knocks it down toward Cullen. It was an attempt to slow him down, but the tiny red lyrium creatures encircle the wood and cut through it like a sharp dagger through soft flesh.

Izzalea backs up onto her balcony. She’s trapped. She can’t wake up. And she has no idea what this monstrous version of Cullen and the army of lyrium creatures are going to do to her.

“You are a fool, Herald. Your Maker will not save you. His prophet will not aid you. They are gone. The heavens are empty. I will be your God. There is nothing you can do to stop me. I will find your Commander at his weakest moment, and I will make him mine. And I will destroy you.” The voice booms from the skies. He is everywhere. There is no escape.

Cullen walks out onto the balcony, hands outstretched to rip her apart. Izzalea screams and trips against the the stone railing behind her, flipping her off the edge.

She falls, and falls, and falls. She falls for longer than ever seemed possible, the air whipping past her as the skies and air laugh around her. Cullen leans over the edge of the balcony smiling at her, and she falls.

Just as trees come into her periphery and she knows she is about to hit the ground, her eyes snap open.

Izzalea gasps for air and jerks up from her bed, her eyes wide and blinded by the early morning sun coming through her windows. She pants and gasps for air. Her body is trembling. Her clothing and sheets are soaked through with sweat. Her heart is racing so fast that she fears it will trip on itself and stop completely. She hears it beating in her ears along with the screaming song of her mark.

She pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them. She rests her head between her knees, trying desperately to regain control of her body. Slowly, she catches her breath and slowly, her heart rate slows to a less life threatening speed. As the panic subsides, the realization of what she just dreamt sets in.

Izzalea grips at her body tightly.

And she cries.

#in love serenity #my fic #izzy trevelyan #izzalea #dragon age fanfiction

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matchmybreathing · 7 years

Text

Battling disease

This is probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to sit down and write. Being a naturally optimistic person, I don’t exactly like interacting with my demons or the pain that has plagued me in the past. In some aspects, I enjoy living in denial and ignoring what is bad. I try to cling to the fact that maybe if I’m blissfully unaware then the pain will just go away. It’s my coping mechanism and it doesn’t work. It’s like playing hide and seek with your shadow; it’s impossible because it doesn’t go away, it’s always with you. I can’t will the world to just be good to me. I have to be able to handle the harsh realities and chronic illness does just that. It forces you to feel it and not turn away from it. Lyme disease transformed my life; It completely rocked my body, my heart, my soul. And although there were many times I cursed my illness, I’ve landed in a place in my journey where I’m grateful for it. I don’t think anything else could have transformed my life the way my disease has.

Over the years people have asked me about sharing what I've learned about dealing with Chronic Lyme disease. What has helped me? What has hindered? How have I made progress? And I’ve always been terrified to open the floodgates of explaining and getting deep about Lyme. It was the monster in the dark that I couldn’t see but knew it was there. And I just couldn’t bring myself up to opening myself up and diving in to what really has happened to me. But it’s so healing and I need to talk about it.

Lyme disease is a tick borne disease that is very hard to diagnose and then treat. It can come in all different types of shapes and forms. Funny, when I was diagnosed with it, I was THRILLED because I had always had silly little sicknesses that were treated with antibiotics, and I would get better within days. I thought the same with Lyme disease. I wasn't quite aware that this disease would take years of my life and make me quite miserable. I was blissfully unaware and hopeful.

One thing that is most frustrating is the fact that Lyme is INVISIBLE. One minute I feel okay, then all of a sudden it seems like the floor has been ripped out from underneath me and I need to sit or lie down immediately or else I will collapse. This can be confusing to most people because we looked fine just a few minutes ago. Most of the time people think it’s all in my head but they don't understand the dynamic of being chronically sick! It's a huge balance of managing your emotions, your diet, your supplements, medicine and knowing what you can put your time into. Some days all I can do is just sit around, take care of my body, crochet, or do some minor activity. It's rather depressing, especially if you've planned out your day and had wanted to be productive, but no, you're sick and you'll only get worse if you keep pushing yourself too hard so you stay at home.

I’m hoping that this blog post will shed some light on this disease and help others who have it, or have a loved one that has it. Mind you, I’m not going into all the details about it but I wanted to open up about my frustrations with people (mainly loved ones) that didn’t understand and struggled to support me. In fact, most of the time I had to worry about not getting their feelings hurt amongst dealing with pain, anxiety and depression. It was a bit of a nightmare and I became more and more of a recluse because I hated seeing people disappointed. I wish I had a safe, easy way of expressing that pain so someone would understand and that’s what I’m hoping this will be. It’ll either help you, or someone you love.

Things that have helped me with Lyme:

1) Although it is often overlooked, emotional health is absolutely essential to your physical health and healing. After about two years of treatment, I had become quite depressed. I didn’t want to get out of bed, I didn’t want to see people that I loved, I would barely get anything done and honestly, some days I just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up again. That’s when I started to see a counselor and began the hard journey of working through emotional hold ups. I was amazed at the relief that I felt when I realized this. Our emotions toll our bodies so easily and they can also fester in certain places in our bodies and cause disease. When I had breakthroughs, I began healing and feeling better. I was amazed how much my emotions were hurting my body and not giving it the right energies to actually heal properly. You should definitely look up emotions and how they are linked with chronic disease.

2) Understanding your limits is vital! What you are capable of doing, emotionally, mentally and physically is something that anyone needs to be aware of! When I was really sick and I would have a random good day, I would fill it up with everything and anything I possibly could and then I would go down hill fast. If I was a better manager of that day then I would have another good day until I pushed myself too hard, depleted my body and boom, I wasn't doing well again. It’s hard to find what works but don’t stop trying. You have to try almost everything and anything in the book to figure out what works for you and what doesn’t.

3) Feed yourself with good food and surround yourself with good people. When I switched to a predominantly vegan, gluten free, sugar free diet and started eating more fruits and vegetables, along with a smoothie loaded with supplements every morning, I found myself getting better! My body wasn't weighed down by bad food that would frequently make me sicker. On top of that, I began weeding out the people I hung out with and set firm boundaries. If I felt someone was sucking out the limited energy that I had, I would take a step back and analyze the situation, trying to figure out if it was a situation that could be fixed or if it was someone that just needed to go from my life. It definitely helped.

4) Find something that uplifts you! During my illness, I always had to do SOMETHING so that I wouldn't go crazy. I had to lift my spirits. Before I got sick, I was a pretty active person, and I had always wanted to fill my days up with a lot of things, especially horses. But after I got sick, I couldn't go ride my horse, and if I could, it was only for a few minutes or else I would get very sick. It was depressing. I turned to being loved on by my dog and putting a lot of work into my art and talents that didn't require a lot of physical input from me and gave me immense joy. After awhile, I found that my depression was easier to manage because I could see how my dog would figure out I wasn't feeling well and would love on me and not let me leave his sight. On top of that, I could see what my hands were creating with art. I could write something down, a short story, or write a song and I could see that I created something through my hardship. Find what brings you joy, makes you laugh and don't let yourself get so focused on other things that you forget it.

5) Try anything and everything. It took my awhile to find something that worked for me. I tried all sorts of different treatments, antibiotics, IVs, Picc lines, oxygen therapy, etc and I didn’t really find that much helped me except for going to a kinesiologist weekly, taking a lot of supplements, diet and taking a homeopathic designated for Lyme disease. 6) Know how to detox. Make sure you drink plenty of water and have a bath with epsom salts at least once a day. It will help detox your body and you will feel better. In the early stages you will probably have a very overwhelmed body that when it detoxes just a little it will go into a full blown herxheimer reaction due to all the die off and the detoxing you’re experiencing. But it gets better.

7) Last but not least, you WILL GET BETTER. Say that with me again, YOU. WILL. GET. BETTER. Write it on your wall, have a reminder in your phone or somewhere obvious where you are reminded that your life is not over and you WILL get better. Positivity is the biggest factor.

Things to know if someone you love has Lyme:

1) When someone with Lyme is feeling absolutely horrible they are likely looking no different on the outside than they do on one of their “really good days”. This disease usually does not present itself with obvious visible symptoms, and if it does, we’re normally thrilled and want to show it off because battling a predominantly invisible disease is horrible -mainly because people just don’t understand. Be kind to us, don’t think we’re a bunch of hypochondriacs; that just makes us feel even worse.

2) People with Lyme disease quickly become amazing actors because otherwise no one would be our friend! Most people believe that a round of antibiotics will heal us and we will be normal again but they don’t realize how there is no “magic shot” or quick fix for chronic Lyme disease. What is most frustrating about this disease is that one treatment won’t fix all. Each Lyme case is unique and will respond differently to treatment. Often times we need months of treatment, an assortment of different doctors and health care practitioners before we find SOMETHING that works. It’s a frustrating journey, and no matter how upset you as a loved one may feel, know that the person you love feels it 100 times worse. We often feel disappointed and depressed that we aren’t better yet. We need your reassurance to stay hopeful so we can persevere through the hardships that are bound to happen with this awful disease.

3) Lyme treatment causes something known as a “herxheimer reaction”. Or a “herx” for short. Similar to how chemotherapy makes a cancer patient feel worse, when someone with Lyme disease takes antibiotics, it can cause a large amount of die off which releases a huge amount of toxins into the body. This basically results in all of our regular symptoms being amplified as it takes some work for our bodies to get rid of these newly circulating toxins. Often times our bodies are so overburdened that they are not efficient at detoxing these toxins well, so it’s a difficult process, and definitely not an easy one to endure at all. Unfortunately, it is often necessary to push through this in order to make improvements.

4) Lyme disease treatment is extremely expensive, and likely not covered by insurance. Most treatment that can be covered by insurance is the newly bitten person that has gotten a small amount of symptoms and begins taking a round of antibiotics. In most of these cases a few weeks or few months of antibiotics are all that is needed to regain health. But when you have late term chronic Lyme disease, you aren’t so lucky. We have to try almost everything to find something that works. Sometimes this means traveling to doctors on the other side of the continent, maybe even the world. Or trying new cutting edge treatment options that are pricey and paid for out of pocket. This is a bit of a nightmare for us, as we already have the huge burden of failing health to carry, and don’t need the added stress of coming up with enough money to get better.

5) If you want to help your friend, or loved one, offer to host a bake sale or fundraiser to help raise money for their treatments, or just be there to listen and love on them. It will probably mean more to them than you know. Company, even if it’s not much, is extremely appreciated with someone that is dealing with Lyme.

6) Be your friend or loved one’s cheerleader! Keep them persevering and don’t let them give up! We need all the support we can get!

#libby smallbone #chronic lyme disease #chronic illness #disease #emotional health

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houseofcrimerp-blog · 8 years

Photo

« THE MISCREANT »

❝ WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO, ANGEL FACE? STAB ME WITH YOUR EYEBROW PENCIL? ❞

LAST NAME, FIRST NAME: Vulpes, Theodor (Theo, Teddy) AGE: 32 HOUSE OF CHOICE/INDIVIDUAL ACTIVITY/N/A: Former level 2 in War, unaffiliated OCCUPATION AND/OR LEVEL: Bar owner at “Foxes” FACE CLAIM: Charles Michael Davis NATIONALITY: Romanian ETHNICITY: African/Filipino

CONNECTIONS:

His recruiter. This would be a person who found Theo around 8ish years ago and was trusted, considered a mentor. However, when they realized that Theo’s fiancee was someone from the house of Death and that she murdered one of War’s, they killed Bobby in cold blood, which made Theodor leave the house.

Theo is prone to “adopt” younger people who get kicked out by their parents, or get in any trouble, therefore someone younger (a few, even) who’d need something like that would be nice.

Anyone from War. As it has been around 1.5 years since he left the syndicate, it would only make sense for members who were there for longer to know him. Any kind of relationship works here, either still low key friendship or straight up going for throats.

People of similar fate, runaways from houses or law, or whatever, all that stuff is welcomed and needed.

The group of his former friends he had left behind to join war, aka any of them, and since they aren’t described in detail anything can work. I would think they wouldn’t be on the best terms because Theo did leave them in dust to join the house, even if they don’t necessarily know that.

I also really want someone with Danielle Campbell face claim in his life?? I mean sue me, I’ll figure it more out, but I want to since I am quite the real sucker for things like that. Aka faces from the same shows.

PERSONALITY:

Theodor was always known to be quite the charmer, witty and quick with both feet and brain. Labelled many things he has yet to prove them wrong, which is rather hard when they fit the personality within the flesh and bone cage. Easily adapting to new situations, he had never felt tied to anything and therefore was seen (and truly was) fickle, yet smooth and careful with it not to disturb any sleeping bears around. One might think he could have fitted into another house better rather than the loyal and family like War, but he always had a need to belong and to be accepted somewhere rooted deep inside, even though never showed outside. Theo being hot tempered and always ready for a good fight, whether it would be just words or fists or, even better, both, he would never turn away from such opportunity.

Which was one of constant stimulations he always sought: before, during and after War period. They only left different consequences after his steps were made. Heart begging for thrill, people came and went through his bedrooms, fists bruised and knuckles bleeding, split lip numbed by a shot of strong alcohol. If not for the constant urge to break the chains he felt he was forced to wear, he was War’s child, and it had been seen in everything he did. Before the syndicate took him in he was always moving, troubled and uncontrolled, his own urges taking the best of him which only made the final label ‘the miscreant’ stick for good, next to heretic, rascal, and any other one could think with similar undertone.

After the house business was out of the picture, old habits chased after him and he soon was falling into the grip of theirs again, embracing the old lost friends. Reclaiming the title and filing it all up with experiences and anger that he did not know where to put. While considered untrustworthy by most, Theodor still has a good heart which he takes some time out of each day to cover up.

MBTI AND/OR ENNEAGRAM: ENTP.

THREE WEAKNESSES:

His mother. Even though she had passed away he keeps visiting her grave to give her respect and sometimes even talks to her for hours. It’s his solace.

Kids. No matter things he had done over the course of his life, Theo has a strict rule about kids and often goes out of his way to help, if he’s only needed.

His own temper. Hot headed and brash, he is not one to turn away from a fight and anger is something hard for him to control. With War or Bobby it used to be different as he felt more grounded, but now at times he feels like all of this is a huge step back.

BIOGRAPHY:

Tw: death, suicide mention, violence

Dominique was a tourist from Philippines in Bucharest, where she met Cornel and cliché as it was, stayed. The decision was made with a lot of love in their hearts as the young woman left everything behind: her family, her boyfriend, her job, and instead took up to work in a bakery here, married Cornel and eventually bought a tiny house at the side of the city. She was pregnant by the second year of their marriage, and the couple couldn’t be more overjoyed by the boy they named carefully, soon telling their families the good news. Dominique used to sing tiny lullabies every night sitting next to Theodor’s bed when his father came late at home or didn’t at all, for the kid found him passed out bruised up on the couch in the morning as he grew up into his sixth and seventh years.

He was a good man, but the marriage was crumbling without Theodor realizing it. His father loved him still, even after the divorce, always addressing him by the nickname of ‘little fox’ which always sounded so oddly soft with the husky voice he inherited. Soon he saw his father no more, and only in whispers came back news about him found dead. Unnatural causes, they said. The young Vulpes still understood little about the atrocities of this world and it only seemed like a bad accident to him, breaking his heart in two but promising to deal with it, because his mother now needed him most than ever. But that was typically how children of War and other syndicates were born. Something troubled right beneath their skin, under their clavicles and the thick bones of their foreheads. Children like Teddy saw too much, grew up too fast into unforgiving world grabbing them by their still fragile hands, fighting for survival.

In his teenage years, Dominique started showing Parkinson’s symptoms and albeit still young, Teddy knew his life wouldn’t get much better from there. He would have to take care of his sick mother, and while it wasn’t much of a bother to him the energetic child truly wanted something more. They couldn’t afford higher education, just the two of them, but the child never lost hope carrying various books instead of rocks in his hands. His mother’s disease only taught him responsibility and how important family was. The other side of it was him being tied to one place which drove him nuts, and Dominique could see that. If Theodor was anything like his father, and she thought he was, he needed air and to see the world around him shift and change instead being locked away in the old house with her slowly getting sicker by day. However, attached to the only parent alive, Theo refused to leave his home city just like that. The illness progressed fast and it all changed when one day he came home from work just for his eyes to see mother’s last breaths. Dignity, he supposed, she wanted to preserve the last bits of it before Parkinson’s took it all to the last drop. She was quite prideful as a woman, couldn’t accept the pitying stares because of often appearing tremors.

Devastated, young Vulpes went out from the outskirts into the city to search for something, anything that would help to forget the loss of the person dearest to him. Unbeknownst to him something snapped within the tough frame, pushed him into activities that his mother would never forgive him for. Every vein itching for thrill he didn’t succumb to complete recklessness nonetheless, but violence and aching knuckles were his friends. He was half in the streets and a trouble too, someone often seen with handcuffs and out of them just as quick, sharp smile and a wicked gleam in his eye. At this point, somewhere he made a name for himself, albeit not a good one. He and his “pack” of sorts usually visited this one bar in Bucharest, loud debauchers would eventually catch someone’s eye, and that someone was from War. They started conversation with Theo, and Theo alone, when the young man moved to grab himself another pint of beer, distracted by the bartender to notice whatever was happening behind his back. Whatever they then saw in him and whatever they said — it was enough to catch Theodor’s attention. Eventually he left his old pack behind for a new family with promise of acceptance, loyalty and love.

Which wasn’t a lie. All the pacts, promises kept, taking care of each other, it was like Vulpes had found another home, another place he belonged in. It settled his temper and calmed his thirst, directing the violent urges towards what needed to be done instead of leaving them out in the open spinning so fast the core would heat up and with the obvious threat of explosion. He had joined and never looked back, gave the loyalty the house truly deserved, climbed up the ranks to level two, proudly wearing the fact like a badge. It wasn’t like they pulled up anyone and any day higher, only the ones they trusted and the ones they saw deserving of it. Many stayed in level one for years and years to come, but he was not satisfied with being replaceable. Around then he met Bobby. A wicked little ball of hell, with a heart of gold and a smile to die for. He was immediately smitten, especially because she was someone he couldn’t quite reach at first with her games and remarks. He played, patiently, and one thing after another they were sharing apartments and breakfast.

Years went by, and Theodor found happiness once again; a home, family, acceptance. With Bobby in sight he seemed to simmer down even more and while far from a pushover, the days of unnecessary violence were long past. He had responsibilities now, and a three-month pregnant fiancée, carrying a little boy. Little did he know that Bobby belonged to another house—carefully hid the tattoo just as did he, and he didn’t know. Late office hours. Spilled coffee on clothes, therefore had to change. Business trips. All these things were lies, but could he really blame her when he did all the same things? She was in Death, he then found out, holding her barely warm body in his arms, kneeling on the hard, cold floor. His recruiter had found out she killed someone of War, and returned the favour without a blink in their eye. Saying nothing, not a single word about the pregnancy (figured it would only look like an excuse now) he pulled himself together, held a funeral and moved on—

Out of the country. He wasn’t going to stay now, when he couldn’t look them in their eyes without feeling hatred bubble up. Everything he believed in was crushed under a merciless heal of his mentor’s foot and he let it happen. Let everything he had built around himself strip away naturally, like cheap paint—leaving him raw. Whatever he held back before, with War, with Bobby, everything sprung back like from a slingshot and he didn’t stop it. Theo ran, burying his sorrow deep inside and understanding once again that anger was so much easier to deal with rather than the sadness and grief itself. He needed time, and that’s what he took. No doubt those he had left behind his back would be outraged with a decision like that, but he didn’t care enough when after a year of wanderings, he came back home, into the city that gave and took without breaths in between. In the July of 2016 he took over a bar becoming its new owner, and waited. They’ll come. In a month or two, but they will surely come knocking.

#rp #oc rp #new rp #crime rp #city rp #horror rp #mafia rp #skeleton rp #b

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mcglaviano · 4 years

Text

The Trap

Sam and his mother stamped their wet shoes on the mat. She juggled shopping bags and fumbled for her keys. The warmth felt good on Sam’s face as he followed her across the threshold. And having a home felt awesome.

He handed off the grocery bags he’d brought up from the car.

“Thanks, hon,” Mom said. “I don’t know how Dad and I got so lucky.”

He grinned and shrugged out of his parka.

She arched an eyebrow and gave him The Mom Look. “Remember to hang up your coat, Sam.”

“Um, okay.”

Arms laden with grocery bags, his mother headed for the kitchen. Worry edged Sam’s warm, safe feeling aside. Mom’s limp looked worse.

Sam chewed on his lower lip and edged toward the hall closet. He reached for the doorknob only to hesitate and pull back. He tried again. This time a shudder passed through his body, leaving him chilled. His heart pounded in his chest and his mouth went dry. He glanced toward the home’s interior, toward the kitchen, where his mother sang to herself as she worked.

He wanted to do what Mom said, really he did. But he couldn’t bring himself to open the door. He didn’t dare. Finally, he hung his coat on the doorknob and scurried up the stairs to his room.

Outside, the storm raged, but the room that greeted him was warm and comfortable. This cozy bedroom had been his very own for almost two years. No metal bunkbeds, no institutional furniture. No mean kids. No scared kids or crazy kids. Instead, he had his own books, his own stuff. He had a mom and a dad. He even had friends at school. Life was lots better now. More than anything else he could imagine, Sam wanted to keep it that way.

With a heavy sigh, he closed the bedroom door and dragged his boxes of Lego® pieces into a semicircle. Within minutes he was immersed in his project. This was his third try. He had to get it right.

At first the work went quickly. From its cavelike opening to the odd, twisty way the blocks tailed off at the back, the pieces snapped together easily. But as the complicated shape evolved, progress slowed. Eventually, his project moved ahead in fits and starts. Several times, he worked himself into corners and had to rip out what he’d done. Each time, he set his jaw, took a deep breath, and tried something different.

Sam squinted, trying to picture the construct’s interior. Occasionally, his eyes burned and he fought back tears. Tears of frustration, tears of worry. “I have to get it right this time,” he whispered, careful to keep his voice soft, masked by the rattle of the storm. “I just have to.”

He remembered other Moms, other Dads. Others who’d wanted him. But it’d never worked out. It’d never had time to work out. And, at eight, Sam knew this might be his last shot at a home and family.

When Mom and Dad adopted him, he’d had been happy and excited but worried. What if he was followed? That had happened before with other homes and other chances for a family. So Sam been vigilant at first. And for a long time, there’d been no signs of pursuit, so gradually, over the past year, his worries had faded. It seemed like they were going to leave him alone… leave his new parents alone.

Then, a month ago, in the dark of the night, he’d been awakened by a faint sound. He sat bolt upright in bed, straining to hear. Something wasn’t right. There was a whisper, a noise that had no place in a safe, happy home. And sure enough, in the weeks following, it had grown worse. His enemies were back, and they got bolder every day.

He recognized the signs. This morning he’d noticed his mother scratching her ankle as she sat in the kitchen with her coffee. Later as she’d pulled on thick socks in preparation to take Sam to school, he’d caught a glimpse of a red welt on that same ankle. And after school, it had scared him when she said her leg hurt as they bustled through the aisles of the grocery store.

And several times in the past week, his father had misplaced his keys. Worse, Monday evening, even though he called her every couple of days, Dad couldn’t remember Grandma’s phone number. Sam had found a bunch of his father’s books pulled from the shelves in the den too. Some had nasty-looking bite marks on the covers.

But Sam couldn’t say anything. He’d tried that before with foster parents and with potential adoptive parents. It had never ended well. Grownups, no matter how kind and patient, just couldn’t believe. He’d learned the hard way: if he insisted, if he pushed too hard, their patience faded. And as they got sicker, their good feelings went away, replaced by something else. Something that led, finally, back to The System.

So it was up to him. If anything were to be done, it would be Sam’s doing. The responsibility felt heavy, like it might squash him flat. But what else could he do? With an effort, he pushed the scary thoughts away and concentrated on his work.

Sometimes he whistled softly. He’d only just figured out how to whistle and needed to practice. He thought whistling might help; in fact, he was almost sure of it.

Sam kept at it all through the rainy, wet afternoon. Working with his Legos. Getting better with his whistling. After a while, warm dinner smells drifted upstairs. He loved those smells. They were filled with the magic of good food. Of a safe home. Of his mom and dad.

Finally, there was a familiar tread on the stairs. Footsteps, heavier than his mother’s, approached. Sam clicked the final Lego block into place just as his father knocked at the door to his room.

“Hey, Dad,” he called, “come see what I built!”

The door swung open, and his father stood in the doorway. As always, his father’s arrival brought with it a feeling Sam couldn’t describe. It felt, somehow, like everything would work out, like everything would be okay. It was a new feeling in his eight-year-old life… a feeling he wanted desperately to protect.

Unlike his mother, who was petite and pretty, his father was a bear of a man. Big, but kind and funny. Sometimes, Sam almost felt like his father would understand his secret. That the big man could be enlisted in the battle. But what if he couldn’t make Dad believe him? No. He’d have to win this fight on his own.

“Hey there, Champ. You have a good day?”

“Um, sure.” Sam pointed to the Lego project. “See what I built?”

His father leaned over to peer at the strange angles, at the color patterns along the sides of the thing. “Say, now. That’s really something.”

Sam hopped up. He hugged his father around the waist. He felt the big man’s hand on his shoulder and craned his neck. When he caught the look on his father’s face, a pang hit his stomach. He knew what was coming.

“So… Son.”

“Yeah?”

“Did your mom ask you to hang your coat up?”

“Um… Yeah.”

“Well?”

“Uh, I can’t… reach the hangers.”

His father nodded. “But there’s a hook on the inside of the closet door. I put it there for you… ’Til you’re taller.”

Sam took a deep breath, and suddenly, despite his resolve, it all poured out in a rush. “There’s spider things in that closet, Dad! Big ones. And they’re bad. And—”

His father shook his head, which sent Sam’s stomach into the basement. The big man’s voice stayed patient, but firm. “We talked about this, Son. Imagination is good. Grand, even. But we still have our responsibilities.”

He nodded. “I know. That’s why I built it.”

“Built what?”

Sam pointed to the Lego project. His father glanced at it, only to return his gaze to him, to look deep into his eyes. The big man started to reply but hesitated. He puffed out his cheeks in a sigh. Nodded.

“So, what should we do?” his father asked, finally.

Hope surged in Sam’s heart. “Um, would you carry it downstairs for me?”

“I suppose I could. Then you’ll hang up your coat?”

Sam gave a vigorous nod. “Yep. You bet. This’ll take care of those boogers.”

“Well, then. I guess we’d better get on with it.” The big man’s knees crackled as he knelt on the floor. “Hmmm… What is this? Some kind of spaceship?”

As his father reached toward the complex object, Sam grabbed his wrist. “No Dad! Not there!”

“What?”

“You can’t touch that part. They’ll smell your hands and won’t go in.”

“Ah. Where then?”

Sam pointed to some flat places on either side of the piece. “There. Hold it there. And there, see?”

His father hesitated, nodded. His knees cracked again as he got to his feet. At last, with Sam trailing behind, his father carried the Lego sculpture down the stairs and into the front hall.

Sam pointed. “Put it on the floor, Dad.”

“Here?”

“By the closet door. A little closer. Now turn it.”

“Like this?”

“Yeah. That’s it. Thanks, Dad. I was wondering how to get it downstairs.”

“Hmmm… So now what?”

Despite feeling like his heart was trying to shinny up his throat, Sam stood up straight and flung back his shoulders. “I’ll do the rest, Dad. You just stand back. And keep watch.”

He took a deep breath and reclaimed his coat. He glanced over his shoulder and met his father’s gaze. The big man nodded, a kind smile firmly in place.

Finally, with his jaw clenched hard and his heart hammering in his chest, Sam turned the knob and flung open the closet door. At first nothing happened, but, just as Sam heard his father take a breath to speak, there came an unmistakeable skittering from the back of the closet. Something moved in the shadowed space behind the coats, behind the umbrellas and slickers.

Mouth dry, Sam fought to summon enough spit to wet his lips. He whistled once, low and soft. The same whistle he’d practiced all afternoon. A shape darted, almost too quickly to see, out of the depths of the closet and into the mouth of the Lego structure.

“What the…?” began Sam’s father.

Dad grabbed his shoulder, hauling him back, away from the closet. Sam twisted free and shook his head. “No, Dad,” he hissed. “We have to keep going. There’s more of ‘em.”

He whistled again. A second shape emerged and then a third. Suddenly, like a flood, they poured from the closet with their legs scrabbling for purchase on the oak floorboards. Sam caught glimpses of misshapen things. Of dark, reddish things that sported tufts of coarse hair. The spiders scuttled toward the Lego structure only to vanish inside. On and on they came until, at last, there were no more.

Sam approached the closet. He hung his coat on the hook. His mouth hurt from grinning so hard, but he didn’t care. He stepped back, pressed the door shut and turned around.

“That’s it?” asked Sam’s father, his voice full of something Sam had never before heard in a grownup.

“Almost. Later, we’ll take it back upstairs.”

“Can… Can they get out?”

Sam shook his head. “Naw. They go… I don’t know. Somewhere else. It’s hard for them to come back. Anyway, you and Mom are safe now.”

He looked directly into his father’s eyes. “But if you want, after dinner you can help me take it apart. So you can see they’re gone.”

The big man nodded. “You bet I will.”

“Dinner!” his mother called from the kitchen.

#storybatch1

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