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landonkirbyappreciation · 3 years

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So if you really look at everything and how everyone reacted/reacts to Landon being in danger or "dying" (excluding Hope & Rafael) and you compare it to how they react when it comes to Cleo, Alyssa, MG, Josie..... literally anyone else being in danger .... there is a difference and that difference is in one fundamental attribute the type of species they are. The school, the squad (excluding Hope & Rafael), Dr. Saltzman they all will do everything and anything for a student/classmate/friend who is a vampire, Witch or Werewolf, they will cry and worry about them and their safety with a deep feeling. But when it comes to Landon non of them give a shit, why it's because Landon isn't one of them, he's something completely different, he's part "monster" he's the son of Malivore. Even when he was a Phoenix he was still a outsider because he wasn't one of the 3 species. Hope and Rafael care about Landon(for who he is) because they know what it feels like to feel alone, a freak, out of place, unwanted they understand that feeling better than anyone especially Hope. Everyone else doesn't, and it's because Landon isn't one of them that they don't care for him or feel anything for him on that regard. Since the witches tend to always stay with the witches(their coven), the werewolves have their pack and if you're not apart of it they don't care. The vampire stick with the vampires to a fault in way(given how they acted in s1 when Kaleb got locked up for drinking human blood and found out Mg was the reason). I mean Kaleb even had that saying back in s1 "vamps before tramps". Not to mention that in 3x16 Kaleb, Mg and Alaric cared more about finding Cleo than Landon, heck Alaric even said we lost one of own but was only talking about Cleo and not Landon.But what makes that whole thing worse is that for Landon his whole life. If you think back to s1 he told Hope "I needed help and you came. That's never happened to me before." Even in 1x16 when he saw Hope you could see it in his face that he was surprised that Hope actually came for him. I mean can you imagine growing up like that? To grow up not only unloved, but scared everyday of your life. Never knowing if the next home you get sent to would be a good one and if you'll be safe there. Wishing more than anything that someone anyone would care enough to come and safe you, take you away from that place. And I honestly feel like when Landon really does come back his mind set will be there "I can't believe Hope came for me".

P.S lol don't mind me I kind of fell down the Landon Kirby Rabbit hole today.

Yep, they definitely act very differently towards Landon and seem like they couldn’t care less about him, but I never thought of it being because of his species, but that’s very interesting. They have criticized him because of his Phoenix powers before, and have viewed him as weaker because his powers aren’t like the supernatural abilities that vampires, witches, and werewolves have. So he has been an outsider for being a Phoenix in that way, plus the fact that he is Malivore’s son, so you bring up a good point. It hasn’t actually been talked about in the show (except for the insults about him being weak because of his lack of “useful” powers as a Phoenix) but who knows, maybe it does have something to do with the way they treat him.

And yeah, exactly, Hope and Raf truly love Landon. And they have a better understanding of him and a stronger connection because they’ve had similar experiences like he has. But even without them having gone through similar things, they still just care about Landon, as they should, and they value him. Because you shouldn’t have to have those things in common with someone in order to care about them and value them. So even if the other characters can’t relate to Landon the same way Hope and Raf can and don’t see Landon as one of them supernaturally, it still makes no sense to me why they don’t care about him.

And what’s also strange is that, when you think about it, some of the other characters have had experiences where they should be able to understand and relate to Landon more, if that’s what it takes for them to care about him. Like Lizzie, for example, knows what it’s like to be bullied and to not be accepted by people, like Landon has experienced (yet she has been insensitive about the bullying Landon has endured and has bullied him herself). MG knows what it’s like to be unwanted and abandoned by your parents, like Landon has experienced. Alaric has seen and been through so much, he should be able to understand and care more about what Landon has gone through. And Josie at least used to be very close to Landon, and used to be protective of him. Yet none of these things are enough for any of them to care about him now? Or the fact that he’s helped all of them, he’s always done what he can to help the school, he saved Lizzie twice... none of this is enough to get them to value his life more?

I just don’t see why him not being one of those 3 species should matter, but you’re right about all the factions sticking together, so it could be a reason why they all see Landon differently. There’s just not the same sort of attachment or loyalty towards Landon like they have to those who are like them, which is really sad. And that’s so true about Cleo! I’ve only rewatched certain parts of 3x16 so I can’t remember all the details of what was said about finding Cleo. But I do remember that MG and Kaleb were both going for Cleo, she was the priority. They talked about her on the way there, no mention of Landon, even after what MG had done. I mean, you’d think that he would feel some remorse, that he might feel a bit hesitant or worried or awkward about seeing Landon again? But no, they just talked about what Kaleb should say to Cleo, not a thought about what MG might say to Landon or apologizing to him or anything? It’s like, not only do they just not care about Landon and all that he’s been through, but they don’t even think of him, it’s like they forget he even exists sometimes.

But yes! I’ve thought about that so much. After Landon has gone his whole life being unwanted and unloved, it just makes the way everyone treats him so much worse. And that’s so true, the fact that he was surprised in season 1 when Hope came for him says so much. Everything you said, it’s genuinely so sad. He’s been so uncared for throughout his life that he doesn’t even expect people to be there for him, and is surprised when they are. And you could be right, maybe once he’s back he’ll still be surprised that Hope came for him and did so much to save him. I feel like he was at the point where, when he first ended up in Malivore, he did believe Hope would save him. But after so long, and after all that’s happened, he probably stopped believing that, he might have felt like there was no way he could be saved. So I would think that him finding out all that Hope did for him and how she has fought for him will have a big effect on him. Because Hope showed how much she loves him throughout the whole season, but he wasn’t there to see it. So I hope we get to see some of his reaction to that, and for him to know just how much Hope loves him, possibly even more than he knew before. So at least there’s that, despite how everyone else has treated him.

#answered #landon kirby

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star-anise · 4 years

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I don't know if this is crossing boundaries to ask so feel free to ignore, but do you have any advice for someone with rejection-sensitive dysphoria, an intolerance for ambiguity and a history of social ostracization / access to the In-Group being dependent on Some Unsafe Shit for figuring out where one stands with an online social circle? Like, if one really feels like they're being neglected / put on a shelf, but doesn't know how to address it without receiving platitudes that it's not

(insecurity ask cont.) Really that bad / wasn't intentional / sure they still LIKE one they just kept happening to be busy at the time - etc. Basically figuring a way through the situation if one doesn't want to do what the Anxiety wants, which is cut run and self isolate, but doesn't find the allistic normative reassurance of "oh no we really do want you around sweaty : )" reassuring or helpful in the least.

This is a live topic of discussion in my friend-groups, since my close social circle is like 95% people with a history of being bullied, serious brainweasels* around social shit and rejection, ASD and/or ADHD, and seriously geeky social skills. So my response is not like, “We have a Method! It works! I’m patenting it!” nearly so much as “Um... this is what seems not to have exploded too badly so far.” And I’m answering this publicly rather than privately because other people have useful things to contribute too.

*(Brainweasel = little nasty thing that eats your brain)

(Like seriously if anyone DOES have A Method I’m all ears because I still do the self-isolation self-destruct way too easily)

Anyway. THE GOOD STUFF (which got really long):

I’ve personally found that it helps to make it really clear to people that if something is wrong, I want to know. I literally say, “My personal definition of Hell is when I think I’m having a happy fun time with a friend who is enjoying themselves, but in reality, I’m annoying them and they secretly resent me for it. Please don’t put me in that situation.” It’s kind of the opposite of asking for validation--it’s trying to reduce my own emotional hypervigilance, and also shifting the burden of dealing with the problem to the other person. Now, if they find me annoying, they have to do something about it--either spend less time with me, or let me know what’s up.

Asking for things and saying “No is an okay answer!”

Being open about my wants and needs while also letting people know how much I’m willing to compromise. “I don’t know what anybody else is feeling, but for dinner I have a mild preference for pizza,” or “I’m in the kind of mood where I basically want someone to talk to about this creative project for an hour in a really intense, informed, and interested way that also doesn’t step on my creative vision’s toes, or I don’t want to talk about it at all. So unless someone really wants to talk about it, how’s the weather?”

If you can find people who are geeks about feelings and have done a lot of introspection and can be very honest, and basically didn’t think that Twitter thread about asking friends for consent for emotional labour was a bad thing? That’s probably going to help, since when you’re all in the middle of dealing with moderate-to-severe brainweasels that is the kind of wrangling that needs to happen.

Hacking into Dialectical Behaviour Therapy, if you can do it. I’ve had to explain to several people now: DBT is fundamentally about trying to unlearn you from a system of If I Only Behave A Certain Way, Life Will Finally Work Out, to having a more flexible, more adaptive set of skills that you can see in a kind of pro/con fashion and decide which of life’s sucky parts you’d rather deal with because it gets you your preferred set of upsides. The problem is: DBT kind of presents itself as a system of If You Only Behave A Certain Way, Life Will Finally Work Out! So especially for my Autistic friends, doing DBT, while useful, involves considerable arguing with the system, deciding which of it works for you and which of it doesn’t, and hacking it apart and rearranging it in your own idiosyncratic way. This isn’t actually failing to do DBT, it’s using the methods DBT teaches you on DBT itself.

Finding a therapist who can treat baseline-neurodivergent LGBTQ+ nerds with complex trauma IS difficult, but not impossible. Not every therapist can do it. (I personally am considering giving up finding one in my city, and making use of the temporary relaxation of restrictions on distance practice across jurisdictional boundaries thanks to COVID-19 and phoning up my old therapist a province over.) If you can’t get a personal recommendation, I recommend literally cold-emailing about a half-dozen likely suspects from Psychology Today or Theravive and asking them, “Do you have any training or experience in treating [geeks/adults with complex trauma/queer people/whatever has made therapists act like cats with boots on around you before]?”

To wildly veer back to your original question

Imagine something that someone could do for you that would make you feel warm and loved. Something that would take a minute or less to do. When you’re feeling unloved, say “I’m feeling down, could anyone do [this thing] for me?” That’s literally why I ask people to show me cat pictures--I have times when I feel sad and alone and like the entire world hates me, and that’s a VERY big feeling for anyone to step in and fill, so instead? I ask for cat pics.

This, I should add, required going back into my trauma memories and deprogramming the origin of my Nice Things Are Evil Poison If I Asked The Person To Be Nice To Me brainweasel. Which is part of why I’m so insistent on asking people not to put me in my personal Hell situation.

Like, sometimes with my clients, we literally create a restaurant menu of Things People Could Do If They Wanted To Be Nice To Me, ranging from cheap $5 items like cat pics and memes to $200 bottles of wine that would be getting married and taking out a mortgage together. Sometimes we talk Love Languages just to go through several different sensory modalities. Then, if creating that menu wasn’t scary enough, they start telling their friends what’s on the list. “I really like things with dragons on them” or "I love to know when somebody’s thinking of me even when I’m not there” or “I really wish I had someone to watch movies with”. This reduces the cognitive load if somebody wants to reach out to you but doesn’t know how.

Relatedly: If you’re in a bad mood and doing something to self-regulate, you might consider letting people know what’s going on. People who are merely being civil might interpret “I’m feeling terrible about myself today” as “You are now socially obligated to blow smoke up my ass”; moderating the statement with a positive attempt to make things better, like “I’m focusing on my shoes a lot today because I feel like crap but they make me happy” or “I’m going to go try to shake this awful mood with Netflix” removes that pressure because it’s a problem with a built-in solution, so they’re not socially impolite if they ignore it. If people want to be emotionally closer to you, it opens the door for them to either ask about your problem, or contribute to your solution (”Oooh, I do like those shoes”) (”Have you seen this new series?”).

Okay so

Here’s the other thing

When you’re used to the one being rejected, you can spend SO much energy trying to make relationships work, and when they don’t, you just kind of shut down and fall over

What if (if you scraped together enough spare Cope) you said to yourself, “Whatever is going on--whether it’s them, or me, or whatever--I am not getting my needs met, so I’m going to back away from them a bit and focus on finding something new? They may not be evil or bad, but I’m going to downgrade them on my priority list.”

Like I’m just saying: Think about it. Every once in a while it’s possible it isn’t your fault, but the other person... just isn’t up to being the kind of friend you need right now, and no effort of yours can improve them at this time, so you’re going to let them shape up if they can but start focusing your attention elsewhere.

I realize that’s like the social equivalent of asking a homeless person to dip into their savings and start a business. But, just... sometimes you just need better friends.

Okay, it’s 2am and I’ve run out of ideas. Anyone else?

#staranise original #trauma #brainweasels #bullying tw #tin-can-paladin

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simpforsolas · 3 years

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A Solas Apologist Post

I’m going to start off and say that I obviously think Solas’s plan to tear down the veil which will result in the destruction of the world is wrong. Mass genocide of the entire world is a no-no. That being said... let’s analyze why Solas is the best villain of all time.

Morally gray villains whose goals are perhaps understandable and noble, but who go about it in an awful way and without regard to the consequences, are somewhat popular. But I’ve never seen a character done as well as Solas, and I’m going to break down why.

Remember Thanos? Yeah, Solas is what Thanos was TRYING to be. Like Solas, Thanos had a goal that could perhaps be understandable. He’d seen the destruction that can be caused by overpopulation and lack of resources, and took it upon himself to make a decision that would result in mass death but would bring a brighter future. The FUNDAMENTAL DIFFERENCE between the two though, and the reason why Solas works and Thanos doesn’t, is that Solas feels compassion and love. Thanos, on the other hand, loves no one. So when Thanos is supposedly making this huge sacrifice for the betterment of the world... literally WHY does he care if the world burns? He loves no one. Why does he care if people run out of resources and die? He’s never shown to express love or compassion in a normal healthy way, so it doesn’t work.

Solas, on the other hand, DOES care. He opposes slavery and any kind of affront on freedom. He opposes taking away people’s freedom to think or choose how they want to live. He believes in appreciating all living things, including things that are “different” who most people fear and don’t consider to be alive, such as spirits. When in the Hinterlands, Solas frequently approves of kind actions taken to help survivors in the aftermath of the Mage-Templar fighting, and comments how it saddens him to see people suffering. When I played the first time, I honestly thought Solas was the most empathetic person on the team—well, besides Cole, but he’s literally a spirit of compassion. Throughout the game, Solas shows himself capable of human connection and emotion. Even when he reveals himself as Fen’Harel and gives his whole speech, he shows regret with what he’s going to do.

Now you may be thinking, that’s all fine and good! But it doesn’t follow that just because he’s capable of love means he’s justified in destroying the world. To you I say, fair point. I don’t think he’s justified. But I do think he’s coming from a place of compassion and love.

Now, I’m rusty on my lore, but I know Fen’Harel was responsible for the veil being put up in the first place. He then woke up a year before the events of Inquisition. Can you imagine what that must have been like? He wakes up in a world where the veil has caused SO many problems. Spirits become demons and are killed. People fear spirits and magic. Mages are either demonized and locked up, or have too much power and use it for evil. There’s the Qun who control even the way people think, and constant wars—most traceable to people’s fear of magic, which became a problem because of the veil. Then there are the people at the bottom, innocent people who are just trying to survive but who live in a world designed to trample them. Perhaps worst of all to him, the elves have lost their glory. They’re either slaves, live in slums, or are like children playing pretend in the forests. Either way, elves are viewed as less by nearly everyone. The world was a disaster when he woke up. No one is happy.

So I think Solas not only wants to restore the glory of the old elves, but he wants to have a second chance to create a new world. He wants a world without oppression of mages, elves, or spirits, he wants a world where magic is beautiful and natural, not seen as evil. He wants a place where people can be free, and hopefully where people can prosper. And while he does care for the comfort of the people living now, he thinks that if we just tear down the veil and restore things to how they were before, the world will be better and there won’t be as much suffering. I think he personally feels responsible for the state of the world and wants to undo it. In his mind, the sacrifice is warranted. But unlike Thanos, Solas’s reasoning comes undoubtedly from a place of true compassion, along with the guilt that he has helped make the world become what it is today. He shows in his interactions with people that he cares for the unloved and downtrodden that no one else cares about. He’s not just some emotionless villain who seeks his own glory at the cost of everything else. He cares for people’s safety. He wants a better world, and he would be happy to sacrifice himself and be forever forgotten if that’s what was needed to achieve his goal.

And that is why Solas is such an amazing villain. Because even though I 100% disagree with his methods, I know why he wants to do what he wants to do, and I know that his reasoning for doing it comes because he truly cares about the world. He doesn’t have malice for anyone, doesn’t discriminate against any race, and doesn’t glory in evil or violence. In fact, his values are basically the same as mine. He believes in equality, kindness, and freedom, and in allowing people to live however they like as long as they don’t hurt anyone. He honestly doesn’t even FEEL evil. He’s a good person with noble goals, whose strange perspective guides him to making huge sacrifices for what he believes is the greater good.

Also, I swear to God BioWare, if you make him some evil creeper in the next game instead of allowing him to maintain his same personality I will END YOU (this is not actually a threat, btw, I realize now that it could sound like a threat but I would never harass developers. I just really hope they don’t mess up Solas and if they do I will just be sad and complain to my friends)

#solas #dragon age #dragon age 4 #da4 #DAI #dragon age inquisition #long post #fen’harel #the dread wolf

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detective-with-one-arm · 4 years

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What Makes You Weak

Every hour that passed was agonizing. Every minute that went by felt like a thousand needles being stuck in her back. The tension in the air was suffocating. Its tendrils were wrapped tightly around her as she waited.

Waited, waited, and waited.

This was what she imagined that being on death row would feel like. The feeling of impending doom that you cannot escape from heavy on your shoulders. The feeling of dread wrapping tight around your throat like a wire around your neck. This was her sentence. This was her penance. Punishment for her cowardice. And payment for the monster she’d created.

Rachel had made a legally enforceable will and testament a long time ago and it still stands. All of her belongings are already arranged to be divided between Hank and Bianca should she die.

But she wasn’t facing death. Not in the traditional sense.

No, here she was facing something much worse. She’d already told Connor and Hank to investigate Howard’s mansion for all evidence of his spying and every trace of his accursed project. But this? This was her last stand.

After so long of avoiding Howard. After so long of being vaguely aware of his presence around her every hour of every day of every week, here she stood. In an empty warehouse awaiting his arrival like a grim reaper wearing a golden cloak and scythe. She knew that his project was dangerous. It spelled doom for humans and androids alike, and she couldn’t let him walk away freely. He may have had the commissioner in his pocket, but Rachel wasn’t concerned about her career at this point.

Not anymore.

All that mattered was stopping Howard. Live or die, this madness ended today. And it was going to end with her. She created this monster, so it was her responsibility to put him down. Live or die, she’d pay her debt to the androids of Detroit.

After what felt like an eternity of agony, finally, finally Howard showed up. He wasn’t clad in his usual attire. He wore something simple and basic, a shirt and pants that were tight-fitted, likely to show off his muscles.

She wasn’t here to talk. Rachel was here for one thing, and it was facing off against her nemesis once and for all. But as he stood there, that bastard still had that smarmy smirk plastered on his face. And it wasn’t undeserved. He was likely going to win. Rachel may have had her advantages, but he was bigger and stronger than her and he knew all of her weaknesses.

But that didn’t matter. All that mattered was buying the others time and keeping Howard here. As long as it took.

“So, pet.” Howard drawled in a sickeningly sweet fashion as he stepped forward, approaching. “Where are your companions?” He asked mockingly, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Did I scare them off?”

Rachel wasn’t fazed. She was too focused to let Howard’s usual antics rile her up. She only had one goal, and she wasn’t going to stray from it. No matter what. “This fight is between you and me, Howard.”

Howard’s face fell into one of disappointment as he let out an exasperated sigh. “So…that’s how it’s going to be, then.”

Rachel narrowed her eyes at him, her dark thick eyebrows knitted together in fury. “That’s how it has to be.” She said firmly. “It’s always been me you’ve been after. Well? Here I am. But only one of us is leaving here unscathed.”

Howard’s smile returned, confident and brazen as he took another step forward. “You won’t win, my dear.”

Rachel nodded, closing her eyes as she steeled her resolve and solidified her resignation. “I know.”

And like that, the air crackled with electricity.

Howard was prepared, however. He always was. He dodged her attempt to shock him and grabbed her by the arm and threw her across the room with ease. She was nothing more than a paperweight to him, tumbling away on the ground like a ragdoll.

Already off to a bad start, but she was also prepared for Howard to make an immediate go for her as she scrambled away and back onto her feet. She made a swipe for his face and missed, Howard dodging her attacks like she was nothing more than a small and intimidating kitten he was playfully sparring with.

But Howard’s stance was weak, so her next move was to try and break it.

She forced him back. Slashing and thrashing wildly, electricity in her palm making the air around them crackle with static and loose bolts.

She took another swing at him and Howard caught her wrist and dug his thumb right under the junction of her wrist and her hand, causing the electrical current in her palm to fizzle and die. One of her methods of protection was gone like that.

She was now at a great disadvantage.

On and on the fight continued. Punches, kicks, slashes, and wounds, Rachel left a sizable slash across his face and his neck was covered in his blood that Rachel had torn from him.

But even with her sheer ferocity, she was no match for Howard. She felt battered and bruised. The man had practically thrown her around and beaten her like a ragdoll. But each time she was knocked down, she got back up, stubbornly refusing to give up. She wasn’t someone that went down without a fight, and this was that instance.

“You’re going to lose this fight. You’re weak!” Howard laughed at her. “You’ve always been weak! You’ve always been fundamentally broken. That’s why everyone you’ve ever loved never stayed. Because of you.” His words stung. They hit Rachel right where it hurt most. Right where it stung the worst. “You’re too broken for anyone to love. But I can fix you. I can make you whole. I can make you anew, and you will be loved. After all, no one can love you more than I. And your connections to others? They only serve to make you weak.”

But Rachel wouldn’t give up. She knew Howard was wrong. She wasn’t unlovable. She wasn’t broken. She was whole. She was always whole. And the people she loved? They didn’t make her weak. “I am not weak!” Rachel spat at Howard as she hauled her broken and battered body back onto its feet. “Bianca taught me strength.” She huffed, fighting through the pain in her whole body and the warm feeling blood dripping down her chin. “Frank taught me love. My friends taught me courage and temperance. And I’m stubborn…I get that from my parents.” Howard’s only reaction was the raising of an amused eyebrow. “But my connections made me strong! They taught me something about myself! They don’t need me to be anything to love me! I was always enough! Something you can never understand!” She felt the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she stared this vile man down. “So I don’t care what happens to me here. I can die happy knowing that I was loved. I can die knowing that I’m doing this for them!”

Without waiting, Rachel charged at Howard, her claws outstretched and ready to tear his throat out.

But then, she was on the ground, Howard’s hands clasped around the back of her neck, and all was lost. Her limbs slumped forward and she was limp and weak, her brain a haze where coherent thoughts were, but couldn’t motivate her or her body to move or speak.

The only thing that there was left was Howard’s influence and power he forced on her. “And it is exactly that reason that your compassion for others makes you weak.” He mocked her. “You faced me alone, insisted that your companions leave you to fight a losing fight just to save them from an inevitable fate. You push everyone away because you care so much about protecting them from harm, only to leave yourself weak and helpless.” He leaned down to whisper into her ear and caress her sensitive neck. “Without them, you’re nothing.” He then hauled her up onto his shoulder, knowing she wouldn’t protest or fight him any longer. “But I will make you greater.”

As he walked out of the warehouse, he put her into the back of his car and strapped her in with her own handcuffs. As the car started moving, Rachel realized that Howard was not driving in the direction of his mansion. She was being taken someplace else.

“You will be exalted.”

Once again, this was how her life ended. Hooked up to machines and strapped to a bedside. She felt so hopeless. In this unknown laboratory where no one was coming to save her, Rachel had never felt so hopeless.

This was worse than death. She’d failed. Everything she had ever done was all for nothing. Everything had been lost. Howard played her. He played her like a fool this entire time and at every turn, she fell right into his clutches.

And now, he had finally had her. Her head was strapped up to a horrid set of machinery. Rachel was unable to move and she had no choice but to comply. Even though she had resigned herself to her fate, she was still scared.

Terrified…of what she was going to become.

As the cold prick of a device was pressed into her temple, she braced herself. For blackness, oblivion, pain, or-

#oc writing #dbh ocs #writing passage #single chapter #{Rachel}#{Howard}

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katie-dub · 6 years

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The Most Wonderful Time of the Year: It Had to Be You

When Harry Met Sally festive Captain Swan AU

It’s holiday season and this makes me hella happy - I’ve got some festive one shots to share with you all throughout the month, because why not eh? Starting today with a little When Harry Met Sally AU. It’s my favourite non-holiday holiday film, because it isn’t about Christmas, but there’s a generous sprinkling of festivity.

AO3

It Had to Be You

Emma was sitting alone in her apartment on New Year's Eve, telling herself that she was having fun. Who needed mandatory merriment at overpriced bars or overcrowded house parties? At home she could celebrate the season with her feet up, a pop tart in one hand and a cinnamon liqueur-laced hot chocolate in another.

And if a certain best friend of hers was notable by his absence, well that was for the best really. He'd only find all that pressure to kiss someone at midnight confusing.

“Happy New Year!” everyone had cried out when the clock struck midnight. And they immediately were surrounded by a sea of couples making out like tomorrow hadn't just come.

She caught Killian's eye, expecting to see her own bemusement reflected back at her. But his gaze was soft and intense and full of inexplicable longing. Her eyes widened and she bit her lip, as she stared back at him. He looked like he wanted to kiss her desperately, like she meant the world to him, like he maybe even l-

But she couldn't think like that, they couldn't have that. She hadn't even realised that she had moved closer to him until she came to her senses. She jerked back and it broke whatever spell Killian was under.

“Happy New Year,” they said together, throwing their arms around each other, laughing at their own awkwardness. He sighed into her embrace and she clutched him tighter. They could be together like this forever, she didn't need more than friendship as long as she had him in her life.

But she didn't even have that anymore, did she? All because she allowed herself to give into her selfish desires and to take comfort in his arms when her past came to call.

“Guess who I saw today?” Emma snapped the second Killian answered the phone. “Neal,” she barreled on before he had chance to even take a breath.

“I'll bring the rum.”

Killian was there in no time at all, and soon had presented her with a glass of her favourite rum. “So, you saw Neal?” he prompted.

“You know that job I took on to find Gold’s son? Well, turns out Neal Cassidy is not his real name. I don't even know why I'm surprised, it's just one more thing that he lied to me about.” She took a sip of rum, wincing a little as it burnt her throat. “He thought he could just buy me a drink and I wouldn't share his details with his dear old dad, tried giving me some sob story about what a monster he is.”

“I hate to say a word in Neal’s defence, but there is something deeply creepy about Gold, he reminds me of a crocodile,” Killian said with a shudder.

“They deserve each other.” Emma retorted, then fell silent, staring intently into her glass as she swirled her drink around. She couldn't look at Killian while she told him what came next. “He's getting married.”

“Gold?”

Emma's head snapped up, “Neal!”

Killian nodded sagely. “And that bothers you?”

“No!” He raised an accusing eyebrow at her, seeming to see straight through her lie. “I just - I really thought he loved me and he left me with his prison sentence and an unwanted pregnancy. Then perfect Tamara comes along and she gets a ring?”

“If you could take him back now, would you?”

“No! But… Why didn't he want to marry me?” Emma felt small and ridiculous, but she couldn't help but be stung by the situation. First her parents had abandoned her at the side of the road, then her first love abandoned her in prison. What was it about her that was so fundamentally unlovable?

Killian wrapped his arms around her. “Because he's a bloody wanker who doesn't deserve you.”

A thousand arguments came to mind, whispering that she didn't deserve anyone. She couldn't bring herself to voice them, fearing that he would take heed of her words and flee. Instead she clung to him, closing her eyes and enjoying the feeling of his hand stroking her hair.

She wished she could say that she was drunk and that's why she kissed him. But she just needed to feel loved and cherished. Just this once.

It had been a perfect night, but come the morning it felt too much. Killian hadn't just fucked her - he'd made love to her and as yesterday had reminded her, a happy ending wasn't in the cards for her.

He'd woken up as she was getting dressed a small smirk on his face. “Last night was -”

“A one time thing,” she cut him off before he could say anything more. She couldn't bear to hear it - would he call it a mistake? It was such a special night for her and she didn't want to know if he didn't feel the same. But then, what if he saw it as the start of something, some kind of fairytale happy beginning that was sure to be doomed to fail?

So she did what she does best - she ran, and nothing had felt right since.

He'd called her out on it - accused her of avoiding him - but she couldn't bring herself to confront the situation. She imagined calling him so many times, throwing herself on his mercy for letting him down so badly. But she couldn't imagine a scenario where he didn't agree that she simply wasn't worth the effort and the thought of actually hearing that hurt her fragile heart.

Instead she wallowed in misery, missing him so much it hurt.

She missed him when she went to the children's home to take Christmas presents to the kids. She felt so awkward, remembering how easily Killian had charmed them all the previous Christmas, with his jokes and his smiles and his actual elf costume.

She missed him as she struggled to drag her Christmas tree home by herself and when she nearly fell over trying to fit the bloody star to the top. “Steady there, Swan,” he'd laughed as she'd wobbled, holding her close to him so that she could put the star in place. Had that really been just a year ago?

She missed him as she tried to avoid being caught beneath the mistletoe at Mary Margaret and David's winter wonderland party. There was a furniture salesman who she knew had asked for a set up, eyeing her from across the room. If Killian were here, she’d not give the guy a second thought, without him she felt self conscious and left early.

“There's only one way we'll survive this party,” he'd murmured with a wink, tipping a generous glug of rum into their eggnog.

“There's a blonde in a sparkly green dress eyeing you up,” she'd whispered out of the corner of her mouth, suppressing the urge to growl at the girl.

“Is she hot?” Killian had asked, wiggling his brows suggestively.

“Yes,” Emma begrudgingly admitted. His grin widened and he chanced a glance over his shoulder, before whipping his head back around to Emma, eyes wide in alarm.

“Bloody hell, it's Tink.”

“The ex who used to drive you insane?”

“Yep. Keep her away from me, Swan, I cannot end up going home with her tonight.”

“Well just.. Don't?”

“You don't understand, I'm powerless to resist her charms!” Emma cocked her head at him quizzically. “She gives the best head I've ever had, OK? But as that's about the only time she's actually not sniping at me, she's not worth it.”

Emma rolled her eyes, ignoring the irrational anger she suddenly felt towards the girl. “I'm ashamed to be friends with you.”

“You know you love me, now please, rescue me!”

“Fine, but you owe me.”

“Anything for my saviour,” he said with sincerity.

She missed him always. He was a part of her and life just had a little less sparkle without him there - especially at this festive time of year. Why had she pushed him away? So she wouldn’t get hurt? Well here she was, aching for him, and oh god, what if he’s hurting too?

He deserved better, but maybe he’d take what she could give him, she had to know, had to try.

She flung open the door and ran out into the night. The whole way to the party Emma fretted. Maybe he’d be with someone else, or he might reject her like she rejected him, or maybe she just wouldn’t be able to find him.

She ran into the building and at the first sight of a girl in a skin tight shimmery dress felt self conscious about the total lack of effort that she’d made. He would no doubt look hot as hell - I think you mean devilishly handsome - came his voice in her head, while she was wearing her winter coat and beanie over leggings and an oversized sweatshirt.

You can do it, Swan!

She tried not to think too hard about the fact that her inner cheerleader was the man she was intent on finding. She squared her shoulders and threw her chin up, trying to fake the confidence that she did not feel. She strode forward - and there he was, pulling his coat over a button down blue shirt and a vest.

He looked up and caught her eye, looking stunned. She wanted to run to him, but fear made her cautiously and she crept closer instead.

“What are you doing here?” She wasn’t sure if his tone was irritated or simply shocked, but either way he eyed her with suspicion.

“I - I needed to see you.” Oh God, she was so bad at this. If it were Killian in her place he’d know exactly what to say. Killian wouldn’t have hurt you like this, her mind shot at her, unhelpfully. “I miss you and I need you and I know that’s my own fault that we haven’t been together because I messed everything up, but I’m sorry and if you’ll let me, I’ll try to make it up to you.” Her words came out in a rush and she gazed at him, biting her lip as she awaited his verdict.

“You -” he took a deep breath, fuck, he must be so angry, “- you need me?”

She hadn’t expected that. “Yes. I do. I want to be with you always.”

“I’m not your consolation prize,” he said warily.

“No,” Emma agreed. “You’re my everything. If you’ll have me?”

He looked blown away by her words, his beautiful smile spreading across his face and lighting up his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, shaking his head with disbelief and laughter.

Emboldened by his apparent delight, Emma reached up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. For a moment it was soft and gentle, but Killian pulled her closer to him and it was fire and passion and love, so much love. They broke apart but stayed close their foreheads touching and bodies pressed tight together.

Emma couldn’t help but murmur “I love you”, looking up into Killian’s eyes. “I love you too,” he whispered back. If she had looked around, she would have realised that the clock had struck midnight and this year she was one of the loved-up couples ringing in the New Year with a kiss. But she only had eyes for the man she loved, and she kissed him again as Auld Lang Syne drifted around the room.

#cs ff #cs fanfic #cs christmas #captain swan #cs au #katie dub writes #the most wonderful time of the year #katie dub arts

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misskymhall · 6 years

Text

My Vipassana Experience

Before you get your hopes up and look to read this article about what happens on these retreats, I left on Day 2 due to a kidney infection. Was it a psychosomatic manifestation? I would like to believe so, as the days that followed brought lessons of their own. Here is my story.

During the time I spent in meditation at Vipassana it was absolute torture. For those unfamiliar with the retreat it’s a 10 day silent retreat dedicating 10 hours a day to meditation starting at 4.30am, along with 3 small meals throughout the day and no talking, reading or writing. You must denounce all your beliefs and any coping structure you may have used in the past. The fundamental element of the retreat is to know your misery by entering into the direct epicentre of it and thus being able to completely ‘know thyself.’ The belief is that, if you know what makes you miserable you can change it.

It’s truly a soul exposing experience, especially if your natural disposition is to think yourself as shit, like me!

Day 1 I entered the group mediation space, ohh I might also add at this point I went to the retreat with my ex. We signed up to do this when we were dating and as we have decided to end the relationship by mutual agreement just before Christmas and we both thought it would be fine. Ha! Ha!

So, anyway back to it, Day 1 I entered into the group mediation space feeling confident and ready. I can meditate, I mediate several times a day at home, unguided on average for 40 minutes or more, I’m comfortable with who I am, right?! Ha! Ha!

I’m not sure if you’ve ever stopped talking before, I hadn’t up until this point. But what I discovered was when I stopped drowning out my thoughts with constant verbal chatter, the mind chatter dial goes from 3 to 100 in a very short space of time. There was no way to control it, my mind was completely out of control and my thoughts had no pattern, no direction and made little sense. One moment I would be thinking about if I could have done anything to save my relationship then the next I was thinking about the possibility of sweat glands in my dogs nose and were they similar to humans sweat glands and if so were they similar to the eccrine or apocrine types? There I was trying to follow the simple instructions from the teacher to breathe innnnn and ouuuuut. That’s all I had to do was breathe. Just breathe. I couldn’t do it. I would get 2 breathes in and there you go I’m thinking again…is my ex looking over at me? Does Darth Vada wear deodorant? What was the % of oxygen we breathe in? 24 or 16?! Argh! By the 10th hour of the meditation practice on day 1 my mind began to quiet. I could sit completely still for the full hour, focus on several breaths and if my mind would wonder I could bring it back to my breathing in a relatively short time. I thought, my goodness I can actually do this. I’ve got it. I’d noticed several people were struggling with sitting in the same position for such a long time. But I was actually okay. So Day 1 was done, just another 9 to go!

That was until I awoke the morning after and knew something was wrong, my back was in agony and when I went to the toilet I knew it wasn’t looking good. I spoke to the teacher and immediately I was asked to leave.

I was abruptly dumped at Grange-Over-Sands train station in the snow with an epic 4 hour journey back to Sheffield and by this time the infection was beginning to spread and I was now vomiting. Attractive, I know! Wearing my mediation outfit, which really looked like I’d escaped a mental asylum, stood in the snow, my 20kg backpack on my shoulders and swimming in the shame that I’d failed, I burst into tears at the desolate train station. I felt I had let everyone down, how could I face going home? I rang my doctor to make sure there was a prescription of antibiotics waiting for me as soon as I arrived home, but was told to get myself straight to the hospital my condition did not sound good. Oh really, I thought. Great, maybe I was ill enough to leave after all. The doctors tone had help me justify my failure and I then spent the rest of the evening in the lovely Northern General Hospital out of it on codine.

During my time in the hospital I decided I wouldn’t tell anyone I was home, keep it a secret and continue as though I was on the retreat. Stick to the same schedule of getting up at 4am, in meditation a 4.30 - 6.30 then a light breakfast before going back into mediation and so on. That was until it came to getting up at 4am. The first day I was at home I managed to get up at 4am but instead of going into the mediation I felt the need to write, and that I did until I had nothing more to write. What I wrote I am going to share with you now.

I started scribbling the words: Ego, fear, shame, restlessness, success, achievement, value, reputation, pleasure. All the words with meanings that were signs I believed made me a ‘something’, a ‘somebody’. If I serve all these factors I will receive the approval of others, I will mean something and I’ll finally be that somebody I’ve always sought out to be. All the manifestations of a neurological pathway conditioned to make me think I had to suffer to be somebody. I had to sacrifice my true self in order to fit in. But, hang on, what happens when I don’t feed into my ego? I don’t want to operate in fear anymore. I’m sick of suffering in shame. What is success? How have my achievements served me thus far in life? Who gives a fuck about my reputation? What gives me pleasure? Who decided my value? Valuable to whom?

For the past 4 days I have sat with every piece of literature I own regarding these words specifically. It was like I had an agenda sent direct from God. I have listened to talks by Dwain Dyer, Jung, Neale Donald Walsh, Eckhart Tolle, Marianne Williamson, I have prayed, mediated, watched, written and listened and what I have come to know is this.

We should make it our souls purpose to seek approval from the self.

We can’t act from a place of love if we are full of fear.

E.G.O is as simple as Edging God Out.

I didn’t need to attend the full Vipassana retreat to learn my epicentre of misery is feeling unloved and I am so damn scared of rejection that I have spent 35 years moulding myself around other peoples opinions just to seek their approval and falling short because in reality no one gives a shit about my achievements. Seeking to achieve others approval it’s unsustainable because my actions are performed from a place of fear. Without the love I seek so desperately, I will forever identify with the things I am not.

I had this opinion that the journey of healing had an end point. That I will at some point reach this Buddha-Yoda like self that levitates my way through the difficult stages in life simply, emotionless and untouchable. But what I’ve learnt over the last 4 days is, life is the journey and the end point is death of the physical form. Who wants to rush that? I will suffer many ego-deaths along the way, no doubt and I will achieve some ‘levitational’ chapters of the authentic higher-self, but not without the bumps, thumps, bruises and scars along the way. What I know now is, that we are in essence a spectacular soul having a human experience. The experiential polarity of all the elements, life has to offer us is what makes this journey so exciting. We shy away from the darkness, sadness, depression, anger because we consider them to be ‘bad’. But how can they be bad? When we understand that without them we wouldn’t know the ‘good’, which can be defined as happiness, light, joy, love. It all sounds so simple but we make it so complicated when we choose to shy away from the bad with medication, alcohol, smoking, sex. We’d do anything not to feel the shame of our actions, even if that means repeating them. At least that’s been the case for me. But what if we told ourselves a new story? What if we were able to trace new neurological pathways? A path that meant even in the ‘bad’ times we could see the ‘good’? What if we didn’t wait to seek approval from others and filled the void with approval from the self? If we told ourselves ‘well done we did a good job today’ and stopped waiting for someone else to tell us? What if the love we so desperately sought from others came to us from our own heart?

The experiences we search for in life might not have the result we anticipated. But that’s where the real fun begins.

Love and Blessing to you all. xxxx

#vipassana

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peakwealth · 4 years

Text

Cancelled

Grim reapers, new look. (Electrical box panel, Puglia, Italy 2019)

Only a few months ago, a group of so-called stakeholders in the British airline industry got together to try and do something about their damaged reputation. Flight shame had become a big thing in the media and the finger of climate blame was being pointed, perhaps somewhat hypocritically, at civil aviation. Calling itself Sustainable Aviation, the group included British Airways, Heathrow Airport, EasyJet, the engine maker Rolls Royce, Airbus and the air traffic controller NATS (*). They proposed to cut net carbon emissions of commercial aviation to zero as early as 2050. This would essentially be achieved through carbon 'offsets' (hence the tricky word net), accompanied by charming initiatives such as planting grass on terminal roofs and installing beehives.

They could not have imagined just how dramatically the world was about to change. How little time it would take for the airlines to ground their planes by the thousands, for countries like India to ban all international flights, for Spain to close its borders and airports, for Germany to 'strictly prohibit entry for purposes of tourism'.

Suddenly there was no more need for beehives. In a matter of days aviation had become so sustainable it was dead or just about. The airlines were begging for money to survive.

I remember when, more than twenty years ago, a newcomer called Air Asia started flying in Malaysia and beyond. It was South-East Asia's first major low cost carrier. The planes, all identical Airbuses, were painted with a big red-and-white slogan that proclaimed NOW EVERYONE CAN FLY. And they could. Air Asia grew to have hundreds of planes with more being ordered all the time. Within a decade Asians had become as addicted to air travel as anyone else with spare cash in their pockets.

Today Air Asia's aircraft are parked in neat rows, like those of most other airlines. No one is flying. This much we know. What we don't know is what happens when the epidemic subsides and travel restrictions are lifted. Will the airlines be resuscitated (with public money) or will things never be as they were?

The outcome will be closely watched because air travel is a key enabler of the wider economy. If the planes aren't taking off, large parts of the economy will remain paralyzed.

C'est si bon, de partir n'importe où.... (French song. Screenshot)

________________________________________________________________

This raises the next, far bigger question which everyone has been agonizing about: if the pandemic is indeed a historic turning point, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for society to reinvent itself, what sort of new world should we aim for, if any? Because it would be such a bummer if we just sat on our sofas, waiting for the green light, and then went back to IKEA and Starbucks while the central banks and Goldman Sachs restored the old order.

Thinking Big

One could start off small, take two steps back, turn down the heat of urban life, be creative. But that only works for those with money in the bank and a secure space to retreat to. The instant chaos provoked by the lockdown in India and elsewhere is a reminder that billions of people don't have this luxury.

One step farther would tell us to reduce private consumption (e.g. by closing retail commerce and limiting car traffic one or two days a week) or to push back against the grotesque waste of food in rich countries.

One could also think big. In an interview with BBC radio a few days ago, the novelist Isabel Allende suggested we start by doing away with patriarchy since it clearly isn't working too well. That could be said about a lot of things: late-stage capitalism, religious fanaticism, climate laisser-faire, what have you. Chacun à son goût.

But it can serve as inspiration.

Why not begin by advocating the restoration of the public good as the overriding moral principle in society, rather than the neo-liberal economic model, the stock markets and their shareholders. The Western world has drifted away from the essential ideals of social democracy ever since Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher put the knife in it, back in the early eighties. That could now, at long last, begin to change.

While we're at it, why not ban political lobbying once and for all and resolve to rope in financial markets and regulate the banks? This may need to be done mano dura because the financial 'industry' has demonstrated that it is incapable of meaningful self control. Having failed to put its house in order after the crisis in 2008, it has become a permanent threat to the world's stability and collective well-being.

Of course, the sudden primacy of the public interest would come as a seismic shock to the global economy. Once the profit principle is subordinated to the urgent necessities of global survival, it is going to hurt a lot of corporate interests, starting with the pillars of what was, until last year, the new liberal world order: so-called big tech, or more accurately the totalitarian oligopolies of digital capitalism - Google, Facebook, Amazon, Huawei, Apple, Alibaba, etc.

Shortlists might depend on personal grievances, on one's own level of disenchantment with the way things are. First in line for a major reset might be tobacco, big pharma and private health care. For decades business has tried to chip away at public health care all over the world, hoping to see it collapse into their laps. The pandemic has demonstrated that only universal public health care can do the job.

Equally obvious and fundamental would be the re-affirmation of education as a basic right and a public responsibility, bolstering the credibility and accessibility of free schools.

Talking about basics and health, one should not forget the global food giants (hello Nestlé and Kraft, watch out McDonald's) and all the other corporate purveyors of obesity and disease. Elsewhere, the military-industrial complex has long been one of the darkest corners of human greed, it requires serious de-escalation. Then there is a growing list of sunset industries now heading for the exit faster than expected. One of the most obvious is fossil fuel (particularly oil sands and shale oil, coal being a no-brainer) and some of the industries in its orbit like the car industry and everything that swirls around it. Goodbye Harley-Davidson.

Decade after decade, travel and tourism have grown to be the world’s number one business and many countries have hitched their economic futures to the leisure industry. Tourism relies on the froth of disposable income, on mobility and security. All three have been badly damaged, as have the incomes of tens of millions of people, many in precarious jobs. In fact, the bottom has dropped out of tourism.

While tourists will surely trickle back, the business may never return to where it was only a few weeks ago. Nor should it. Now might be the right time for some serious pruning, like putting limits on the frenzy of airline travel, or doing away with socially destructive bad habits like AirBnb. Cruise ships have multiplied in recent years to become not only an environmental pest, but a disturbing display of social inequality and conspicuous waste. They would not be missed.

If the future is to be one of reduced circumstances, then the casino ghettoes of Macau, Las Vegas or Singapore might feel like lacking in legitimacy and purpose.

Other forms of commercial entertainment may look equally overripe in a post-coronavirus world, such as Formula One car racing (supported with public money while the proceeds go mostly into private pockets) or, yes, the Olympic games. Time to ditch it, permanently.

If some of this sounds a little drastic, it may well be that we need not actively worry about it: the epidemic could take care of it all by itself. The contraction of the economy, the disappearance of income flows, the collapse of employment, the insolvency of businesses and countries alike might, in such a scenario, be enough to restore - dare I say it - a measure of sanity to the global economy, at least temporarily, and give the climate a fighting chance.

The obvious flipside of such a scenario would be that the true pain would be borne by the global poor. While plummeting output and evaporating wealth might hurt the 1 %, or the top 10%, it would be catastrophic for billions of others. Governments would have to re-enigineer public (and, yes, private) finances to prevent total collapse and provide some sort of universal basic income. Its day seems to have come. But even within the utopia of a newly redistributive economy, the gap between winners and losers might still widen, depending on where they happened to live. A transfer of wealth to the global south, especially to Africa with its burgeoning population, has become ever more urgent, if only out of naked self interest.

Because whether we want it or not, a new world order is already emerging. A few months ago I dwelled, somewhat self-importantly, on the nature of sober, well-intentioned government, grounded in democratic institutions and led by smart people. It is early days still, but the pandemic is showing the benefits of competent governance and straight thinking (if not always the usefulness of democracy). Tomorrow’s world order might very well track those countries which have proved nimble or proactive in limiting the epidemic, countries with adequately funded public health care and switched-on leadership.

Despite all the obfuscation and mistakes that were made, beginning with the unconscionable trade in endangered animals that is credited with igniting the pandemic, China seems to be managing the crisis rather well. So is its unloved cousin across the straits, Taiwan. South-Korea and other Asian countries also appear to have a handle on the crisis beyond the desperate measures to flatten the time-vs-infection curve. Aside from New Zealand and Europe’s Nordic countries, Germany has stayed one step ahead of the virus as have such outliers as Greece and Portugal (which acted more decisively than its Spanish neighbour).

All of this remains to be seen, so much is yet to be revealed, but the tectonic plates of global power are audibly grinding below the surface. Needless to say, this carries great risks as the crisis is opening the door to radical surveillance, political regression, parochialism and waves of xenophobia.

Yet this is not the time to lock the door and hide under the bed. The pandemic is a unique reminder that we’re all in this together, the whole wide world, and that change can and must happen, particularly considering the climate challenge still ahead of us. If not now, then when?

________________________________________________________

(*) https://www.sustainableaviation.co.uk

Thanks to my friends who contributed ideas.

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actually--olivia · 4 years

Text

13 January 2020

Day three: on gratefulness

Captain’s log:

Three days since being held by an Angel

Baby —

For the most part, I enjoy the solidity of J-term routines: work out, make tea, approximate the time it takes until Louisiana sinks in class, and then study in the Brew with my pals until some inevitably fun social meeting takes up my evening. Today, I get to hang out with Soup and meet Jessa’s two new birds!

As fascinating as this schedule is, I look eagerly toward Wednesday at 9 a.m., when Dr. Strunk (earnest and woke, yet seriously in need of a Queer Eye episode on his bowl cut and brown ‘90s shirts) shepherds us into a plane and 70 degree weather. I suppose this is what makes the fun parts fun, however — the anticipation. Tomorrow, Dr. Strunk has even agreed to play and discuss Beyoncé’s “Formation” music video after much pestering (read: researched insistence) that her song was a work of cultural significance to New Orleans, Louisiana (NOLA).

Although my ardent desire for southern travel and study make for a solid contender in my attentions, I must admit the dread I have experienced all day. I think I forgot to take my anxiety meds this morning, but I can’t shake the despair that crawls into my throat and rattles me cerebrally.

I am restless in my own skin most mornings. I worry about running out of time, having too much time, getting attacked or apprehended or outcompeted, whether or not I’ll ever get a job, whether or not my career will force me to give up my soul, whether anyone has a soul, the state of legal rights for musicians, the state of Illinois legislature and debt, how much it’ll cost me to get my license again so I can apply for AmeriCorps (deadline: March 30), what my bike is doing now that it’s stolen, unsold bagels at Panera Bread, if I’ll live up to my potential or die trying to reach it, police brutality in places I’m not sure I can call home yet, and Amy Winehouse.

And that is usually just the rundown before noon.

Sometimes it pays to be that fearful, to be that conscious, to have a mind that must move like a shark does — at breakneck speed. On my best days, my mind and I are two friends. Today, I feel estranged from her. I don’t know what it is about today. I close my eyes tightly and think about being in a dense forest where no one can find me.

But today, I exercise gratefulness and list all my blessings: my tenacious family, my ridiculous friends, the gift of my education... and your name pops up once or twice.

For a little bit each day, when I look for your eyes and find them fixed unflinchingly yet gently on mine, I stop searching for arguments against myself.

I stop asking what is so fundamentally unloveable about me.

I stop the clock in my head that reminds me everything will be lost one day to the sea, that I am still short on solid proof that heaven’s gates will open for me, that I have yet to pay back the deficit of sacrifice my family spent on my existence.

I can rest in the certainty of our quiet, promised places and the steady grasp of your knuckles against my fingertips. That reassurance of faith isn’t very common in my lived experience — I, whose love is combative and deals in the business of contingency plans. That presence is holy and loyal and everything I’ve ever wanted to be mine. Ours.

For a little bit each day, I am not commanded by fear but by the upturn of your soft lips and your nose bumping against my forehead.

This is more than loneliness, bucket lists, or warmth on cold winter nights. I need you to know that.

I pledge loyalty to you, who keeps my heart safe without compensation, without fine print, without asking me to be anything else but myself. You, who comes to my rescue when I wage war against myself. You, whose nose I bump my forehead against in worship.

Today, I am grateful for orchard ladders leaned up against cottonwood trees, crayons spread across brunch tables in the West Loop, and the honor of serving a benevolent goddess.

Be good and don’t fuck with any Portuguese man-of-wars.

Yours,

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scarybalkanlady · 7 years

Text

ryan and i broke up earlier

It was the right decision. It was becoming just too clear recently that we were fundamentally incompatible in a number of key ways. We are very different people to begin with and a lot of that can be worked through, but he ultimately decided that he did want a relationship that involved sex and potentially even children and there was just no way for us to reconcile that and stay together

We were arguing so frequently about random crap in the past month that i started to feel like he was trying to push me away, and as usual my gut instinct was correct. I see now that he was trying to self-sabotage the relationship, perhaps subconsciously at first. He kept saying over and over that he though i deserved better and that he worried that he wasn’t the person to make me happy blah blah blah, but i chalked it up to one of his bouts of depressive self-loathing because he was having a lot of unemployment-related stress, and things seemed much better recently since he started a new job and was no longer worrying about money. Just earlier today before i left his apartment he was kissing me and hugging me. he texted me later saying he loved me.

And then i wound up driving him home later after he went out with some friends from his old job and had way, way too much to drink. He was drunker than i’ve ever seen him before; he could barely even stand, let alone walk. I was worried about him because he has such a low tolerance anyway due to being diabetic, and after he’d spent a good fifteen minutes throwing up in the bathroom, i tried to get him to drink some water because he was so dehydrated. And then the usual drunken self-loathing just started pouring out of him: are you sure you want to deal with this kind of thing, you can do better than me, you can have anyone you want, why not an ace guy instead of me, etc. etc.

Then that suddenly morphed into him essentially trying to talk me into breaking up with him, and that’s when all of the other stuff started spilling out. At first i was just in disbelief but then it started to get incredibly hurtful. I’d thought he was happy. He’d seemed happy and TOLD ME he was happy, dumb arguments notwithstanding. We’d always talked things out and resolved them immediately. We’d learned how to communicate better, or so i thought. Now he seemed to want me to break up with him and even to hate him, to prove some kind of fucking point about how fundamentally unlovable he was or whatever the fuck.

But what hurt most of all, worse than anything else, was that he revealed, in a harsh, cold voice, that he’d been using porn for the duration of our relationship while lying to me about it, and that he’s used it since he was twelve. He claimed he hadn’t said anything before because i’d “never asked,” which is a load of mendacious fucking garbage because i’ve made clear to him how i feel about porn and the sex industry generally on many occasions. He knew how i felt, and it didn’t matter enough to him to be honest with me or try to stop even though he knows it’s fucked up and admits it.

He fed me all of the usual pathetic excuses: “i use it to cope with and normalize the fact that my older sister molested me for years, i at least pay for it, i don’t watch the abusive stuff, blah blah blah etc.” I could feel my mouth going dry and my heart constricting while i listened to this. “Why weren’t you honest with me? why did you lie to me?” i finally managed to say. He said it was because he knew i would have left immediately. I said, “i can forgive almost anything except lying and hiding things from me. You claim i never asked you but that was because you TOLD me that you didn’t watch it during an argument we had about it, that you weren’t one of those people. You knew I wasn’t okay with that stuff, and you deliberately hid it from me. You lied to me. At least tell me this: you know that i would have asked you to stop watching that shit. If i’d asked, would you have stopped?” And the answer was no, probably not. He doesn’t care enough to stop: not about himself or the women on the screen. Not even about me, someone who loves him.

I feel so stupid now, thinking maybe he was different. I didn’t know. I just didn’t know. Was it because I was afraid to know? Because I didn’t want to dash the hope that he really was different?

i’m a victim of sexual abuse too, albeit a different kind, but i’ve worked so hard to recover from what was done to me. I go to therapy, i try to cope in healthy ways, and even though i still have my hard times due to depression and ptsd and probably always will to an extent, i try to keep moving forward. Recovery is never in a straight line, but it’s still worth working for, it’s worth fighting for. Deep down, he doesn’t want to get better, because he’s afraid to. Now i see that he wasn’t even willing to try, not even for my sake. Easier to just go back to what’s familiar, to having a string of failed relationships based on sex and little else, to doing all the things considered “normal” for straight men to do in our society regardless of how it warps them and hurts the people they come in contact with, to being with women who don’t care if he watches porn because “that’s just what guys do lol” and who never challenge him on anything, never challenge him to do better, to BE better.

“Go ahead, hate me,” he said. “I’ve told you this because i know it’ll make you hate me. If that’s how i can make it easier for you to leave me behind and move on and feel righteous, i’m okay with that. I know the only thing i’m good for, and it’s sex. I’m too broken for anything else. I’m the person people date before they meet the right person; that’s what i’ve been for all of my exes and that’s what i am for you. Now you can go and meet the ace guy you actually want and deserve.”

i felt so tired listening to this, just so tired and drained. I’d stopped crying by that point. Deep down i’d known it couldn’t last, but i’d never imagined it ending like this.

“I don’t hate you,” i said. “I pity you. Some part of you wants a relationship that’s truly healthy but you’re also afraid of it. You’re not willing to do the work that it requires. You don’t want to get better--you’ve told me as much. All these excuses and justifications you tell yourself, i’m not sure you really believe them, but you also don’t want to let go of them. Being abused doesn’t give you the right to consume abuse and exploitation and help keep the demand for it running. You’re a hypocrite in more ways than one, like everyone else who claims to care about women but watches this shit.

I know your sister fucked you up, i know she destroyed your health and happiness and hurt you in a way that you’ll never be completely free from. i know you were failed by the people who were supposed to love and protect you while she gets to go and have a normal life and sleep easily at night and not have seizures or flashbacks or nightmares that she takes meds for or have to give a single solitary shit about what she’s done to you. I know what it does to you, carrying this inside you, how much it hurts you. I’ve never thought i could ‘fix’ you, but i’ve always wanted and tried to support you in any way i could in taking steps to be a happier, healthier person, because i love you and that’s what people do when they love someone. And i think you’ve always been afraid of the fact that i can love you as a partner and companion and not because you make me cum or whatever the fuck. It frightens you that i can want you--emotionally, romantically, even physically--without wanting you sexually, because fucking is the only thing you think you have to offer. You hate yourself and that’s why you’ve been trying so hard to push me away lately.

And god--even now, if you said you know what you’re doing is wrong and you want to stop and i thought i could believe you, i’d be willing to support you in that. But you don’t want to. You don’t see how it’s wrong and what’s worse is you just don’t care, and i can’t help you with that. I can’t help you be a better person, and it’s not really my problem anymore. There’s nothing that will make this easier for me, and no, I don’t feel ‘righteous’ or any of the other things you’re accusing me of right now. I just feel sad, and tired. But hey, I’m sure you’ll find other companionship easily--you’re good at that, right?”

And then i gave him his key back, told him not to call me ever again, and left.

it couldn’t have lasted and i knew that. i think i’ve known it for the last month at least. But i was still willing to try, still willing to work on it because i loved him. To have it all fall apart just so fucking suddenly, and in this way...it just makes it so much worse. I know he loved me, but all the happy times we’ve had just feel tainted for me now. It feels like a lie, like I was used somehow. He’s said before that he liked the fact that I challenged him--was he lying to me or to himself? Maybe both? I’ve deleted his number and all of the pictures we took and i’ve blocked him, even though he knows better than to contact me because i’ve told him i’m not someone who can or wants to be friends with exes, and i certainly don’t want to be friends with him after this. I know he thinks he did me a favor, that he’s “freed” me or whatever, and knowing what I know now, it’s hard to disagree, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. I just want to erase all of this from my memory and heart but i know i can’t.

Right now i just feel numb and in shock, and i don’t know how or when the pain will really hit. I can’t just switch off my feelings of loving him and missing him. Being with him was so good for me at first--it showed me that it was possible to feel love and affection for someone again, to feel safe with them. But then it all started slipping away. Was I ignoring the warning signs because i was so happy, because i wanted to believe it would really last? This is the longest relationship i’ve ever had, and this is how it ends. I don’t think it means i’m a failure, exactly, but does it mean i’m naive and stupid? Would somebody else have seen what I couldn’t or wouldn’t?

i have an appointment with my therapist this afternoon and i don’t even know how i’ll find the words to explain all this to him. I’ll probably just show him this post. I’m exhausted physically, emotionally and mentally and i need to sleep but I don’t know if I can.

#absolutely no reblogs /////////#///////////#////////////////////#/////////////////////#csa mention tw

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1989dreamer · 7 years

Text

Hello, Snow White, I’m Talking About a Condom!

Posted here on AO3.

(Tags attached to story (heed them!): rape, rape of an underage character, MCD refers to Hale Fire, Kate Argent Warning, Kate Rapes Derek, Dead!Paige, Magic Bullet Coda...? Victim Blaming. Detailed warnings at bottom of story.)

Summary:

During

Magic Bullet

, Derek overhears the conversation between Lydia and Allison, and is reminded of his own past with Kate.

Conversation near the beginning of Magic Bullet:

Lydia: Scott's coming over? Tonight?

Allison: We're just studying together.

L: Just studying never ends with just studying. It's like getting into a hot tub--Somebody eventually cops a feel.

A: So, what are you saying?

L: I'm just saying, you know, make sure he covers up. (CHUCKLES) Hello, Snow White, I'm talking about a condom!

A: (CHUCKLES) Are you kidding? After one date?

L: Don't be a total prude. Give him a little taste.

A: Well, I mean, how much is a little taste?

L: Oh, God. You really like him, don't you?

A: Well, he's just different. When I first moved here, I had a plan, no boyfriends ‘til college. I just move too much. But then I met him, and he was different. I don't know. I can't explain it.

L: I can. It's your brain flooding with phenylethylamine.

A: (LAUGHS) What?

L: I'll tell you what to do. When's he coming over?

A: Right after school.

L: Hmm.

The words echo, taking hold in his mind. Derek finds he can’t move his feet. He needs to find McCall, but the Argent and Martin girls are still talking. About sex. Like it’s something to be treated so casually. To give ‘a taste’ just because there is attraction. Kissing should be the taste. Should be the mark by which teenagers play their relationships. None of this ‘don’t be a prude’ bullshit.

Derek’s been there, and he wants to warn Allison that it’s not the right move, that Martin is full of shit. Just because it worked out in her own life doesn’t mean that it’s going to go well for Allison. What if Scott really hurts her when they start? Scott’s barely got any control.

If he didn’t have this bullet in his arm, didn’t need help to not die, he’d go babysit the idiots. Maybe take a little pleasure in spoiling any condom-times.

He wishes, almost desperately, that someone had done the same for him. Hadn’t tucked a row of condoms in his back pocket, patting his chest, and hissing, ‘Go get some.’ Hadn’t pushed and pushed and still ignored all the ‘no’s.

He wishes he’d never slept with Kate, never had sex with her, never let her have sex with him.

Maybe that makes him into a soiled Snow White, a dirty, unlovable caricature of an innocent, but still, no one should be told that they need to give up something so fundamental just for someone else’s pleasure.

No one.

Not even him.

“Come on, man,” Sammy says, smacking Derek’s shoulder again, harder. “You’re seriously not gonna put out for her? I mean, look, she’s really panting after you, coming over when you’re surrounded by all your friends and everything.”

Derek grumbles under his breath, trying to ignore Sammy. It’s not that he doesn’t want to sleep with Kate. It’s just that he really doesn’t want to sleep with her. He’s not ready. Of that, he’s certain.

And as for friends? Sammy’s the only one who’s stuck around after the thing with Paige and Derek withdrawing.

See, Sammy doesn’t need anyone to actually respond to him when he talks.

He looks up from his locker, searching the hallway until he finds her by the door to Chemistry, chatting up Harris. Harris is still drunk from last night—or this morning, Derek’s not sure, just that he absolutely reeks of cheap vodka, watery beer, and buckets of nervous sweat—and Kate keeps leaning in to whisper at him before pulling back as Harris reaches for her. He’s gotta stink even by human standards.

She tosses her hair over her shoulder, catches Derek’s eyes, and winks. Derek turns back to his locker, shoving his books in and slamming the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Sammy’s smug smile. So, he saw that wink too. They have practice after class today, which means he can’t escape Sammy any time soon.

“See, she wants you bad, man,” Sammy says, slapping at Derek’s shoulder.

Derek grunts again. “Maybe I’m not ready,” he says finally, when they’re about to pass Harris and Kate.

“If you didn’t study, Mr. Hale, that’s your own fault,” Harris interjects, and his words aren’t even a little slurred. Too much practice. Kate giggles and steps away, hips swaying exaggeratedly because of her heels. Sammy sighs, craning his neck to watch her sashay around the corner. Harris watches her go too. Derek ducks his head, trying to ignore the burn of red on his cheeks, remembering Kate cornering him under the bleachers a few periods ago. She’d only kissed him and groped him pretty hard over his pants.

He blinks back a sudden spring of tears, remembering whispering, “Not here, not where you can get caught,” to stop her because she wouldn’t listen to anything else.

He sinks into the first free desk, aware that it’s not his. But, since Harris likes to randomly assign seats for tests, he’s sure he won’t be here for much longer. He lifts his head, strains his ears, and slumps when he can’t hear Paige’s solo. Remembers why he can’t hear it.

More tears that he can’t stop.

Harris looks disgusted, snorting when Derek looks up at him through bleary eyes. “Okay, everyone, seating chart is on the board.” He looks down at his hands before glancing up again, something human in his eyes. “Ms. Barnes, switch with Mr. Hale.”

It’s a kindness Derek is not expecting. Hardly anyone knew how close he was to Paige so none of the teachers has done something like this. Harris must just not like dealing with crying students.

The test is easy. Forgettable. Derek’s positive he got a hundred percent on it. He finishes early and spends the rest of the period running a blunt fingernail over the desk, tracing scratched words detailing a student’s battle against the erasure of vandalism.

The bell rings and he’s gone. Heading down to the locker room. Hoping he can get there fast enough to change and be in the gym before Kate corners him again. He knows that wink. That wink says he’s going to have to work on how he says no.

He makes it to the door before Kate latches onto his arm and drags him into the swim coach’s office. In here, it smells like chlorine and stale tobacco. Pictures of past swimming teams line the walls. Knickknacks on the desk. The room too neat and unnerving. Derek shivers when Kate runs her nails down his arm.

Then, she sweeps a path on the desk and pushes him to sit.

“This should be fun,” she says, hands going to his belt. Derek tenses.

“No, wait,” he pants. “I have practice. I’m supposed to be there now.” He grabs her hands and holds them. She leans in and presses her lips to his.

“Fine, sweetie,” she says, disappointment coloring her tone. “I guess I’ll just have to give you a blow job some other time then.”

He knows the response she wants is his own disappointment that he’s destroyed their chance at sex. But, all he feels is relief.

When she pulls back and straightens her blouse and slacks, he slides off the desk and skirts around her.

Sammy’s waiting in the locker room, his locker, and Derek’s next to it, open. “So,” he says with a glint in his eye that Derek does not like. “Gonna put out finally?”

“You know what?” Derek explodes. “If you like her so much, why don’t you sleep with her?”

Sammy draws back, a “Whoa” on his lips.

“No,” Derek says quickly, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. She’s just pushing really hard right now, and I’m not ready.” He slips off his jeans and tugs on his shorts. Sammy just stares at him, speechless for once. “Look,” Derek leans in close, “I think she’s a predator. I mean, why would a teacher go for a student? Unless they’re sick in the head.”

“Derek Hale,” Sammy says, shoving at Derek until he sits on the bench, “I am only going to tell you this once: you are mega hot. I mean, why wouldn’t any teacher not want to have sex with you?”

“Um, maybe because I’m still fifteen?”

“Hell,” Sammy continues, ignoring Derek’s interruption, “I’d sleep with you, and I’m not even romantically interested in you. Just, if she asks you again, can you please think about sleeping with her. For me?”

The words ‘fuck you’ are on Derek’s tongue, but before he can open his mouth, Coach yells at them to get their asses on the court. As they pass him, Sammy still mouthing about how lucky Derek is to have Kate Argent wanting to sleep with him, Coach grabs Derek’s arm.

“If someone’s bugging you,” he says, solemn, “you come straight to me. We’ll take care of it. Got it, kid?”

Derek nods because what else can he do? Coach was the one of the few who knew about Paige, who’d encouraged him to seek out that relationship because he’d called it healthy to have an outlet like that. And that’s what Kate is, isn’t she? A healthy outlet.

Practice passes in a blur, Derek on edge and unable to concentrate while his teammates run circles around him. Coach keeps that concerned look on his face, and Derek ignores the pungent stench of sorrow wafting from him. It’s easy to do when there’s a dozen boys sweating all around him.

By the time he drags himself home, supper’s on the table, and the whole family is singing songs from Laura’s musical. A freshman in college, she spends most weekends home, claiming homesickness. As soon as he’s through the door, a paper is shoved into his hands and Laura gestures at him. He raises an eyebrow before dutifully singing the highlighted words. Of course Laura would make him be the bad guy. At least, he’s supposed to be bad at it.

Thankfully, the singing ends, and most everyone else sits down to eat while Derek goes to wash up. Peter corners him in the kitchen, leaning close so his lips brush Derek’s ear.

“Go get some,” he hisses, too low for the others to hear. His fingers dip into Derek’s back pocket, leaving something in their wake. Derek pushes back and digs it out, staring incredulously at the strip of blue foil packets. He knows what they are before Peter smirks and says, “Condoms. Be safe when you use them.” His accompanying wink makes Derek shudder in horror, and he glares at his uncle. Peter laughs lightly and sweeps away to the dining room. Derek throws the condoms away and washes his hands again before taking his seat next to Mom’s elbow. She looks at him with a worried frown.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

Derek thinks about Kate, her insistence on touching him, ignoring his protests. He knows his scent is sour with bitterness, and that’s why Mom’s asking, but how can he tell his mom that one of his teachers is making him uncomfortable? He’d said it about Peter a time or two, and Mom always brushed it off. She’ll do the same with Kate. After all, Derek’s a fifteen-year-old boy. He’s supposed to be interested in sex with anyone of the female persuasion.

“Nothing’s really wrong,” he says, glancing around the table. “Can we talk later?” Mom nods and leaves him alone.

Supper’s good. Laura keeps talking about her play and how she’s going to be the lead. No one tells her she’s off-key. No one says anything when Cora picks out the sweet potatoes and drops them on the floor so their dog, Kotchsky, can eat them. Everyone eyes Derek worriedly when he just pushes the food from one side of his plate to the other.

Afterward, Mom asks him to help with washing the dishes while everyone else disperses to the back porch for root beer floats.

“What’s wrong?” She asks again when no one can listen in.

Derek sighs. He shrugs, and Mom waits patiently. Finally, he finds the words, “Sammy wants me to sleep with someone.”

“Sammy?” Mom dips her hands in the soapy water and digs out a dish. Derek hands her the dishcloth and nods.

“Sammy, my friend. He says there’s this—girl—interested in me and that I should sleep with her ‘cause she likes me.”

“But you don’t want to.”

“No. I don’t. I don’t feel ready. I think she’s pressuring me too.” He ducks his head to hide the blush on his cheeks. He accepts the dish from his mom and rinses it quickly before drying it so he can set it on the island. “She, uh, she cornered me in Coach Lahey’s office today.”

Mom sniffs, but Derek scrubbed well with the school’s industrial strength soap. She looks almost disappointed, but an alpha like her is taught to hide her reactionary scents.

“Have you talked to a teacher?”

Derek shrugs, default answer. Mom raises an eyebrow and he draws in a breath. “Coach, uh, Coach Bonaheim offered today.”

“You know you can say no, right?” Mom wipes her hands dry and grabs his shoulders, studying his eyes.

“Yes,” Derek says. “But, she doesn’t listen.”

“Who is this girl?”

“She’s in…my math class.” Which is not a lie. Kate’s a substitute teacher for Derek’s third period 9th grade mathematics class. That’s not where he met her though. No, that was at the park downtown Mom doesn’t like him going to because it’s too far away if he gets in trouble. Kate had been sitting on the bleachers watching the pickup game. Afterward, she’d cornered him when he was kicking the stand up on his bike.

That was also the first time she’d kissed him. It’d been nothing like Paige. Kate’s lips were waxy and cold while Paige’s were warm, loving.

Derek had stammered an excuse and pedaled as fast as a human would have until he was out of sight and then he was home ten minutes later when he let the shift take over.

Mom rubs a thumb over his cheek, wiping away a tear Derek is not aware of crying. He lunges forward, wrapping his arms around her and sobbing.

“I don’t want to have sex with her, but she doesn’t stop. How do I make her stop?”

“You tell as many people as you can,” Mom says firmly. “And you tell me her name so I can speak with the school. Baby, you don’t have to go through this alone.”

“Kate,” he whispers so low he can’t even hear it. “Her name is Kate.”

Then he runs to his room and slams and locks the door.

Mom drives him to school the next day, dropping Cora off at the elementary first. She walks Derek to the principal’s office.

Mr. Thomas greets them amicably, and Derek sinks into his chair, his backpack held securely over his lap while Mom clears her throat and asks if any students have lodged any complaints about a student named Kate.

“No,” Mr. Thomas says, smile faltering. He turns pitying eyes onto Derek. “Does Derek wish to file a complaint?”

Derek does not look up. He knows what Mr. Thomas really means. He thinks Derek should suck it up, maybe let Kate suck it up. It’s what Sammy would say. Derek’s had all night to think about it, and he knows he was wrong to involve Mom.

“I’m missing Homeroom,” he mumbles, jumping to his feet and running from the room. He ignores his mother’s angry cry. He doesn’t need her to fight his battles. It’s not even a battle.

He’ll just try to get Kate to understand that he’s not ready at all. It’ll be…Well, it’ll be shit. And she probably won’t listen. But, he’s a boy. It’s just sex.

He slides into his seat and stares down at his desk. It’s just sex, he thinks again. He can do that. He’d have done it with Paige if she’d asked.

She hadn’t.

It’s just sex.

He keeps repeating those words to himself through his classes. Mrs. Abernathy gives him a detention slip, looking apologetic. Too many tardy mornings.

He drags his feet to Kate’s classroom. She’s wearing a low cut red blouse and narrow black skirt with a long chain around her neck. Her heels are low today. A sign she’s planning on taking lunch out by the pond.

It’s just sex.

It. Is. Just. Sex.

Derek grits his teeth and slumps into his desk. Kate begins the lesson cheerfully. She ignores Derek, doesn’t even call on him. Good thing too. He can’t concentrate worth a fucking damn today, and instead, doodles all over his notes page. Different languages spelling out his mantra.

He crumples up the page when the bell rings and gathers himself to head toward the auditorium for his free period. Before he can stand up, Kate stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

“A word, Mr. Hale,” she says, just loud enough for the remaining students to hear. As soon as the room is empty, she leans down and presses her lips to the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got a free period right now,” she says, not a question. She knows his schedule, without him ever telling her what it is. “And you’ve got first lunch. Come with me, and there’ll be no distractions.”

He clenches his fists, and listens closely, wondering if Mom is still on campus. He thinks not. She’d probably already be here if she were. “I don’t want to,” he says softly, aware of the open door where anyone could pass by. “Ms. Argent, please. I really don’t want to have sex, and you pressuring me is making me upset.”

She laughs, a cold chuckle. “I don’t give a fuck about what you want,” she says. “I want sex. I need to get laid. And, you’re a better choice than that fuck-up in the chemistry room. One way or another, you’re going to sleep with me. I tried to go slow.”

“I’ll tell,” Derek says. It’s the only card left. She’s not going to stop now, he thinks.

Suck it up, boy. It’s just sex.

It does not feel like it’s just sex. Not in the slightest.

“Now, come with me,” Kate hisses in his ear, fingers tightening until her nails dig into his arm as she drags him off the seat. “Leave your backpack under my desk. We’re going out the window.”

He does as he’s told, not sure why. He’s strong enough to break free from her grip. But. If he does that, he’s not sure if she’ll let him go. He’s smelled the wolfsbane on her sometimes. He knows she’s a hunter. What he doesn’t know is if she knows what he is.

He’d guess that she does, and that’s why she’s targeted him. No matter what Sammy says, Derek doesn’t have anyone else offering to sleep with him. He has to wonder if he did have other offers, would he have rolled over and taken it the moment Kate offered it? Or would he have still dragged his feet?

“It’s just sex,” he mumbles to himself, waiting while she pries open a window. “It’s just sex.”

So why does it feel like he’s going to throw up?

“Yeah, baby,” Kate says, “just sex. Hot, crazy sex that’ll rock your world. But, just sex.”

She grabs a bag and shoves him while they walk out to the pond. Despite Kate’s provisions, the ground is muddy and uneven. It’s early January, the rainy season has been going on for a while now. His sneakers are a lost cause before they make it halfway. He can smell the frustration coming off Kate, and a quick glance at her feet shows that she’s even worse off than him. He hides his smile by scratching his cheek.

Kate growls, swinging her bag. It smacks against Derek’s back, and a sharp pain explodes across his hips. He falls to the ground, rolling, trying to extinguish the burning sensation. Before he can recover, she drops onto him, fists slamming into his side and back again and again until he curls up, letting her beat him.

“Get what you deserve,” she grunts with each hit. “Fuck you so hard, you’ll be ruined. Werewolf healing won’t save you.” The pain grows until he can’t move.

He must black out then, because he feels himself come back, like falling through icy water until he can sit up gasping.

The pain is gone, replaced by a dull ache. His groin feels rubbed raw and there is a suspicious stickiness to the crotch of his pants. Kate is nowhere near him, and it’s getting dark out.

He drags himself to his feet, stumbling when the ache flares into pain and settles deep in his gut. Something is wrong, really wrong.

He sniffs the air, tastes more rain, but Kate’s scent is almost faded. She’s been gone for hours.

Why hasn’t anyone come looking for him?

Derek strains his ears, but all he can hear are his harsh pants and the coming rain.

He whines, deep in his throat. He wants his mom, his alpha. He feels broken, used. Maybe he should have tried harder to get away from Kate?

When he reaches the school, he finds Laura leaning against her Ford Focus, arms over her chest, a worried frown pulling her brows down low over her flickering eyes.

Derek watches gold shoot through blue, and before he quite realizes it, his sister’s eyes settle into burning red.

At the same time, he hears the howls of his pack clearly, even though the house is miles from the school. Laura grabs his arm and hauls him into the car, stabbing a finger into his chest and then spinning the tires as she guns the engine.

Derek buckles his seatbelt and holds tight to it and the door as Laura accelerates close to the 140 MPH mark.

When they reach the ‘No Entry’ sign, the howls stop, and Derek clutches the belt tighter, choking on the pure agony of what feels like his heart being ripped out of his chest. Laura’s eyes shine bright red and don’t change back.

They skid into the yard, Laura braking sharply, throwing open her door and bounding toward the house. Derek stays frozen, staring at the flames engulfing their home. Laura howls even though they both know it won’t be answered. The sheer pain of their severed pack bonds speaks to the severity of their loss.

Laura screams at the sky, howling in anguish. Before he can stop himself, Derek responds with a mournful call of his own.

Fire trucks and police cars spill into the yard, and Laura goes to the sheriff’s car to speak with him.

Derek manages to undo his seatbelt in time for one of the deputies, a man with sandy brown hair and kind blue eyes to haul him out into the cold drizzle.

“You okay there, son?” he asks, shaking Derek a little. Derek shakes his head, pointing at the house.

He doesn’t think he will ever be okay again, the hole in his heart too large to be patched. His family is dead and he knows Kate set the fire. It wasn’t enough that she made him have sex with her. She had to kill his family too.

The deputy pulls off his jacket and drapes it around Derek’s shoulders before heading into the mix of other deputies, not a one of them breaking the ash line Derek can feel in his bones.

“This is your fault,” Laura hisses from where she’s talking to the sheriff. Derek ducks his head. It is. It is all his fault. “You should have been here,” she continues. “Why weren’t you? Why were you off having sex with that teacher? You did this.”

“Derek?” someone else says, and the deputy that gave him the jacket is back. Derek can’t focus on him, everything gone blurry. “Son? Do you need to sit down?”

Derek shakes his head and can’t stop. And then he starts sobbing. He can feel everything ebbing out of him, burning away like his family’s bodies.

“We got one!” another deputy shouts and suddenly, Derek is alone, staring after them as they all run to the outside doors to the basement. There’s too much ash and stench of burned flesh for Derek to know which one of his extensive family managed to survive the attack. He knows it’s not Mom because Laura’s eyes are burning bright red while she fights into the midst of the group to slap a hand on what is now her beta.

A shrill siren pierces his brain, and Derek stumbles back into the wall. He sends a glare up at the bell above his head (of all the places he could have had a flashback).

Argent and Martin are gone, heading off in separate directions: Argent going to her car, humming something that sounds suspiciously like ‘Here Comes the Bride’ while Martin goes to have an almost-quickie with her boyfriend before climbing in his stupidly fancy car.

Scott is by his bicycle, but the way Derek’s feeling now, he won’t be able to keep up with the kid. Besides, the boy is too distracted by the girl. He won’t have Scott’s undivided attention.

That just leaves Stiles, the weirdo. Derek remembers a jacket around his shoulders, the only kindness he’d been shown that day. He hopes Stiles is his father’s son otherwise this is going to be a short day.

He shoves off the wall and manages to stumble outside. And narrowly avoids being hit by what very well could be his savior.

If only he had been so lucky six years ago.

~ Fin ~

Warnings: Derek is told to seek a relationship with Kate by Peter and his friend. Kate forces herself on Derek repeatedly and rapes him. Laura blames Derek for the fire in her grief.

Thanks for reading!

#Teen Wolf Fanfic #Derek Hale #Kate Argent #Kate Argent Warning #Heed Warnings #My Story/My Writing

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firstumcschenectady · 6 years

Text

“The Will of God” based on 1 Samuel 8:4-20 and Mark 3:31-35

https://workcollaboratively.files.wordpress.com/2013/09/wc_needs-feelings-inventory.pdf

In the gospel today, Jesus said that anyone who does the will of God is his mother, brother, or sister. He defines his family by those who do God's will. Jesus also taught us that our God is a God of love, which is the starting point for knowing God's will. Jesus reminded us of the great commandments. “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, strength, and mind” and “Love your neighbor as yourself.”

I've had some very helpful nudgings from this congregation recently. Many of them have been in your consistent reminders to take care of myself since my knee injury, and collectively you've seemed to know that I would need a lot of those reminders. Being patient with my body isn't easy for me.

There were two more nudgings as well. One of you asked if I could say more to acknowledge the pain people have and struggle with. That certainly felt important. Then came another call, asking me if I could preach about self-love.

I've concluded that the Spirit herself has been at work in all of this. Self-love is a very exciting topic to speak about! I've spent most of my continued education time during my years as your pastor working on this for myself, and I think I've learned a few things that might be of use. Yet, this is also a nerve wracking topic to talk about, both because it requires great vulnerability and because it is a tender topic with which I might accidentally do harm.

Nevertheless, it is time to talk about loving ourselves. When we say “Love your neighbor as yourself,” we tend to ignore the implicit assumption that we love ourselves contained in the rule. To prepare for this sermon I asked on Facebook and through some emails for people to offer definitions of love. I told them it was for preaching, I did not share that I was going to preach about loving ourselves!

The answers were, of course, amazing. A lot of the responses reflected careful consideration followed by a conclusion that defining love is very difficult and perhaps impossible. I got wished “good luck” rather a lot! Some tried to find the words anyway, and I think you'll find them useful for reflection. In order not to distract you, I'm going to offer some of your definitions words without attributing them.

Love is more of an action than anything else. For example, I find making the bed in the morning a complete waste of time, my husband loves to come home to a made bed, when I make the bed, I do it for him because I know it will make him happy, that's love.

The glue of the Trinity, spilling over into creation.

I feel that love is a choice. It stems from a feeling, but it is a solid, daily choice.

the movement of goodness itself...

Spirit is Love and Love is Spirit

Companionship; Communication; Accepting each others thoughts and feelings; Reaching a hand in church; In the middle of the night reaching out to touch

love cannot be defined because a definition automatically puts boundaries and love is not bounded

One can give examples of the affects of love on both the lover and the object of that love (animate or inanimate) and the effects of love-Love casts out fear

Finally, one among you shared a set of profound thoughts, which I cannot summarize or shorten without weakening it:

Love can mean many things depending on the context. I think you mean love as it involves people or spirit rather than things like ice cream or sports. With regard to people, love is a state of unlimited commitment where two people or even in some cases like a pet dog become so in sync with one's feelings that the object of love is an extension of the person and foibles are overlooked or forgiven.

Then there is spiritual love =the love of God or Jesus which is our rock of support -it is often recognized in retrospect like in the expression `If not for the love of God I would have suffered'. When one recovers from a traumatic experience or accident one is grateful for the love of the Divine. I know that scientists and engineers are often tagged as non-believers unless some measurement standard can document the cause of an event. I don't agree – there's more than mortals can conjure up that is involved. So these are my ramblings - I'll be interested in the views of others and remain thankful for all the love I have experienced.

Another among you has since reminded me to tell you that love is so powerful as to be very dangerous. Since I was reminded of that I've been trying figure out if that applies to self love or not. It seems to me that romantic love is far more dangerous than self love, but then again that the world as we know it would fall apart if we were good at self love. (At least, the US economy would!) So perhaps self love is quite dangerous as well.

Now, the logical among you (and there are plenty of you!) are going to wish that at this point I'd offer a definition of self-love, despite the fact that I've just shown you by example how very hard it is to define love at all. I'm going to give this my best shot. Self-love is “loving yourself as you'd love your neighbor.” Or, perhaps it might be better for some of us to say “loving yourself as you'd want a dearly loved one to be able to love themselves.” I say this because most people I know are far kinder to their loved ones than themselves. We speak to ourselves in ways we'd never permit ourselves to speak to anyone else.

There are 4 girls in this world I consider my nieces, including one who is biologically my niece. The two oldest are old enough to sometimes be terribly hard on themselves, and life has sometimes given me the chance to have heart-to-heart talks with them when they're in the midst of self-blame. Because of my deep love for them and because of the training I've had in listening, I've sometimes been able to help them translate their own self-criticisms. It turns out that “I'm an idiot” usually means something else entirely, for instance, “I'm feeling frustrated that I can't find my long underwear, and I'm afraid it is a fundamental flaw in my humanity that I could have lost them.” Once translated, it becomes much easier to think together about whether or not misplaced long underwear are really such an enormous failure.

Now, clearly, misplacing one's long underwear does not an idiot make. We all have the capacity to assure a beloved child of that. I'm less confident about our ability to remember that when dealing with ourselves. We jump from a small infraction of our ideals to an enormous overstatement of our failures. We keep the self-criticism tightly wound inside, most of us keep it so tightly wound that we try to pretend it away even to ourselves.

The jump from small infraction to utter failure is the work of an internal “self-critic.” We all have them. These are parts of ourselves that manage to jump to strong, universal, and nasty criticisms at lightspeed. They sound like this: “I'm lazy.” “No one really likes me.” “I'm stupid.” “I'm selfish.” “Everything is wrong and it is all my fault.” “I'm going to fail.” “I'm fat.” “I'm going to get fired.” “I'm ugly.” “I'm unlovable.” “I don't deserve to be here.” Most of us have a lot of them, and they're powerful. While they all sound more or less alike, each of us have our own set with their own particular refrains. Self-critics within say things we'd never allow others to say to us – and would never say to others - and they say them regularly.

The most shocking thing I've learned this decade is that self-critics are TRYING TO HELP us. They're just really, really bad at it. They actually want to protect and support us, but they have bad communication skills. They think yelling at us and shaming us will motivate us to do better. Instead, it can cripple us at times, it keeps us afraid, and it doesn't give us any sense of freedom. However, it is possible to learn how to TRANSLATE the criticism! Under the ugly words is a loving intention, and if you listen to that self-critic the way you might listen to a beloved niece, you can find it. The best part is that once you hear the loving-intention underneath the criticism, the critic often stops yelling and gives you some peace!

Listening to our self-critics is terrifying. However, in my experience, it is more frightening to contemplate than to do. Because the self-critic always has a loving intention, and because that loving-intention hasn't usually been heard, it is actually sort of lovely! It is far worse to hear the criticisms regularly yelled from within than it is to hear the loving-intention!

One of the harshest critics I've had in my life used to tell me quite often that I was “too much.” This was extended to include, “too loud, too big, and too pushy.” I heard it MANY times a day. With the guidance of a loving teacher, I was able to hear beneath it. The self-critic was still feeling the pain of being an unpopular elementary school student, and was trying to help me control myself in ways that might make me more like-able. The self-critic hadn't meant to hurt me! It really did want to help, it was just scared! Once I heard the loving-intention, it toned down. I still hear from her once in a while, but only in fairly extreme circumstances (when maybe I should be keeping my mouth shut after all!). Even then, the bite that once sought to control me isn't there anymore.

There is a quote I've always loved, “Love me when I least deserve it because that's when I really need it.” This applies to others when they're not able to behave well, and it applies to ourselves when we're not able to behave well, and it applies to our self-critics! , Now, I don't want to send you off to face your self-critics without a bit more guidance. If you are ready to live without quite as much internal yelling, then I suggest a few things. It helps a lot to write things down. “I'm too much” was a terrifying, almost heart-stopping thing to hear inside myself, but in black and white on paper it looked a lot smaller. If you have a person you trust, they are often quite helpful in working on translating with you. (Including your pastor.) The process takes some time, so be patient with yourself. It may sound silly, but it requires actually listening to the self-critic in order to get to the loving intention. And, as loud and hurtful as self-critics can be, they're also sorta shy. This is a good time to remind you of the “feelings and needs” list found here: https://workcollaboratively.files.wordpress.com/2013/09/wc_needs-feelings-inventory.pdf. It helps to remember that we all have needs, the needs are universal, needs do not make us weak – AND most self-critics are trying to help us meet a need!! A very difficult to internalize reminder: we can actually get along without self-critics. They are not the only reason we get anything done, we are able to function and even thrive without internal yellers.

I started this conversation with the precious moments I've had when I've been able to help translate my niece's fears. I started that way on purpose. Our inner critics are a lot like hurting children, and they respond best to patient, gentle, loving attention; and they sometimes need some affirmation that we know they're hurting before they can trust us to work with them. The ways we seek to help children when they're hurting are the same skills we can use to be more loving to ourselves.

Doing the work to love ourselves is a part of God's will. If God loves us, then God doesn't want us spoken to in hurtful and abusive ways. Thus, the time it takes to find the loving-intention is time well spent. Furthermore, love itself is a cool thing. Every time it stretches out in a new direction, it expands its capacity. As we love others more, we can love ourselves more. As we love ourselves more, we can love God more. As we love God more, we can love others and ourselves more.

Love is the will of God.

Including, self-love.

May we do God's will. Amen

Rev. Sara E. Baron

First United Methodist Church of Schenectady

603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305

Pronouns: she/her/hers

http://fumcschenectady.org/

https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

June 10, 2018

#Thinking Church #Progressive Christianity #FUMC Schenectady #Schenectady #UMC #pride #Rev Sara E Baron #NVC #Thanks Dian #Self-love #God's Will #No footnotes?!?!?!?!?

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the-christian-walk · 7 years

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YOU COUNT

Can I pray for you in any way? Send any prayer requests to OurChristianWalk.com. In Christ, Mark

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

** Follow The Christian Walk on Twitter @ThChristianWalk

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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The scriptures. May God bless the reading of His holy word.

“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.” Matthew 10:29-31 Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.”

Luke 12:6-7 This ends this reading from God's holy word. Thanks be to God. Have you ever questioned your worth in this world? If so, you’re not alone for we seem to live in a time when everyone wants to size themselves up against something. We examine the way other people look and question whether we’re as attractive, conscious about nearly every aspect of our physical appearance. The modern day versions of body shaming doesn’t help matters and at times, that shaming can be self imposed. Indeed, sometimes the mirror can be our worst enemy and yet we can’t help but look. Ditto for the scale. Another place where we see if we size up with others regards the way we dress. We seem to always feel pressured to dress in accordance with the latest style so we can be considered en vogue and it seems some people can’t be satisfied unless they are in alignment with the latest fashion trends. One last example and it has to do with how accomplished we are, especially in regard to money and prestige. The world seems to measure success by the amount of money someone has and the accumulation of possessions to compliment wealth. We gauge ourselves by the kind of job we hold or the home we live in or the car we drive. And determined to “keep up with the Joneses”, it seems like people never really reach a comfort level when it comes to the riches and prowess they attain, especially when comparing themselves against their contemporaries.

I could go on and on but you get the point. It seems we always have to assess where we are in comparison to someone else or against a cultural or societal norm and we do so to our own demise.

For where does a consistent attitude of falling short of the mark leave us?

Unsatisfied, self conscious, stressed, impatient, intolerant, insecure, lacking self esteem, and always coveting something greater and better. Sound familiar?

Maybe you’re in that place now. If so, then today’s message, grounded in the words of Jesus, will hopefully bring encouragement to you. For we are not to worry about how the world sees us but rather how we stand in the Lord’s eyes.

As we see in our scripture passage for today, Jesus says the following to His disciples (and us as well):

“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.” Matthew 10:29-31 Have you ever compared yourself to a sparrow? I didn’t think so. And yet, Jesus chooses something so simple, something so fundamental to underscore an important truth. You see, sparrows were so prevalent in New Testament times that they were sold for a very small price (two for a penny) but despite their meager cost, Jesus tells us that they still mattered a great deal to God. In fact, it was by His will whether they could and would fly or not. So what about us then?

If sparrows count so much to God, then how much more value will we have, those He created in His own image, those who He considers His children. Indeed, God our Father cares for us so intimately that He knows every hair that is on our head. In fact, scripture tells us they are all numbered! Try to count the hairs on your head or someone else’s and see how far you get. If you try it, you’ll see the absolute amazement found in Jesus’ statement. Friends, Jesus’ point should be received and understood by all He holds so dear. For if the sparrows were treasured so much by God, then how much more worth do we hold for Him? The answer is immeasurable worth. In fact, no one will cherish you more than the Lord God Almighty. No one. Given this, one question:

What are we so worried about?

If God cares for us so much, then why are we worried about what others think? How others judge us? How we judge ourselves? We do because Satan influences us in a negative way and we let him get away with it. Every person that God created needs to realize that the devil would like nothing more than to have every them feel unloved, undervalued, unwanted, feeling inadequate and unpopular. The enemy longs for us to yearn and covet more and more and more and more, never feeling fulfilled and seeking everything the world has to offer. In fact, he would have us gauge our worth and our happiness on this. And as he succeeds in taking us to a place where we persistently yearn for the things of the world, he successfully steals us away from realizing all the good things that God has provided. Or in other words, we lose sight of how blessed we really are. So what are we to do with this scripture and the valuable words of our Savior? Let’s treasure them and store them away in our hearts and minds forever, never losing sight of this truth:

In the eyes of the Lord, we count, no matter what anyone else might say. Amen. In Christ, Mark PS: Please share this with anyone you feel might be blessed by it. Send any prayer requests to [email protected]

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