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csuitebitches · 4 months

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Hello~

I hope you're doing well!

May I ask you a few pieces of advice, please? Reading through your blog, I've discovered that you're Asian with Asian ancestry, and after some thoughts I've come to the conclusion you're the best person to ask. I'm Slavic woman (Eastern European) married to an Asian man (Chinese), exactly how you described, in Asia it's more a marriage between two families, meanwhile me and my husband married for love. In fact, his parents "consented" to our union, only because 1) I'm a good-looking woman 2) he was so stubborn in his feelings and argued whenever someone had something bad to say 3) I'm respectful, accommodating, and listen to my husband 4) good at cleaning, it's important to his father since he's traditional.

But sometimes, drama happens, mostly from his mother-in-law (his father's second wife), always manipulating and saying stuff as, it was better if he married a wealthy Chinese woman, someone who's good at running a business etc.

How can I stand up for myself or just manage these kinds of situations? The only solution seems to be to just take the risk, and do business, so they could finally stop finding faults. Furthermore they don't know, but I come from a wealthy family, but got disinherited by my mother for saying no to an arranged marriage.

Thank you in advance for your time, help and insight, I'm really grateful. Have a wonderful day and take care of yourself!

Hi there love. I’m sorry to read this. Asian families can truly be both a boon and a curse.

the reality is that your in laws will have an issue regardless of what you do. You could start a business, they could still have 10 horrible things to say to you. You could choose to look after your husband and your home, and they’ll still say awful things to you.

here’s what you should do in my opinion. And this advice comes straight from my mother.

my mother came from a middle class family. My father is a self made man, who made a fortune. They had an arranged marriage. My grandmother (my father’s mother) was really awful to my mother. She wouldn’t even let her touch the cutlery in the house. She had a problem with everything my mother did - with the way she raised her kids, what her career was, everything. She would bitch about my mother in front of us kids, she would say nasty things to my extended family. She told my maternal grandmother (my mum’s mum) that she was sure that if she was on her deathbed, my mother would never care for her. Maternal grandmother was SHOCKED and snapped and told her that her daughter was raised with better values.

my grandfather on the other hand, loves loves loves my mother, as though she was his own daughter. Praises her everywhere he goes. But that’s beside the point.

here’s what my mother learned.

She cannot control her mother in law. MIL is stubborn, ruthless, cunning. It all boils down to one thing - insecurity. Insecurity of never being good enough, smart enough, never was able to control my father (he left home because issues with her), and my father gave my mother the attention she deserved.

MIL was very possessive of my father. Asian Mums 90% of the time have a weird incest relationship with their sons. They cannot let their sons be happy with anyone. Your husband seems like a great guy, standing up for his wife. The support may not heal your hurt, but I’m sure it does a lot of good by having him on your side.

regardless of what she did, she knew she would be criticised anyway. So she did what she liked. She was a stay at home mom till I went to school, then she got two masters degrees, got herself involved in a business, has her own clients, has her own name. Even when she became successful, MIL still bitched about her. But you know what else happened? People began coming up to my grandparents and telling them what a wonderful person my mother is. MIL obviously couldn’t bear the criticism but FIL loved it and cherished her even more. She won her FIL’s respect. To this day he sings her praises even to me.

some fights are not worth it. MIL would sometimes antagonise her over small things, just to provoke her. My mother would simply stay calm. Eventually even the extended family realised that my mother had gone through a lot.

she remained emotionally detached with MIL, but she took care of her when she had cancer. She looked after her, proving MIL’s words (“she’ll never take care of me on my deathbed) absolutely wrong. And she did that out of kindness. She did that because SHE was a nice person, not because MIL deserved it.

do what your heart wants to do. The more you live life to gain approval from someone else - someone who may never give it to you - your life will be miserable. The only way to fight these horrible MILs is by standing up straight, being decisive, being able to say no and hold your ground. She has to respect you as her DIL, regardless of what you do. You will not earn her respect by trying to be someone you’re not.

If your FIL is more accepting towards than her - Build a relationship with the FIL. Forget about the MIL, she’s going to be jealous and awful, and I highly doubt such women ever change. Half the time, they behave in this way because that’s how THEIR MIL’s treated them. MIL’s MIL treated her awfully as well - the former was scared shitless of the latter. She repeated the same pattern with my mother, but my mum was too strong to let MIL bring her down.

If you want to be on good terms with your in laws, focus on the father. Be the daughter he never had (even if he has daughters). But do it because you WANT to, not because you HAVE to.

Such women are simply insecure. Insecure to a point where they must hurt other women because it genuinely gives them joy. Do not let her words affect you whatsoever. And do not live your life by her terms. Focus on being a good person to yourself and your husband.

#Q/a #asian marriages

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musingsofthehiddenshrine · 6 months

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The results of a first meditation

So as mentioned on my question I don't feel a call to my ancestors... I don't have a connection to them, and having asked here, Odin and Loki came with an answer. But first I should give some context.

Earlier this year I was doing a walking meditation as I walked into work - was walking both the real world and one of the ways between worlds, and at this point I'd already raised a question in the past, as my relationship with Loki and Odin felt 'different', felt like it had grown. Loki at this point ... for want of a better word stated that I was his child, and gave me permission (for want of a better word again) to use the surname Lokesbairn. Odin also gave me the title of The Wordsmith. Anyway back to the solution they provided.

My craft has never included ancestor worship as I feel disconnected from my ancestors, I only know my family line as far back as my grandmother, beyond that my great grandmother/grandfather are just faces in photos, stories aren't ever told about them etc. My craft however has always included working with deities, the spirits of the land and the spirits of Hearth and Home.

Both Loki and Odin suggested that I use the stories told of the Norse pantheon, and the myths and legends in general as my starting point and meditate on them. I've just done this as a trial, not specifying any point or anything, but instead let myself fall into meditative state, took my normal visualisastion to set up the wards and space (so entered my forest clearing), from there the first thing I could smell was smoke... that smokey smell from a fireside, and the smell of hay, and damp reeds and an earthy smell. So I 'followed' the smell, and the scene showed itself as very dark, the main illumination coming from a fire in the center of a room, the room distinctly feeling round and closed in. I had a strong sense of 'goats' penned in a corner, and a figure huddling near the fire, mixing a stew. Another figure was there, but upon a knocking on the door went to fling it open.

There was no further visual scene but instead the very strong sense of words flashed across my main 'A visitor' 'Snow' 'Offer hospitality' 'stew and drink' 'warm by fire' 'ginger hair' 'trickster' 'new lineage' mend the rift' 'mischief' 'balance'. I'm -not- 100% certain what to make of this, as I had a sense of familiarity with the visitor.... but ginger hair and trickster is who I'd normally associate with Loki... but the only myth I know of that's widely told would be of Heimdall and the creation of the class system.

I'm open to comments on this - but this is more a personal note on my own practice, as I'm working on paying more attention to my craft now in a more organised manner - and using this for what it's meant for as a long (if only to save me buying more notebooks and journals!). I will be trying to draw what I 'saw' but just a ramble really.

#meditation journal #paganism #norse paganism #rambles #do not reblog #norse pagan #heathenry #norse gods

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alsjeblieft-zeg · 2 years

Text

54 of 2022

[Family]

My brother’s name starts with D. Neither of my grandfathers are alive. I look more like my mother than my father. Both my parents are in a serious relationship. I am the youngest of three children. I am the only girl. My mom’s mom is NOT your typical grandmother. I don’t really like my cousins. I have less than five cousins. I’ve shown up at a family party while under the influence.

[Religion & Politics] I was raised Christian. But I’m no longer a Christian. I believe in God. But I think the Bible is bullshit. My beliefs aren’t influenced by people around me. My dad is religious. My mom tries to be, but who is she trying to fool? I hate church. I wouldn’t have voted in the last election even if I was old enough. // I have nothing to say, voting is mandatory here I hate politics more than anything.

[Food] I honestly never stop eating. Chocolate + peanut butter = orgasmic. I only eat Cains mayonnaise. I’ve never eaten a fruit I didn’t like. I love cooked broccoli but not raw broccoli. I love raw peppers but not cooked peppers. I’ve gone a day or more without eating. I crave chocolate on my period. Pizza Hut has the best pizza around. Cookies & Cream ice cream is one of my favorites.

[Sex, Love & Relationships] I’ve been told that I was a nine out of ten at giving head. A guy has cheated on his girlfriend with me. I’ve never been cheated on. I had my first kiss when I was fifteen. I lost my virginity in the woods. My best friend lost her virginity a week after me. In the same place I did. I’ve been in the same room as someone having sex. I would rather be on the bottom.

[Music] I download my music from LimeWire. I love country. I love old school rap. I love alternative. I have All Time Low’s new CD Nothing Personal. And I love it. I love to sing, but I suck horribly at it. I cannot play a musical instrument. I want to learn to play the drums. I used to take piano lessons.

[School] My GPA is between 2.0 and 3.0. I took Algebra 1 in 8th grade, and again in 9th. I’ve passed a class with a D-. I don’t do my homework at home. I prefer mechanical pencils. I always do projects the night before they’re due. I’m really smart but don’t always apply myself. I text in school. I’ve gotten my phone taken away in school.

[Beauty & Hygiene] I straighten my hair often. On lazy days, I scrunch my hair to go out. My only make-up necessity is mascara. I like to wing my eyeliner. I’d rather take a shower than a bath. I’d rather use body wash than a bar of soap. I’d rather use a bath scrunchie than a washcloth. My solution for make-up on lazy days: sunglasses. I use the same routine every day in the shower.

[Smoking, Drinking & Drugs] I smoke cigarettes. I’ve gotten drunk within the past month. I’ve smoked weed when by myself. The first time I got high was on a holiday. Marijuana should be legalized. I have never and would never drink and drive. I hate light beer. My lighter is purple. My favorite cigarettes are Turkish Silver or Camel Crush. I’ve quit smoking but started again.

[Random] My nails are pink right now. Going to bed at midnight is very early for me. I could never date a guy that didn’t make me laugh. I have a jar of peanut butter in my room right now. I wear sunglasses a lot. Gogurt is really good in the freezer. I’ve been in Hollister, but I don’t own anything from there. Purple is my favorite color. There is no such thing as an ugly color. I need more pens. ______________________________________________________________

I like where I’m at right now. My feet are freezing. I hate feeling awkward. I love driving on country roads. I love driving fast, too. I currently have a cold. I have a crush. No, it’s more than a crush. I always wondered what it’d be like to start over, where no one knew me. I go on Yahoo Answers. I get nostalgic every once in awhile. I really don’t like my father. My mother is one of my best friends though. I don’t mind when people stare at me. No, it’s annoying as fuck. I can’t stand people who are extremely selfish. A Change Of Pace is a good band. I have gotten a new phone within the past month. I want to go to Florida soon. Peach snapple iced tea is theee best. I wrote books when I was younger. I’m really creative, especially when I apply myself. I use Facebook a lot more than I used to. I’m constantly told I’m beautiful, but I still sometimes don’t believe it. One of my friends came out as gay this year. I feel like I’m the only one who doesn’t have someone. I’m way too quiet, and I wish I could change. I need to party. Music and books are my favorite. I love everything about the fall. I always smell really good. My hair looks nice today. I have long fingernails. I’ve kissed a Ryan, Mike, or Justin. I’ve been in love with a Josh, Christian, or Scott. I envy no one. I’m going to an amusement park soon. For a halloween-related thing. I don’t like beer. I don’t like soda. I’ve worn a turtle neck in the past year. I wear them often. Outspoken is something I’m not. I express myself through quotes and lyrics. Photography is beautiful. There’s beauty in everything, you just gotta find it. I ordered a pizza recently. Tonight, actually. I wish I could have a whole new batch of friends. Even though I do love the ones I have now. My nose is stuffy. I like orange juice. And sandwich wraps. I love cozy nights at home. I like playing Hebi. Apples to Apples is fun. I have to start applying for jobs. I really need one. Ahhh life is changing fast. I tend to drive a little bit over the speed limit. My razor only has two blades. // three, I’ve counted recently My keyboard is black. I use my friends as arm rests and pillows. My favorite number is odd. My favorite number is a single digit. I love having butterflies in my stomach. The last make up I wore was eyeliner. I’d love to have a winter wedding. I’m really ticklish. I have a facial piercing. I’d only get a tattoo that has significant meaning to me. My boyfriend is taller than I am. My school has a shitty football team. I play Pet Society on Facebook. All politicians are the same, in my opinion. I can’t eat sushi with a fork or else it feels awkward. I’ve never been to New Mexico. I’d definitely consider adoption if I couldn’t have my own children. I like plain-colored t-shirts. Horror movies don’t really scare me. I have a decent vocabulary. Lord of the Rings doesn’t appeal to me. I don’t play any sports. I prefer orange juice to apple juice. I like my toast with butter and jelly. I love cream cheese. I have a celebrity crush. // you name it, it’s more like a platonic squish, though I get frequent headaches. I can play a little piano. My boyfriend drives an Asian car. // no it’s French And so do I. I WANT MORE PIERCINGS. My favorite fruit is a type of berry. I miss somebody right now. Some of my friends live far away. I can burp out the alphabet. I love breadsticks. I can count to ten in at least two languages. I’d love to have a pet owl. I prefer dogs to cats. I only wear actual perfume on special occasions. But I wear body spray on a daily basis. I have pictures of my sibling/s on my phone. ______________________________________________________________

What I have…

#survey #bolding survey #about me survey

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nickyhemmick · 3 years

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A Very Stressed American Jew here again,

Hi! Thank you for taking the time to respond to my ask and yes, I’m someone who loves hearing as many perspectives as possible so I’d love some sources from you. I also very much appreciate the fact you are being very careful to only reblog posts that are anti Israel, not antisemetic (which is frankly a breath of fresh air, the internet has been a bit exhaustingly full of both antisemitic & Islamaphobic content these past feel days as I bet you’ve seen)

I’ve also been to Israel on a Birthright trip. We met people who ( both Palestinian and Israeli) on various sides of the conflict and learned a ton about it, from both perspectives which I was lucky to have the opportunity to do. We even went a little into the Gaza Strip to talk to these people running a pro Palestine peace movement and it was so important to me hearing those stories.

I never said they were on equal footing militarily, they definitely are not, Israel definitely has that advantage. But you are incorrect about Israel always being the aggressor since 1948,they’ve defended themselves about as often as they’ve attacked. Isreal is a small country comparatively to the ones surrounding it, so it makes sense it defends itself heavily in case of an attack.

I 100% agree that there are too many people who are compliant with the mistreatment of many Palestinians! I’m not anti #freepalestine at all! I get why that is a thing. But I also stand with Israel( but that does not mean I condone every action they take. ) Overall I think the situation is extremely complicated and some sort of compromise should be reached.

It’s just been very frustrating to see so many people reblog things on a situation just bashing Israel because so many others are doing it. Especially when then don’t know what they are talking about or using big buzz words that they don’t know what they mean, or spreading misinformation. It’s been on both sides and has been very very draining. I just want peace and some sort of solution. It makes me extremely happy you know what you are talking about and can debate politely yet happily about it. The internet has been so ‘ either agree with me 100% or you a bad person’ about this so it’s refreshing to see you are not like that.

I’ve done a lot of research into it from as many perspectives as I can get my hands on.

Some extremest Israelis are hurting Palestinians

Some extremest Palestinians are hurting Israelis

Both sides are throwing rockets at each other and it’s terrifying.

Both sides claim the other side is brainwashed

There is so much biased propaganda out there on both ends it’s hard to know what is truly happening.

I know people living in Israel who have sent me videos they’ve taken of rockets flying over there heads and I’m so scared for them. I’m so scared for all the innocent people caught in the crossfire on both sides.

Thank you for a more nuanced response and I’d love some of your sources,

A Very Stressed American Jew

Hi anon,

I wasn’t going to respond to this until after my math final tomorrow but I’ve spent the past two days thinking of your ask and the things I wish to articulate in my answer.

I am going to start here: how can you say you support Israel but say you are also pro-free Palestine (as in, you said you are not anti free Palestine). In my opinion, these two ideas cannot coexist. Simply because, the entire establishment of Israel has been on violent, racist, colonial grounds.

(Super long post under here guys)

You said you don’t support all Israel’s actions, and definitely, just because you support something doesn’t mean you can’t criticize it. However, in my opinion, if you do not support Israel’s actions against Palestinians there’s not much left to support? I admit this is a very biased view as I am Palestinian, but many things that people support about Israel have existed before its creation: as in, these are things and qualities that have existed in Judaism and are not due to “Israeli culture.” There is no Israeli culture. There’s Jewish culture--100%. But there is no Israeli culture, because Israel does not only steal Palestinian land, but Palestinian culture, too. Such as claiming Levant food is Israeli; hummus, ful, falafel, shawarma. I mentioned food from this article I know is culturally and traditionally of the Levant, and has been for centuries, it is not something that has come to culinary creation in the past 73 years.

I do not think this is a complicated issue. I said that in the previous ask and I’ll say that again. Saying it is a complicated issue is trivializing the deaths of innocent Palestinians, the violent dispossession our ancestors endured, and the apartheid they live under. I hope if anything comes from this discussion it is you removing the “it’s a complicated issue” phrase from your vernacular.

This is not complicated. A journalist reporting the death of martyrs only to discover that of them include two of his brothers is not complicated. The asymmetry of Israel vs Palestinian armed forces is not complicated, nor is the asymmetry in Israeli vs Palestinian suffering (which I will get to later). It is not complicated. Destroying the graves of martyred Palestinians (or just in general, the graves of the dead) is not complicated. Little children being pulled from the rubble, children being forced to comfort one another as they are covered in the ashes of their decimated homes, attacking unarmed citizens in peaceful demonstrations (you can find videos before this attack where they were playing with kites and balloons), destroying an international media office and refusing to allow journalists to retrieve the work they are spending every waking hour documenting but claiming it was because it was a hide out for a “Hamas base,” fathers who are trying to cheer their frightened children up only to end up dead the next day, while many Israeli have the privilege and the option to go to hotel-like bomb shelters is not complicated.

This brings me to my next point: the suffering of Palestinians cannot be compared to the inconvenience of Israeli’s. On one side, you have children who are happy to have saved their fish in the face of their homes and lives being decimated behind them to Israeli’s in Tel Aviv having to cut their beach day short to get to bomb shelters. You have mothers and fathers ready to set their lives down for their children to save them from bombs to Israeli’s enjoying their brunch only after making sure there are bomb shelters there. You have Palestinian children being murdered to blocking out the sound of sirens in the safety of your bomb shelters. (The first picture of the Palestinian child is not from footage of the recent problems). You have the baby lone survivor of a whole family recovered from rubble. His whole family, gone, before he ever had the chance to realize that he even exists, while Israeli’s decide to flee out of the country,(Translate the caption from Twitter, it checks out), or have to leave the shower due to sirens. Who is really suffering?

I won’t sit here and pretend like the thought of rockets flying over my head, no matter which side I am on, is not terrifying. It is. It’s scary to just think about. But Israeli’s have protection beyond Palestinian’s, they have sirens to warn them (Israel does not always warn Palestinian building members that it is about to be bombed), they have the Iron Dome, they have simply the threat of nuclear power (which I am not saying Israel would use, but the simple fact they have it would make me feel a lot better if I were an Israeli citizen) and they have bomb shelters. What do Palestinians have? Hamas? That smuggles its weapons through the ocean? That only ever reacts to the action Israel instigates? And yet Gazans are branded terrorists and that it is their fault that they “elected” a terrorist organization that only was ever created due to no protection from any armed country? (There are so many links I want to add in this paragraph but it is simply impossible for me to add everything I want, a lot of what I’m referring to can either be found through a Google search, or you can stalk my Twitter account, all that I am posting now is about Palestine, and will include sources of things I cannot add in just this one post.)

Look, I see myself in the genocide happening in Palestine right now. I see myself in this ten year-old girl. In this three year old girl. I see me and my family in videos of cars being attacked in Ramallah and Sheikh Jarrah (I cannot find the Ramallah video, should be somewhere on my Twitter), I see my father in the countless videos of fathers crying out for their children, of kissing the corpse of their loved ones (again, translate the Tweet, the man holding the body is saying “just one kiss”). I see my grandfather in videos like this (old footage). I see my younger brother, I see my grandmother, my mother, my aunts and uncles and cousins. I see myself and my life and my family were my father not lucky enough to get a scholarship to the UK and out of Palestine, were my maternal grandfather not been lucky enough to make it to a refugee camp and build a life in Jordan. I have an unbelievable amount of privilege to be born into the life I was born in to, in terms of I do not have the threat of bombs and violent dispossession around me, and I do not even live in the US. I have privilege and sheer luck that my parents were able to go to the US so that me and my brothers can be born, because now I have both the protection of the most powerful country in the world while at the same time being part of a people to have suffered so generously the past seventy-three years.

On the other hand, you saying that Israel has “defended themselves about as often as they’ve attacked. Israel is a small country comparatively to the ones surrounding it, so it makes sense it defends itself heavily in case of an attack,” I offer you this question: why are they using military grade guns and stun grenades in mosques to “defend” themselves from rocks? And before you mention that Hamas hit Tel Aviv, I remind you that Hamas did that due to the violence in the Al-Aqsa mosque square and the attempted ethnic cleansing in Sheikh Jarrah. The violence didn’t begin with us; the violence was brought out of Palestinians in resistance to the generations of oppression we have endured and the attack on Palestinian Muslims during the holiest night of Ramadan. Hamas has since asked for a ceasefire multiple times and Israel is refusing. New reports say there is a possibility of a ceasefire in the coming days, but Israel could have decided this a long time ago and spared many lives. (Remember, no matter what resistance we make, Israel is the one in power).

Israel has been the aggressor since 1948. Just read up about the Nakba! 700k Palestinian families were dispossessed violently. The only reason Israel was established at all was because it simply declared it was now a country and the US and many other countries recognized it as such. (Of course, there are many other historical details here, like the British Mandate of Palestine, the Balfour Declaration, the Oslo Accords and many others. I am aware of them but these are for a different post all together). My paternal grandfather was a little younger than me when Israel as a state was created. The hostility that followed was due to this independent declaration being listened to over Palestinian voices.

Here is a very, very simplified analogy, one that can also answer some people’s questions as to why Palestinians (not Arabs, we are Palestinian before we are Arab) did not like what happened in 1948 and why they refused a two-state solution (that Israel was never going to go through with anyway). (I am also aware other Arab nations got involved, and that is perhaps what you mean when you said they had to defend themselves, but my response to that would still be we didn't start it, that we only responded to it).

Let’s say you are a farmer. You have many fields of trees, ones you have taken shelter under from the sun since you were a child, or hid behind when you wanted to avoid your parents when you misbehaved. You have seen your trees grow from a seed, to a sprout, to a flower, to a large, beautiful tree with fruits the size of a fist. You pluck the fruits from one tree, and make a jam from it. I don’t know how to make jam but I know it takes a lot of energy. So, you make this jam and from it, produce a lovely, mouth-watering pie. Once it has cooled from the oven, you take it with you outside your balcony just so that you can admire the years, months, weeks and hours this one pie has taken to be created. Suddenly, a stranger walks past and yells to you, “That pie looks delicious, I want it!” And you, shocked at their boldness but ready to share, say, “I will give you a bite.” But the stranger says, “No! I do not want a bite or a slice or whatever you want to offer me, I want the pie!” And they grab it from you. You and the stranger start screaming at one another about who the pie is for, who is allowed to decide what happens to it, and who you can share it with. Then, another stranger comes by and says, “Why all the problems? Let’s cut the pie in half and the both of you can share it!” But why should you, who has spent years cultivating the fruit and grain inside this pie, share it? Why should you give up half of the 100% that you already owned? Of what you already had? So you disagree, and now a crowd has formed around you. “What’s the problem?” someone in the crowd calls. “They don’t want to share their pie!” another voice says. Then you become branded a selfish, mean bastard. Again, this is a super simplified analogy, so don’t take it too seriously, but I am trying to show you why Israel is the aggressor.

In addition, I do not know too much about the Birthright program, just that American Jewish people are sent to Israel, all expenses paid. I tried my best to find the Twitter thread but I read it so long ago, about an American Jewish person who went on their trip and they talked about the propaganda that they were exposed to on that trip. I can’t say for sure that it is true, because I haven’t been on it and never will, but that is the first thing I thought of when you mentioned your Birthright trip. Either way, I think it is still great you went and saw the country. However, I must ask you this: are the people you met ones you, yourself, sought out, or ones you were organized to meet?

Now, I haven’t been to Gaza, so I don’t know what you really saw or didn’t, but did you speak to Palestinians who lost their homes to airstrikes? Did you speak to siblings, parents or children of loved ones who had been lost beneath the rubble of buildings and towers? Outside of Gaza, did you speak to Palestinians that live in poor quarters? Ones who have been victims of an IDF soldier shooting them, or who have family members who have died from such attacks? Did they take you guys to Ramallah, to Nablus, to Beit-Imreen, to Jenin, to small villages in the West Bank, far away from Jerusalem and Tel Aviv? Did you speak to people there? Ask them their stories? Because if you did I have a very hard time believing you still think Israel is “defending” itself.

I’ve been to Jerusalem, many times, even Tel Aviv and Jaffa and Haifa. All the times I visited Dome of the Rock there were IDF soldiers with huge guns strapped to their person, standing menacingly outside the courtyard. For what? Genuinely, genuinely for what? It is nothing but an intimidation tactic. The same way we are not allowed in through the airport. If you could see the struggle some Palestinians actually go through just to get into Palestine, through the land border, you would be disgusted. I love Palestine, it is my ancestry land, it is my culture and tradition. But I always hated going to visit because I knew the way to getting there would be hell.

My father worked in Tel Aviv through the first Intifada. My maternal grandfather was forced out of his home in the Nakba and was forced to leave behind his belongings and the orange trees that have been in his family for generations. Hell, the town they lived in was destroyed! It doesn’t exist anymore except in the memories of my aunts and uncles, who never even saw it, but just heard of it from their father!

I’m not saying there aren’t Palestinians who are racist and anti-Semitic (though, tbh, I will direct you here for that) and who support Hamas in killing Israeli’s, but talking about how there are many “extremist” Palestinians who are hurting Israeli’s and in the next line say there are extremist Israeli’s who are hurting Palestinians is not correct. There are extremist Israeli’s killing, lynching, stealing the houses of Palestinians, and there are Palestinians who are fed up and fighting back. (I am not talking about Hamas vs the IDF here, I am talking about the citizens). I have not seen one reported death of an Israeli due to Palestinian violence (if you have, from a trusted source, send it to me), but I have seen countless of the other way around. I have seen images of charred little bodies, of a baby being dug out of the rubble, of a child’s body that had been so mutilated that you can literally see the insides of their body coming out. (I don’t know if it’s on my Twitter, I didn’t want to save that shit). If this was my country I would be absolutely ashamed of myself and my people and what they are doing in the name of my protection. So you have to forgive me, and forgive other Palestinians, who don’t give a fuck about Israeli’s having anxiety over rockets flying over their heads when we see these images. Where is the protection of our kids? Why does no one seem to mention them except when mentioning the poor, innocent ones in Israel? At least more than the majority of them have their parents to comfort and rock them. At least many of them will probably be saved of ever having to be beneath the rubble of a destroyed building, or digging in it, to hope to find the parts of their parents or siblings just so that they can bury them. Just the links from the start of my answer is enough to support what I am saying.

I have soooo much more I can say, like how Israel uses religion to distort the image of what’s going on (tbh, just check my Twitter for that: language is EVERYTHING), but you didn’t mention religion in any of this and so I won’t either. The only reason I decided to respond to you in such length was because you have been one of the few respectful anons in my inbox in the past few years of me being on here talking about Israel, so I appreciate that from you.

As promised, some more sources: decolonizepalestine is a good place to start if you haven’t used it already, it has reading materials, myth busting, and more. Here is a map list of destroyed localities from pre-1948 until 2017, run by two anti-Zionist Israelis. Here and here are the articles I promised of a former IDF soldier-turned Palestinian activist, I read these two last year in June and remember coming out much more informed than before I read them. I suggest looking into the writer and his organization, which, if I remember correctly, collects accounts from previous IDF soldiers. I would suggest not to follow Israel and the IDF accounts on any platform, or any Israel times newspaper, simply because they will not tell you the truth. In fairness, you do not have to follow any Palestinian Authority accounts (which I am not even sure there are), but to follow on-ground Palestinians like Mohammed El-Kurd, who has been speaking out since he was 12 (he is now 22) and he is part of the families in Sheikh Jarrah. I have noticed that this and this account have been translating Arabic headlines and tweets for non-Arabic speakers, I have just started following this person but their bio says they are a Palestinian Jewish person so I am interested in their view of things. You can also follow Israeli’s on-ground and see their perspective on things, but I would also advise to compare the Palestinian and Israeli side of things from the people, and critically analyze the language used in each case. Also, this article references Jewish scholars opposed to the occupation (I have not looked into them myself but I plan to after my exams), and Norman Finklestein is another great Jewish scholar to look into if you haven’t. Twitter is better than Instagram and Facebook, so I would stick to getting live-info from there, Twitter does not censor Palestinian content as much as Insta and Facebook so you’re more likely to see things there.

I will end this by saying I personally do not see any other option for peace than to give Palestinians our land back. Whether we may be Muslim, Jewish or Christian, it has always been and will always be our land. I only hope to see it free in my lifetime.

Free Palestine.

#palestine #israel #west bank #tala gets asks #anon #whew this ask took me like 2-3 hours to respond to #pls read it even if ure not the anon #lots of good links and info #palestine tag #anon there are more reading lists in my #to read #and palestine tag tags #check my likes on twitter too if u decide btw not just what i retweet #like also: imagine palestinians around palestine and the world who are simply waiting to hear if their relatives are dead or alive or #have been striked from a rocket. like i can see my father worried abt his friend in gaza rn like any day #now he can just never hear back from him and have to guess hes dead somewhere beneath the rubble #and israelis are anxious at the rocket sounds? good for them but again that shows the asymmetry in #palestinian vs israeli suffering #and by ‘good for them’ i mean good that thats what theyre worried abt compared to palestinians #my aunt is in sheikh jarrah #my cousin lives right by the al aqsa square #again theres so much more i couldve mentioned and talked abt but theres just so much #theres so many LAYERS i wld say but not that its complicated #and definitely theres more i need to learn and read and watch dont get me wrong! i am not a fountain of knowledge by all means!!!!

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kuroopaisen · 4 years

Text

cause & effect || chapter 4

➵ your work friend, kuroo, has a tiny favour to ask. to say you’re surprised is an understatement. but, for some stupid reason, you agreed to it.

warnings: f!reader, alcohol

wc: 2.1k

m.list | ch. 3 ↞ ch. 4 ↠ ch. 5

You sip the hot sake with a grimace. It’s not bad per se, just… different.

For a restaurant whose whole gimmick was hot sake, you’re surprised it clashes so much with your meal. But at least it brought you a little warmth.

Kuroo’s having as strange a time as you are. Each sip of his sake is accommodated with a grimace. Somehow, it makes him look a couple years younger.

Your legs are tucked under the futon attached to your table, but admittedly there’s not much room. Kuroo’s legs are far too long and the kotatsu much too cramped.

“Give me some room, would you?” You grin, nudging him with your knee.

“Oh, sorry,” Kuroo chuckles, adjusting himself.

This isn’t the first fake date you’ve been on with Kuroo. Well, they weren’t dates – not technically. The purpose of them was to get to know each other better; something you’d both agreed was important if you were going to pull this whole thing off.

You’d never really thought about it before, but there’s a lot of mundane information shared in relationships. Things you might not think to mention to other people, or even things you haven’t told anyone else. Not that you were saying any of that to each other – you just need to be convincingly close.

You are going to meet his family, after all.

“So,” you sigh, setting your cup on the kotatsu, “you lived with your dad, your grandmother, and your grandfather?”

“Mhm,” he nods.

“And I need to stay on my toes around them?”

“Oh yeah,” Kuroo grins. “Chances are they’ll tease the hell out of you if they get comfortable enough.”

“Great,” you chuckle.

“You’ll be fine,” he smiles. “I’m sure they’ll love you.”

“You sure?”

“Chances are they’ll tell you you’re too good for me.”

“Maybe I am,” you smirk, taking another sip of sake.

Kuroo scoffs. “Brutal!”

You’re not sure if he can tell you’re lying. He’s handsome, clever, and witty enough to be entertaining. You’d feel lucky to have a guy like him look your way.

Oh well, you think as you place your hands in your lap. You’re quite happy to keep that thought to yourself. There’s no good reason to feed a man’s ego.

He stretches his arms above his head, groaning. You swear you can hear his bones cracking.

“You sound like an old man,” you grin.

“Look, it’s not my fault the human body is badly designed.”

“Ah, so it’s not your fault for not looking after it properly, hm?” Perhaps he has a point. But you have to make your own fun these days.

“I’ll have you know I take very good care of my body, thank you very much.”

You’re not sure if he intended it to sound so flirtatious, but you blush anyway.

“Your bones say otherwise,” you muse.

“I won’t stand for this abuse,” he grins, standing up. “You ready?”

You follow suit, scampering after him as he approaches the cashier.

As always, he pays. No matter how hard you try to protest, he just smiles and says he feels bad for taking up your evenings.

You don’t know a casual way to say that you actually enjoy these outings.

Your solution is just buy him fancier coffees in the morning.

Kuroo deals with the transaction in the same smooth and charming way he always does, and you’re sure he’s definitely made an imprint on the dear cashier’s memory.

It’s only late afternoon, but the sky is already darkening. The trees that line the street are speckled with fairy lights, already glowing like candles in the dim twilight.

You gaze at them with a tiny sense of wonder. You’ve heard the theory that people made winter a time of celebration to give them something to pull through the dark and the cold for. Maybe that’s true – but there’s always such beauty to be find during wintertime, even if it feels like the tip of your nose is about to fall out.

Fairy lights in a tree are so small, so inconsequential, and yet so human.

You shake your head. That’s the sake talking.

You turn to Kuroo to say something.

He’s peering at you intently, eyes roaming your face.

You blush, unsure what to make of that look. Is there something on your face? “Everything okay?”

“The lighting’s good here.”

You frowned. “Huh?”

Kuroo fishes his phone out of his pocket, taking a step towards you and hovering an arm above your shoulders.

“You all good to take a photo?” He asks, and it clicks.

“Oh! Right!” You nod, almost a little too fervently. “Sure.”

He smiles, slinging his arm across your shoulders. You lean into him, tilting your face to what you believe to be your best angle.

Sure, these photos are technically ‘fake’, but that doesn’t mean you can’t look your best.

He snaps a couple of photos of the two of you before opening his gallery. The two of you take a moment to observe the handful of images.

The two of you may not really in a relationship, but you’re sure these photos could fool you.

You point at one of them, nodding. “That one looks good.”

Kuroo chuckles, adding it to his favourites. “Thanks.”

He smiles and slips his phone into his pocket as he steps away from you. You miss his warmth more than you should.

“Have they liked the photos?” You ask.

“Loved them,” he grins.

You know Kuroo’s been sending them to his family – with your permission, of course. It’s partly to satiate their desire to intrude on his love life, and also to make it more believable when you finally meet them. You have half a mind to save them to your own phone with how cute they are.

“Oba-chan’s been joking about putting them on the wall.”

You snort. “That’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

“She’s desperate,” he grins.

“She must be, if she’s considering omiai.”

Kuroo shrugs. “Ah, she’s just worried about me. She doesn’t want me to be ‘married to my work.’”

“Are you?” You ask, one eyebrow raised.

“Oh, God no.”

You laugh as you dig your hands in your pockets.

“I’ve just got a lot going on,” he explains. “I don’t have the time to date.”

“Really?” You tilt your head at him. “You kind of strike me as the kind of guy who’s content to just go home and play dating sims all night.”

Kuroo reels back, a hand on his chest. “You’re joking.”

“I thought you were single because you had some digital waifu or something.”

Kuroo stares at you with an expression of absolute horror. “What have I done to deserve this?”

“I’m just teasing,” you giggle, hopping down the street. “Okay, so if you’re not cuddling up against a body pillow of a scantily clad anime women during those lonely nights, then what do you do with your spare time?”

Kuroo scoffs, shaking his head as he jogs to catch up with you. “Well, I catch up with my friends a fair bit. Oh, and I’m part of a hobby volleyball club.”

“You play?” You look him up and down. Now that he’s said it, it makes perfect sense.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I take good care of my body,” he grins.

Another glance and you realise – yes, actually, he appears to be taking very good care of his body. Those shoulders look a little broader than you’d first thought.

“Is that why you applied for your job?” You ask. “Personal interest?”

“Mhm,” he nods.

Interesting. “Have you always played?”

“I’ve played for as long as I can remember,” he grins. “Believe it or not, but my high school team actually made it to Nationals. With me as their captain.”

“Wait, really?” You look up at him with wide eyes. Now that was certainly unexpected.

“Sure did.”

“How far did you get?”

Kuroo furrows his brow for a moment. “I think it was something like the top 16?”

“That’s… pretty impressive,” you admit. Your knowledge of sports is perhaps a little lower than might be expected of someone in your position, but you digress. Top 16 in the entire nation is definitely something to be proud of.

“Glad you think so,” he grins.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why didn’t you pursue it professionally?” From your perspective he certainly has the build for it. And if there’s one thing you’re sure of after working next to him for a while now, it’s that he’s clever. A trait that seems to be surprisingly useful on the court.

“There were some real monsters on the teams we faced,” he says, voice languid as ever. “You know about Hinata Shouyou and Kageyama Tobio, right?”

You nod. Even if your understanding of the sport itself wasn’t particularly advanced, you were well-aware of the top players. That, at least, you’d made an effort to stay up to date with. Also, a lot of them were unfairly attractive – making that task a bit easier to stick to than some of your others.

“We faced them at Nationals,” he glances at you, a new glint in his eye. Maybe it’s nostalgia.

You shiver.

“That genuinely sounds terrifying.”

Kuroo grins. “It was. Oh, and you know Bokuto Koutarou, right?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Well, we were friends in high school,” Kuroo says, as if it’s the most mundane piece of information you could receive. “Our teams often practiced against one another.”

You stare at him, jaw slack. “No way.”

“I have several embarrassing photos of him to prove it,” Kuroo chuckles.

He’s so confident about it that you have no choice but to believe him.

“You have to introduce me to him,” you say, voice a little more desperate than you’d like.

“Why?” Kuroo flashes you a wicked grin. “Got a crush?”

“No,” you roll your eyes, praying your cheeks aren’t turning too red. “He just seems… nice.”

“Nice and… attractive?”

“Shut up!”

“I’m just saying, he’s technically single—”

“Aren’t I supposed to be your fake girlfriend?” You knock him with one of his shoulders to little avail. You stumble back a bit from the impact. He stays completely still.

Kuroo cackles a little louder than usual. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

“Who knew you were so annoying?” You scoff.

“That’s on you,” he smirks. “You’re the one agreed to this.”

“It’s a hell of my own creation,” you mumble.

“Should’ve read the fine print,” Kuroo teases.

You have half a mind to glare at him to keep this going, but a question pushes itself to the forefront of your mind.

“Wait, so…” You press your lips together, frowning. “You didn’t pursue professional volleyball because of people like Bokuto?”

Kuroo tilts his head to the side with a pensive expression. “Sort of,” he shrugs. “I guess I just felt like I didn’t have the same passion for the court that guys like him did.”

“Oh,” you murmur. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I just realised my talents would be better applied elsewhere.”

“So… in marketing?”

He grins, glancing at you. “I just think that volleyball has the power to really connect people.”

You tilt your head at him.

“When I first moved to Tokyo, I wasn’t great at talking to people,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “But, because of volleyball, I found a way to… feel more comfortable opening up to people.”

The thought of Kuroo Tetsurou of all people being shy strikes you for a second. It’s hard to picture – but only for a moment.

“So,” he continues, “I want to make it easier for kids to get into this sort of thing. You never know who it might help.”

You smile to yourself. Once again, he’s being cute. And he doesn’t seem to have any clue.

“What about you?” Kuroo asks. “How’d you end up there?”

“Oh, it was just the first place that took me in,” you shrug.

He snorts. “Really?”

“Yeah. I just sent out my resume to a bunch of places and they got back to me first.”

“Oh, wow,” Kuroo grins.

“Sorry it’s not very romantic,” you blush, glancing at him.

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “It sounds very reasonable.”

“Thanks,” you chuckle.

In all honesty, part of you had expected this whole ‘fake dating’ thing to be a bit of a burden. The thought of pretending to like someone a lot more than you actually do sounds draining.

But it’s not hard to like Kuroo Tetsurou. In fact, you think he’s quite pleasant company. This whole charade shouldn’t be much trouble at all.

You dutifully ignore the thought that, if this were a real date, you’d absolutely ask him if he’d like to go on another.

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou x you #cause and effect by rowan

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boneandfur · 3 years

Text

Time After Time 2/2

TWO

Note: the characters demanded smut. There is a link to the NSFW version on ao3 at that point. tumblr won’t let me load the moodboard. I’m very frustrated with this hellsite.

Women aren't doctors at the Front, Miss... what did you say your name was again? Ah, Miss Valentine. American. That explains it... But we do need good quality nurses... You'll be sent to France right away on account of your prior training... Jolly good, just sign the dotted line...

"I assume you'll have the watered wine, Rookie." Ramsay leans across the table, lightly tugging the menu from Helena's numb fingers. Every little boom makes her shiver, though she's adopted the English habit of keeping a stiff upper lip. Her grandmother has told her stories to curdle your guts, about standing on a hill at Gettysburg and watching her lover ride hell for leather into battle. And I followed him, didn't I, chick?

"What brought you here? To the Front?" Helena cocks her head at him, and Ramsay's brows raise nearly to his hairline.

"You're bold as brass.” Ramsay snaps his fingers. “I like that. Knew it as soon as you stepped out of that line of nurses that you wouldn't turn into a shrinking violet at your first amputation." Ramsay turns to their waiter, a Frenchman of elderly years with an ear trumpet. "We'll take your best watered wine for the lady, and a bottle of whiskey."

Helena coughs lightly, and addresses the waiter in seamless French. "(What is the special today?)"

The old man looks sad. "(I am afraid we do not have anything special. Just some eel ragout, and fresh bread my wife baked this morning.)"

"(Then we will take that, and your best bottle of Merlot.)"

When the owner has gone, Ramsay smiles broadly at Helena, showing white teeth against three days shadow of a beard on his jaw. "By God, you're a marvel. Never learned much French myself, besides what I've had to behind the lines."

"Oh, my governess despaired of me." Helena shrugs, but cannot help smiling in return. "I can speak enough French to get by, you know, but I could never pass for a natural."

"Well, you are an American." But it does not sound like an insult.

The eel comes, and she eats ravenously, less like a lady and more like the girl who downed seven glasses of champagne and then raced her brother from Boston to Concord on horseback.

And Ramsay drinks. Thoughtfully. Mindfully. She does not remember, afterward, nor for many years, what they said, only how she had smiled and smiled until her cheeks hurt, and the ticking of the pocket watch.

One two, one two. Tick tock. Eleven hours. Ten hours. Nine hours. Eleven minutes and eleven seconds.

No more standing to in trenches,//Only one more church parade.

"I had a patron who paid for me to go to medical school, a well respected chap named Naveen.” Ramsay nurses his whiskey, rolling the glass with purpose between his palms. “After school, I joined the army to make something of myself, and went to India. My wife deserted me for another man while I was gone. She didn't like the army life, you see."

Helena reaches out, laying her hand over his. Ramsay startles, but does not move his hand away, and instead flips it over, laying his palm flat against hers and caressing her wrist with his rough fingers. She drags in a breath, the sudden widening of his pupils making her lower abdomen flutter. "I ran away from home. No one knows I'm here, or I'd be dragged back to Boston to marry a Stirling and pop out an heir and a spare before the war has even gotten started."

"You don't even want to know about what this war will look like if it keeps going, lass." Ramsay drains his glass, and pours them both another. "I'd tell you to go back to Boston, but I can see by that look in your eye that you'll see this thing through. I respect that."

Helena does not trust herself to speak. The wine is making her thoughts slow, but she does not want this moment to end.

Ramsay rubs a hand over his jaw. "That was back in '09. I hung my boots up, moved to Scotland, and threw myself into practice in Edinburgh. Then that damn fool shot a Prince, and well, here we are."

Steady, silent. Their eyes meet and the watch ticks on. Helena feels as though she is drowning. His mouth moves and she only feels the heat of his palm against hers, her cheeks ablaze.

'Nurse! Nurse Valentine! Are you dumb or are you just deaf?! Hand me those scissors, and bring me another scalpel... These damned orderlies don't know what they're doing...'

Their eyes meet across the bloody operating table. The soldier is mercilessly unconscious, a bloody piece of shrapnel in his thigh. He'd been screaming since he came in off the ambulance, a boy of no more than nineteen, a Tommy named Elijah... 'Mum, Mum, water, water...'

'That's a Blighty, Rookie. Your first. Are you going to faint on me, lass?' Ramsay's eyes lock on Helena's. She feels the flint of his gaze go straight to her spine, and straightens up.

'No, Doctor. I'll be fine, sir.'

'I told you Americans have brass, Ramsay!' The surgeon, Lahela, winks at Helena in passing, but she does not notice. Her gaze does not falter under Ramsay's. 'Pass me the tweezers.'

His mouth quirks, just a shade. 'Good girl.'

"...Good God, Rookie, will you drink the whole bottle? I promise my company isn't as bad as all that." Helena feels Ramsay tug at her wine glass, and relinquishes it. The lamp has begun to burn low, and from the outside of the cafe is the sound of drunken laughter. "You shouldn't walk out there alone. Come on, I'll walk you back to your billet."

"I don't have one," Helena confesses. She pats her bag, shamefaced. "I spent my money for the hotel on books... I can sleep on the truck."

Ramsay shakes his head. "No, no, that won't do. We can't have you more dead on your feet than usual. I have a solution. It's a bit unorthodox. Do you trust me?"

Eight hours, three minutes, seven seconds.

•••

Helena does not know why, but the lights from the star shells, all green and gold, make her grip Ramsay's arm tighter, and press against his side. At the corner, he stops and gazes down at her, a strange and wild new thing in his face, something she dares not name.

Don't forget me, Helena Valentine. When this lousy war is over, I'll come back, you see...

"Tell me..." Ramsay brushes a curl back from her brow, his broad fingertips sending a crackle across her bare flesh. "Why did you become a doctor, Rookie -- Helena?"

"I read a wonderful book." Helena ducks her head, and looks up at Ramsay from under her lashes, illuminated by the lamplight. Behind them, to the east, she hears the screech of a Minnie, and his hands tighten on her fingers. "It was written by a Scottish doctor who had served in India, on the Northwest Frontier." Her gaze skitters away.

People said when we enlisted,//Fame and medals we would win.

"Ah. I knew a chap who served there, in his younger days." Ramsay tucks her cold hand through his elbow. The snow is falling thicker now, and they are nearly to the hotel. A quick word from Ramsay to the proprietor -- she hears the words une chambre pour les jeunes mariés -- He knows French after all --

And before she knows it, she is sitting in a delectably steaming hot hip bath, strewn with lavender and rosemary. She washes her hair and cannot remember the last time she felt such luxury.

Nine months, two days, thirteen minutes...

When this war is over, //No more soldiering for me.

"You can have the bed. I'll bunk down with Medical Officers Gayle and Nguyen, from the -nth Platoon." Ramsay stands in the doorway, his cap in his hands, avoiding looking directly at Helena in her muslin shift. "We wouldn't want you to lose your reputation and have to leave the war so soon."

"Stay." She feels her eyelids drooping, and pats the quilt next to her. "Please, stay."

"You know I can't do that." Yet, she hears the floorboards squeak as Ramsay settles next to her on a chair. The inn rattles like a whizzbang and she grasps Ramsay's hand, clutching at it until the clattering of the teacups subsides. "Only a little longer, then, Rookie. Until you're safe."

•••

Ethan watches Helena Valentine fall asleep. There is nothing he'd like more than to climb next to her in that big bed, to feel her lithe body against his. But it would be wrong, even though nothing will ever be right again after the war is over. But if he can keep her safe -- If I can keep her alive -- he dares not finish the thought.

“You wouldn't remember me, Helena Valentine, but I was the guest speaker of honor when they hung the plaque for your grandfather at the Royal Hospital, in Edinburgh.” Ethan whispers the words, barely a murmur. The whiskey has given him courage, here in a small hotel near the Ypres front.

Ypres, the Race to the Sea. Generals called it a triumph, but the only thing the war has given Ethan thus far has been insomnia for thirty-six hours, a hatred of mustard gas and a pair of fine German boots from over the top.

“He was an old surgeon, a medical man, who fought in the American Civil War, but he did great things for Scottish medicine, too, back in his youth.” Helena's fingertips tighten on his palm, and Ethan fears he has said too much. But he goes on, like a schoolboy at the confessional, for who can say when they shall ever have this moment again? And hasn't the war taught him by now to leave nothing unsaid?

“You must have been not more than twenty-one, then. You were still unmarried, with a vast inheritance that folks said you'd squandered on medical school. I knew right then and there that Jonas Valentine would have been proud of you. I wanted to introduce myself right there and then…”

But I was too tongue tied by your beauty, and couldn't find the words. Later, when I saw you again in Ypres, I couldn't believe my own eyes. I didn't want to tell you how I felt then...

(But that will keep, until this war is over.)

Her grip loosens, and he knows she is sleeping. She sighs in her slumber when his lips brush across her dainty brow, and it is with everything inside of him screaming at him to turn around that he walks away.

When I get my civvy clothes on,/Oh how happy I shall be.

•••

Forty-five minutes, thirty seconds.

The books are too heavy. Yet, Helena, an oasis of blue with a red cross on one arm in a sea of green uniforms, settles in with Sherlock Holmes. Rookie... She snaps the book shut, watching the landscape go by from the army van.

I shouldn't... We shouldn't. Ramsay cups both sides of Helena's face in his hands. The book drops to the floor. They are both damp from the bath, and his skin smells of cedar and lavender soap.

copy and paste into your tab: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29957496/chapters/73743633

Later, she will remember the exact way the quilt felt as he pulled it over her shoulders, tucking her in, embers in the grate and his lips ghosting across her forehead.

•••

Twenty years on, when a new war is brewing, this is what Helena Valentine remembers:

The air, so still and warm, with not a single lark singing. The earth smells of flowers and death, and she is sharing sterilizing duty with VAD Nurse Varma, whom she'd come over from London with.

"I suppose you think you're better than me, being a real doctor and all, but..." Jackie's lips move, but Helena cannot hear what she is saying. All she can hear is a buzzing sound, a ringing in her head.

One two, one two.

Her hands tremble with fatigue over the medical instruments.

Thirteen minutes and forty-seven seconds.

Tick, tock.

The table begins to shake and she looks at Jackie, their eyes wide as they clasp hands -- and then they are running -- and the bridge is shaking, it's shaking Dr Ramsay, you shouldn't be out here, it's wartime you know --

No one can know about this, about us. You know that, right?

I know, Dr Ramsay.

He cups her chin in his hand. They say you're a grasping American chit, but you're my American chit now, and I won't hear anything against you. Oh -- and don't check your bag until you're on the truck back to the lines. I left something there for you.

Then you have this -- keep it until the war is over -- it was my grandfather's and it's over a hundred years old and it's still ticking on.

His mouth is warm on hers, tip of his tongue pressed against hers for a surprisingly electric surge.

-- "Nurse Valentine! Valentine!" --

Helena wakes in the morning with the ashes cold in the grate, Ramsay's greatcoat draped over her. It smells of peat and whiskey, and the faintest whiff of mustard gas. Her thighs are wet and she looks under the quilts and realizes her cycle has started, and she does not know why, but she begins to sob, whether from relief or terror she knows not.

One two, one two.

(Twelve hours, seventeen minutes, and thirty four seconds.)

Tick, tock.

People said when we enlisted,/Fame and medals we would win,/But the fame is in the guardroom,/And those medals made of tin.

#ethan x mc #open heart #open heart fanfic #oph #rafael x mc #n*fwish

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words-writ-in-starlight · 7 years

Photo

I was tagged a million years ago by @littlestartopaz, and I’m tagging @lathori, @thevernalseason, and @caniplaywithyourorgans because I’m too tired to think of anything else.

#handwriting meme #ask meme #SORT OF #idk y'all it's been a long couple of hours #let's see if the picture will ever upload #fucking mobile #well the picture uploaded #my handwriting is a mess i'm sorry #i hate it #i'm very tired of family drama if i had known there was going to be family conflagrations i would have politely excused myself from life #like 'no sir i'll pass what if that solar eclipse really did kill all our tech for a couple days'#except then i would be bored?#i don't know #i feel like the only solution here is for my grandfather and both grandmothers to die untimely deaths #but murder is frowned upon in most societies so #things will be what they will be i guess #whatever the fuck that french saying is #i can't spell french for shit

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coeurdastronaute · 4 years

Text

Atlantis 7

Previously on Atlantis

The house was a tiny speck on the jagged cliffside overlooking the sea on three sides and surrounded by tall pines, swaying in the breeze. Ever-vigilant, the lighthouse stood tall, casting its lights as far as it could, warning the ships of the rocks and the dangers. A plume of smoke wafted up toward the clouds, adding to the thick cover. The long stretch of wooden planks led down to the docks, carefully maneuvering through the crags and cliffs. A rusty old pick up slept outside of the clapboard cabin while the drizzle started to weigh down the tree branches.

The pair of travelers climbed the steps just as the first drops began to drench the world, and by the time they knocked on the door, it was raining in sheets and blurring the lines of the mountains and sea.

“You going to leave your son and granddaughter out in the rain, old man?” the King of Atlantis asked with a smile as the old lighthouse keeper answered their knocks.

“Maybe the son,” he retorted before quickly hugging the tall girl who smiled at him despite the weather. “Get in, get in. You’re on land now, no need to be soaking wet all of the time.”

The hearth was warm and inviting. The two travelers made themselves at home, taking off the raincoats and letting them drip into a puddle by the door. Lumbering and eclipsing the old man, Arthur took a seat by the window as it did its best to let in some of the breeze to the stagnant room. The older he got, the quicker the home seemed to shrink around his frame. He chuckled to himself to watch Lexa duck slightly to avoid an exposed beam in the ceiling.

The old man smiled, wrinkles picking up and spreading around his eyes. He’d been waiting for this day from the moment he held his granddaughter in his arms for the first time. And every time the world pushed back against the already skittish Atlantis, he saw his connection to his son and granddaughter pushed and strained-- not because they grew distrustful of him, but rather that it was nearly impossible for them to see him when they had to protect their country.

“You’ve been doing good work, son. How’s everything at home?”

“It’s never easy, but we get on alright. Now things are calm, but waiting. Something’s coming, we just don’t know when. Could be months, could be decades.”

“I hope it’s decades,” he muttered as he moved around the kitchen.

Lexa took her time looking around the house. It’d been years since she’d been there, but when she ran her fingertips along the soft, worn wood of the mantle, she smiled and remembered it all. It was an adjustment to be on land, to feel the itchy fabric of her father’s old sweater, to feel the salt of the sea instead of the current of it in her lungs. But she believed in the tactility of memory.

She half-listened to her father and grandfather talk and catch up. Already in the back of her head, she felt a need to fulfill her desire to see Clarke. But the nagging fear of a girl she met nearly three months ago for just three days, not wanting anything to do with her, that was a lot for Lexa to try to ignore. It didn’t matter though. Clarke said she’d be close, and Lexa trusted that. She trusted the feeling in her muscles that seemed to tug her in that direction.

“I’m eager to see it all,” Lexa turned back to the conversation, catching her name and picking up on what they were talking about rather quickly. “I have a friend I’d like to see.”

“Friend, hm.” Her father gave her a look but just took another sip of his iced tea.

“You’ll have plenty of time. I have a few things planned. Want to show you around the docks,” her grandfather explained, rubbing his palm along the few days growth of silver beard. “You sure you can’t stick around to show your kid all your favorite spots?”

“I would, Pop,” Arthur sighed. “But Meera is focusing on the Spindrift, and I’m stretched pretty thin at the Palace and League duties. I already told Lex I’d stop in as often as possible to show her some things.”

“I’ll be fine. I can observe and experience with little guidance,” she promised the pair as they looked at her with a slight, genetically similar glance if skepticism. “I’m a highly trained fighter and received top marks from my studies. I’ll be fine.”

“I have a whole slew of projects for you to help me out with around here.”

“That’s code for free labor and lifting heavy things,” her father informed her as she took a seat with them at the table. “I, too, spent many an afternoon working on projects.”

“Girl is going to run a country, she should know how to patch a roof and change a tire,” the elder defended himself.

“If it’s okay, I’d actually like to see if I can find Clarke--”

“Her friend,” Arthur supplied.

“How do you know anyone from Land?” her grandfather furrowed.

“Lexa rescued her first damsel.”

“Oh,” he nodded, thinking it over. “Must be in our genes. Your grandmother was just a damsel once upon a time.” The look that clouded his face was somewhere between joy and pain, both simultaneously and tinged with the other.

“Maybe the only time in her life,” Aquaman chuckled. “She hated that story.”

“It was one of my favorites.”

The father and son smiled at each other before looking away, thinking innately about the woman who’d been gone for a few too many years already, the Queen, the wonderful mother, the unbelievable wife. Lexa never knew her except for stories, and she was excited to hear more, though she knew to be careful. Her grandfather was a quiet man, who did not waste his words, nor did he speak if he wasn’t ready with one of them.

“Why don’t you settle in for the night?” her father tried. “Reach out to Barnes in the morning and see if you can get some information.”

“I already did. I just want to see--”

“Oh, let her go,” her grandfather smiled, softer to his granddaughter than he’d ever been to his son. “Damsels are a rite of passage, and you know better than to keep one waiting.”

“Thanks,” Lexa popped up from her chair happily. She kissed her grandfather and father’s cheek before making her way out the door. “Barnes should be here any minute. Love you both!”

“You were never that nice to me growing up,” Arthur gave his father a look as he took another sip.

“I’m a grandpa,” he shrugged. “I’m supposed to indulge my granddaughter.”

“Show her everything, Pop. I need her to understand what it means to be of two words.”

“I will, but it’s not true.”

“What isn’t?”

“She’s not of two words. She’s pure Atlantean. You can show her all of this, but we should be feeding her compassion and leadership, not trying to attach some emotional connection to a world she has visited twice since she was a toddler.”

“You know that we couldn’t bring her. Things were complicated. The Land-- they didn’t want--”

“I know, I know,” he waved his hand to stop the growing rage in his son’s chest. “But Lexa is more like Meera than like you, and she won’t have the same experiences. You have to be ready for that.”

Aquaman took a deep breath before running his hand through his hair, longer than he normally kept it. He missed the silence of the sea at times like that.

“I need her to believe in the connection of Atlantis to the Land,” he sighed. “It’s vital for everyone’s survival, and if she doesn’t believe it, Atlantis will lock itself away again, now when there are more threats than ever.”

“Then perhaps a damsel is exactly what she needs.”

It was a simple and ingenious solution to the problem Arthur never thought to consider, but he turned those words over in his head and slowly nodded as he saw their wisdom.

“Your mind is wasted on this lighthouse. You should be ruling Atlantis.”

“I’m okay right here.”

“You got any beer hidden around here? I could use some advice on a few more things, old man.”

“I’m going to add Counselor to the King of Atlantis to my business card.”

In a movement, the lighthouse keeper and father of kings and grandfather of princesses pushed himself up from his chair at the table and dug through the small fridge before emerging with two cold bottles.

“Like you have a business card.”

“If I had one.”

His son just shook his head and tossed the bottle cap on the table between them. There were few places he felt more comfortable or at home, and he was happy for his daughter.

XXXXXXXXXX

Only at its grand opening, had Lexa seen the grandeur and majesty of her mother’s pet project, the Spindrift. Waving and curved, it glowed in the sunset that dipped below the clouds on its quest for the horizon. The sea calmed as the storm gave way, and the Spindrift was cast in its golden light. After a quick explanation of where a certain damsel might be working, Lexa excused herself from Barnes and made her way through the halls.

Her mother was home, while her father was on Land, so there was no risk of seeing her, though for some reason, Lexa felt as if she were sneaking.

But then she found her, on her first day on land, in her first few hours, close by and waiting, or at least around. Paused by the door, Lexa watched, just to make sure. But it was certainly Clarke. Lexa knew from the blonde shade in her hair, and she knew by the way her shoulders stood tall, and she knew by the slope of her neck as she worked, and the way she tapped her pencil against her jaw while she thought about something.

It was Clarke.

With a sigh, she closed her notebook and laptop before taking a moment to look out of the window and toward the expanse of the sea. Her face betrayed little as she looked out and thought or perhaps didn’t think. But with a resigned sense of drive, she stood and began shoving things into her backpack before tossing it on her shoulder.

Lexa felt her nerves grow as she realized she was about to be recognized. It was something else entirely to be viewed by someone. But sure enough, blue eyes met her own, and Clarke looked at her and let the image process.

“Lexa?” she asked, head cocking slightly to the side, as if she didn’t want to let herself believe it, as if there was an active force within her deeming this moment impossible.

The princess smiled and stood a little straighter. Gone were Clarke’s old clothes, and gone was the dirt and bruises. Instead, her hair was a little shorter, and her body seemed sturdy and full of life again, something it was casually missing often in Atlantis.

“You’re here late,” Lexa offered, attempting to break the quiet while they stared at each other.

“You’re here.”

“You said you’d be close.”

She wasn’t ready to expect that Clarke would take a step forward, her eyes still questioning and her hands eager to make sure this mirage was real and flesh and blood and alive. Lexa crossed her arms behind her back, returning to the proper structure.

“Have you eaten?”

It wasn’t the question Lexa expected, though she wasn’t sure what question she’d thought to expect.

“You were my first stop after my grandfather’s. I don’t know my way around land that well.”

“I’m honored.”

“Care to show me around?” Lexa offered with a grin as she extended her elbow willingly, waiting for Clarke to take it again, as she had in the Hanging Gardens.

Clarke just nodded and accepted Lexa’s arm.

XXXXXXXXXX

“You cut your hair.”

“What? Oh, um, yeah… I… yeah,” Clarke nodded as she felt the ends of her hair, now firmly above her shoulders whereas when she’d been in Atlantis it went nearly to her elbows. “I needed a bit of a change, plus it’s summer. I like it short in the summer.”

At the pizza place on the corner of Main Street, the pair sat in a small booth in the back, away from the last round of customers. The candle on the table glowed behind its red holder, flickering quietly between them. Lexa couldn’t help but stare intently at the girl across from her. It was impossible not to. So much was familiar, but she was also aware that she missed her, as weird as that were to sound.

“I like it. You look… you look very good,”

Clarke couldn’t help but blush a little despite not wanting to do it. She didn’t know what to do with all of Lexa’s honesty.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Clarke shook her head and toyed with the straw in her cup. “It feels kind of weird, doesn’t it?”

“Because I don’t have a royal guard or a fancy palace and my Atlantean uniform?”

“I meant that you’re on land, but yeah, those things are also weird. I only know royal Lexa.”

“There’s only one of me, Clarke,” Lexa shook her head and smiled to herself as the waiter slid a steaming pizza in front of them. “Thank you.”

There was no real way to tell Lexa why it was so weird for Clarke to see her there, but she didn’t want to waste any time explaining it, not when the princess was right there. It was too good, and too nice.

“Keep your anchovies on your side, please. They are the worst.”

“How can you say that?” Lexa furrowed and took a huge piece, holding it high before taking a large bite. “It’s so good.”

“No way.”

“I think you’d like it. Give it another shot.”

“I’m happy with my veggies, thanks.”

Clarke watched the princess shrug and take another bite, smiling as she struggled to chew, but enjoyed every second of it. Mid chew she met Clarke’s curious glance and smiled, so utterly free from her duties and the restraint Clarke was accustomed to seeing. It was a new kind of freedom that Lexa flexed under, and Clarke couldn't help but laugh a little before taking a normal sized bite.

“How is everything back home? When I left you looked like something bad was happening.”

“Not my best farewell.”

“It fit.”

Lexa smiled before taking another bite.

“I have a cousin, Roan. He’s part of a terrorist organization called Children of Poseidon. They’re intent on eradicating the world of the land and swallowing it with the ocean. They want to dethrone my father and return the royal line to pure Atlantean blood.”

“He sounds like kind of a dick.”

“He is, but he always stayed in line, until--”

“That day,” Clarke nodded. “You were an idiot for taking me back to Atlantis with this happening. I could have ruined everything.”

“My dad likes to say it’s genetic.”

“Being an idiot?”

“Yeah,” Lexa confessed, earning a laugh from the girl who sat across from her and refused to try anchovies. She found herself looking at Clarke as she laughed, savoring it until pizza cheese dripped onto her hand.

“So Roan attacked something when I was leaving? Was he hoping to delay the opening of the Spindrift?”

It wasn’t often that Lexa was used to speaking so candidly, nor with someone who understood these kind of things without her having to explain it the whole way.

“He was trying to send a message, delay the Spindrift, prove that my father was weak. Your standard terrorist agenda.”

“Right right, the usual.”

“Nothing to worry about, Clarke. I’m quite good at keeping everything under control and my father is a great king.”

“I’m not worried,” Clarke shrugged. “Did you catch him?”

“Not yet. Which is why we figured my visit to land might be a good time. In case he tried anything.”

It was easy to forget that Lexa was a superhero imbued with mythical and ancient powers, and the hope of an entire civilization. She was just a girl eating pizza. But as she finished, she sat up and stretched, and her broad shoulders stretched her sweater, and Clarke saw how imposing she was. Her face had the ancient kind of tilt to it, the long cheeks, the sharp jaw, the regal green of her eyes. She was beautiful in the ways that all myths were beautiful.

“So what is your plan, princess? You know, while you’re here with the air-breathers.”

“My grandpa has some projects for me to work on, but mostly I’ll be experiencing.”

“Experiencing?”

“Yeah,” Lexa smiled and leaned closer. “I want to see everything you have to offer.”

“I don’t know if it compares to what you showed me.”

“Pizza was a great start.”

“Do you think I could see you more, while you’re here?” Clarke asked, unsure of what it would mean if she couldn't. Unsure of how she felt about it all.

“I was hoping you would. I… I wanted to see you so badly… I would like to see you more, if you have time.”

With the news of it, Clarke nodded and wiped her fingers in her napkin. She was ready to quit her job and devote herself full time to becoming a tour guide.

“It’s the least I could do for the princess of Atlantis.”

“Just Lexa is fine.”

“Just Lexa it is.”

The pair shared another smile, and Clarke wondered if she’d looked anywhere else the entire dinner, instead completely enraptured by Lexa. It was impossible to deny it, and when she was close, it felt positively… well, mythical.

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void-knights · 4 years

Text

Distractions

Square Filled: Distracting them with affection

Pairing: Loki (Marvel)/Sigyn,

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3314

Tags: Jötunn Loki, Loki’s past, Self esteem issues, Fluff, Comfort, Care, Shapeshifting, Snake Loki, Bisexual Sigyn,Genderfluid Loki,

Summary: Exhausted and with his energy depleted Loki’s jötunn form reveals itself against his will. Sigyn distracts him with affection.

Written for: @lokibingo

AO3 Link

The recent missions had left Loki pushed to his limits, he could not remember being so challenged as he had been as he was as an avenger. Tonight he lay in bed unable to move after a long luxurious bath, it was like other nights or, so he had assumed.

As he went to run a hand through his hair wondering if perhaps it was finally becoming too long he noticed the skin on his hand and forearm shifting from alabaster to a deep blue. For a moment all he could do was stare transfixed as though he were watching it happen to someone else and not himself.

Then reality came crashing down around him, it wasn’t happening to another person it was happening to him now. He tried commanding his own body to obey him, to have his skin shift back, he had mastered shapeshifting at the age of sixteen he could do this. Yet he could not. His own body betrayed him. More skin shifted from the familiar Aesir to the stranger Jötunn, he panicked.

What would happen when Sigyn saw him like this? Adrenaline surged through his body giving him the strength to kick off his blankets and stumble towards the vanity. He searched the surface of the dark wood furniture, various Midgardian creams and lotions that he and Sigyn were testing lay scattered.

The cosmetics hid in the second draw down, he pulled it open with the ridiculous idea that he could somehow hide his sudden inability to master his own body by caking himself in powders and creams. It might’ve worked if people ignored the crimson eyes (Sunglasses! He reminded himself) and the raised lines that ran throughout his body.

Oh, and now he had horns? They had not been there before, he was certain that the last time he had been forced to take this form he lacked horns. Suddenly there was a pressure around his head, one he had never noticed before as the horns seemingly sprouted not from his forehead where he first thought they had but from the sides of his head, just above or behind the ears which were now pointed. The horns were a shade of blue so dark and deep they almost looked black.

Panic filled him as his form became less and less Aesir with each passing second, his nails were a dark blue just like his horns, his entire body seemed more sensitive to the heat surrounding him, to the luxurious fabrics he wore.

He could hear Sigyn approach, his hearing had vastly improved, all his senses were heightened he realized stumbling back to the bed and ducking beneath the covers completely covering himself while attempting to force his body to submit to him. Why could he not control his own body?

The door opened, he could smell Sigyn from the lemon based perfumes she favoured to her own natural musk, he could smell Stark’s aftershave and oil, metal and something artificial clinging to her.

She marched on over to the shower slightly more heavy footed than was necessary, it took time, twenty-three minutes, during that time he tried once again to force his body to submit to him. A glimmer of hope came when his fingertips turned paler, but that hope was smothered within a few seconds.

Sigyn was out of the shower, “You were right,” She said in that overly resigned but amused and affectionate way she had whenever having to admit that she was wrong, the goddess of fidelity and victory did not take loosing well. “Stark is good company, I almost want to adopt him.”

Some part of Loki could imagine the scene and Stark accepting, then Sigyn would proudly show off their Midgardian son to all of Asgard and Odin would be forced to endure a Yuletide with Stark… this was starting to sound like a good idea.

A finger prodded at his head, “Did you fall asleep in your armour again?” she asked he pulled the covers tighter around himself desperate for her not to see him like this. “Darling?” Sigyn asked sitting herself down on the bed beside him, his back against her thigh.

She sifted, he felt the blankets being pulled, “DON’T!” he warned her. She listened to his protests releasing the blankets instantly.

A momentary beat passed before she asked him, “What is wrong my love?” her fingers running along the length of his arm.

He shivered unable to respond, how was she going to react? He could not get this form under his control, she had never seen this side of him, it was something he had made sure of.

Sigyn did not abandon him, instead she draped herself over him a comforting weight atop him separated by the warmth of the blanket that used to be sinfully soft against his skin but now seemed rough, harsh. She was no fool, she quickly realized what might be happening and soothed him as best she could with a gentle humming while gently rubbing circles into his back through the blanket.

He could feel the smile gracing his own lips as she somehow managed to squeeze him with her upper body as she remained half draped over him. It seemed so foolish on his part to worry about Sigyn’s reaction, her very nature was loyalty, she was a woman who was understanding, she had stood by him through the best times and the worst.

But this, this was different, this had been forced upon the pair of them, a lie that even the god of lies had not been able to detect. It was not part of their lives until Odin forced it upon them, by then it had been the start of a great downward spiral.

They had found their place side by side once more, but the issue of what he truly was had never been spoken of or addressed. Where once before Thor’s first coronation, before the truth was revealed, they had indulged in the idea of starting a family.

Loki had always teased her that she would make a great mother, and she would, though she often dreaded the idea of carrying on her families habit of having twins. She had been a twin, her mother, grandmother, grandfather and great-grandmother all had been twins.

But the more they had spoken about it the more they had liked the idea, a pair of twins born together, raised together on equal footing. They would never need fear inheriting a throne or whether one parent thought them a mistake. They would be loved and adored, treasured until the end of days. It had been such a nice dream.

“I cannot control it,” he admitted hating how meek he sounded beneath the blankets where he hid. She squeezed him again, “My jötunn form.”

She guessed as much, even at his lowest points Loki had never hid from her like this before. He never spoke of his Jötunn side, this other form, he never wanted to admit it or address it, that was part of the problem. How could they fix something that they never addressed or spoke about?

“In what way can you not control it?” She asked him still rubbing circles in-between his shoulder blades.

If they could not talk about it emotionally than they would boil it down to simple practicality. Not that Sigyn liked this path, she would rather Loki be comfortable and happy in his body regardless of what shape it took. But this was a start.

There were many options, may ways that Loki could explain what was happening yet the best solution was often simplest. He shifted enough that Sigyn pulled herself off of him and then slowly he pulled back the blanket revealing the issue at hand.

Instead of recoiling in horror as most aesir would she inched towards him placing both her palms against each cheek, she greeted him with her usual warmth, that smile made her brighter than he remembered. She leaned into him, her nose brushing up against his the new horns were not dissimilar to the golden horns she was more familiar with.

“I told you,” she taunted before brushing her freckled lips against his deep blue lips. She grinned pleased with herself they both knew she was right. He sat himself against the headboard while she sat by his side facing him, she never stopped smiling. “Rest for the next couple of days and eat plenty, you should regain the strength to reign in your shapeshifting.”

If his brain had not been working against him he might have come to this solution first, instead he forgotten the simplest solution. Rest and recouperation.

He grinned sheepishly, “Does that mean I will be pampered?”

“You know I never miss an opportunity to pamper you my love,” She answered, he could already see her planning how she was going to spoil him. Though stubbornly she would refuse to admit it should anyone ask, I was their private life after all.

They settled into their usual ways with some minor awkwardness, laying his head in her lap she took into account his new features. While she was used to him wearing horns she was used to being able to remove them. Gently at first she tucked hair that had fallen over his face behind his ear careful to avoid the new additions. He still carried tension within his body, anxious that at any moment she would flee. She never would.

They were bound in a way that went beyond marriage, beyond simple love and affection. It was a connection that only fidelity and lies could forge, a relationship built on mischief and victory, they would not be torn apart by this simple blip.

Her fingers traced a ghostly line over the curve of his horn, a violent pleasurable shudder wracked his body, she misunderstood and pulled her hand back afraid that she had hurt or offended him in some way.

Instead, he rolled onto his back, “Do it again,” he urged the black of his pupils blown wide.

“There’s a joke here, something about horns,” Sigyn whispered against the skin of his jaw, Loki had an idea but quickly dropped it when she kissed him again.

In this form everything was new the feel of her was unusually soft and smooth, he had never truly appreciated how soft she felt against him until now. Her fingers traced along the lines running over his ribs and chest, each time she touched him his body shivered in delight.

It was moments like this that awed him, Sigyn loved him, he still could not understand how or why. Theirs was not an easy relationship, neither of them liked easy, but at times Loki knew he pushed Sigyn a little to hard. Most spouses would have left, most would have slammed the door so hard in his face all the realms would feel and hear it.

But here, as Sigyn shifted them, so she could hold him in her arms he forgot his worries just for a moment. The threads of magic that twirled from her fingers like fae dancing on the petals of a flower turned his attentions towards more pleasant things, more delightful memories.

Warm fingers lit by cool blues trailed down his arms, down his spine, she worked her magic soothing each and every physical ache she could. There was a doubt deeply rooted that she would never be able to truly rid Loki of all that plagued him mentally and emotionally.

It strengthened her conviction to remain by his side, to remind him that he deserved love and compassion. That he was worthy of everything she could give him and hoped in return that he found her just as worthy of his love and affections. Somehow she knew he did, they did not need to speak of such things.

Fingers drifted along deep blue skin, like a sapphire caught in the light of the moon his skin shimmered. Freshly fallen snow glittering beneath a pale silver moon came to her mind, the memory of a night spent together in the cold of Midgard where the northern lights overhead gleamed and glittered illuminating the surrounding lands.

They had made love underneath those lights, the cold did not affect Loki as it did her, so he lay in the cold snow enjoying the gasps of pain and pleasure Sigyn rewarded him with when he brushed icy fingers cooled by snow against her nipples.

It was something neither had considered before, the snow and ice was not supposed to illicit pleasure or feelings of warmth and comfort. But Midgard did not believe as Asgard, they welcomed the ice and snow (within reason) choosing instead to celebrate in the warmth but enjoying the cold.

Sigyn preferred Midgard for many reasons, that which was most obvious, here Loki could breathe. Free of expectations from the crowns that knew him, from the realms that would curse and defame him. Here Loki was not completely unburdened, but he walked lighter than he would in other realms.

She wanted to remind him of this, that he was loved and should not need to fear revealing his true self. But logical compassion was overwhelmed by centuries of abuse, Loki may never love his jötunn self and for that and so many other reasons Sigyn would never forgive either Odin, Frigga or Thor.

Loki should not have to live in fear of himself, for himself, but he did, and she desperately wished she could take that from him.

Drawing fingers along the lines of his body Sigyn could not help but marvel at his beauty, she was lost at the moment unable to keep her hands off him. Though in fairness she was like that with Loki regardless of form, gender or sex.

They had once spent an entire day together where Loki was a massive iridescent serpent, he had wound himself around her while she read her books his massive body had been so great that she had to use him as a chair. He had needed an escape, somewhere to hide and Sigyn welcomed him with open arms.

Though when he slithered his way up beneath her jumper, so he could have some sort of skin contact that wasn’t just her hands had been a little vexing. Especially when she needed to get up for any reason. But there was something adorable about Loki’s shimmering emerald form being so snugly wound against her, his inky black tongue flicking out against her collar bone as he nestled himself between her breasts. He made a surprisingly good chair as a snake.

But she drew the line at horses after Loki had attempted to spend the day with her in that form, having to explain why you were having a bath with your wife who was a mare was as about as awkward as anything in the early stages of their marriage. Along the way Sigyn simply lost the ability to feel awkward about being caught in odd situations with Loki.

If her spouse needed comfort she was going to give them comfort regardless of what form they took!

“Do you think being in your jötunn form may influence the way you shapeshift?” she pondered running her fingers through his hair. He always enjoyed someone playing with his hair.

Loki who had been nestled against her chest took a moment to consider this. It wasn’t odd to think that maybe it would, especially if it were simply a case of shifting between sexes and genders. But more complex shapeshifting, animals and creatures, that may not be affected.

“If you wish to see my blue breasts you need only ask,” Loki teased pressing a kiss against her collar bone, his horns bumping a little against her as he did so. Her fingers meanwhile continued to draw small circles into his scalp, he was caught between arousal and sleepiness wondering which would be the first to give out.

Sigyn thought about this, Loki never offered to show his jötunn form to anyone she suspected it was less that he was wiling to show her his breasts and more a joke. She did not press the issue for tonight, she knew the key to handling Loki when he was in states like this, slow and softly. He was not fragile or delicate by any means but that did not mean he did not deserve softness.

Instead, she offered a counter, “Well if you’re offering, I wouldn’t mind you shapeshifting into a tiger could you do that?” she asked, she had recently discovered the amazing mammals and creatures of Midgard and wondered why they had never visited the realm sooner. Oh, yes… Odin.

Loki had previously transformed into Midgardian cats, mostly a black cat to mess with the other avengers whenever the mischievous fancy took him. It was never anything big, at first he was just there inside the compound, Sam would say “Did you see that black cat?” and everyone would look at him like he had gone mad. Innocent pranking.

She had missed his innocent pranks, the ones made to entertain him and those around him. The days when they were all a lot more innocent and a lot less afraid, as a young teen Loki had always tried to win Sigyn over with his pranks. More often than not they backfired, but he had won her over by being able to laugh or walk it off. Not many (especially the men) in Asgard had the ability to do that.

It was not simply selfishness that drove Sigyn to request Loki shapeshift into a tiger, a form that he never took before which would therefore pose a challenge but because after the distraction of concentration he may be in another form that would free him from the insecurities that his jötunn brought about.

However, Loki shook his head, “Not without studying the creature beforehand,” that, or he was too exhausted and didn’t want to admit it. Sigyn pondered this as she stroked her fingers along the length of his spine.

“Then how about an old favourite?” she suggested. She could feel him vibrate, whether in relief or excitement she didn’t know, all that mattered was he was slowly being pulled away from the less cheerful thoughts and feelings this form inspired.

Well she didn’t need to ask twice, did she? It might not be a tiger but as Loki shifted into a snake he wound himself around her and held her firmly in the coils of his body. She used her magic to toss a blanket over the pair of them, his long neck and body acting as her new warm pillow made of iridescent emerald scales.

She smiled when his adorable snout tucked itself upon her neck, his tongue flicking out against her ear lobe, an affectionate gesture she had come to adore whenever he spent time as a serpent. Sigyn smiled drawing her hands over as much of his huge body as she could, there was too much of him as this particular snake. His entire body so large parts of him hung off the bed. The flicks of his forked inky tongue slowly tapered off until they came to a stop.

A smile spread across her lips as she felt the tightly wound body relax, no longer burdened by reality Loki was safe in his dreams. She would make sure of it, the gentle suggestion of magic from her would always protect him from his nightmares of which there seemed legion.

It wasn’t long before she too found the siren song of sleep within the coils of her spouse, her greatest love. Her last waking thoughts were of tomorrow where she promised to make his favourite food.

That at least should assist in his recouperation.

#Logyn #Loki/Sigyn #loki x sigyn #Loki #Sigyn #jotun lok #frost giant loki #Loki fic #Avengers #Loki Bingo 2020

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cllovegood0617 · 3 years

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Verdant

A project I had to do for school but ended up liking enough for posting on here. I hope you like it too 💙

A fairy tale is something that children grasp on for something that is different from harsh and rough reality. Fairy tales give children a new world to live in for a temporary time while reading and includes magic and imaginary beings or lands. Some may star a beautiful princess that goes through a turbulent of identity finding events for this said princess. Then she runs into a handsome prince that sweeps her away into his arms, dances away in the night, ends it with a kiss and they both live “Happily Ever After”. I once was a girl that was missing my two front teeth but yet still imagining my handsome prince finding me. However, I did end up living my own, and it is my secret but I am willing to share it with you. But, it wasn’t exactly plotted like how the Grimms Brothers or Hans Chrisitian Andersen had written their fairy tales. In fact, mine doesn’t include a prince at all. Mine is about a girl that grasped something that is different from harsh and rough reality.

I can argue with anyone that Zendaux is one of the most beautiful places on Earth. I live in a secluded area where it is surrounded by grass fields as far as the eye can see except for the litter of forestation that is near my house. My house was crafted by my grandfather in 1954 and was designed to be exactly how my grandmother wanted it. It has a burgundy tiled roof and a glorious wrap-around porch that I’ve always found so lovely. He named it Willow Avenue since my grandma is named Willow and they met on Locust Avenue. They had a tradition before they both passed away to visit Locust Avenue at least once a year together. My grandpa even brought my grandma’s urn with him on his last trip before he joined her in heaven. Then my dad would bring both of their urns to Locust Avenue, I went on these trips with him too before… he died. My mom was going to sell the house once my dad died, and I was so devastated at that news so I knew I had to do something. So I bought it instead. The air this early in the morning filled my nose with the freshness of the morning dew that is sprinkled over the shamrock green soft grass. In my childhood I would roll down the hills that are lining the horizon and run to jump into my dad’s outstretched arms. He’d place his hard calloused hands on my soft small arms as I was trying to wriggle out with all my might to run back up the hill. Then he’d laugh after me like he always did and say “Goodbye my Lightning Bug!” As I was fully enveloped in my nostalgia, suddenly I heard an earsplitting sound that resembled a deer that perhaps has eaten too much sugar. Then I gasped in amazement as the tallest tree to reach the skies began falling eastward. The hoarse cracks of ancient tree bark snapping at the roots, and then the thud the tree made once it reached the ground made a deep sound that proved to me that trees don’t make much of a sound once they fall.

Suddenly a large swish erupted in the air and that roaring sound from earlier broke through the silence that once was. I felt my defense kick in as I jumped in surprise from the sound, then I fell into a large grin. Other than a different squirrel that appears on the porch, you don’t normally see mysterious events happen at Willow Avenue. I stood up from the porch swing and began searching the trees that I could see from my position frantically. Then out of nowhere I saw a large juniper wing that resembled the canopy of a tree that soared over and surpassed the height of the other trees. Then became hidden back into the forestation as quickly as it was exposed. I know what that is; I wouldn’t be able to forget all of the bedtime stories that my dad would tell me. I have a dragon living in my woodlands.“Okay, okay.” I said breathily “I have a dragon in my front yard. Oh when you say it like that Whitney you sound crazy.” Then I realized that there is literally no other way to state what is happening. I sighed “I have a dragon in my front yard. Okay. Let’s think, what would Dad do?” He’d probably walk calmly up to the forest and greet the dragon like an old friend that has been a recluse for years. He was a strong believer in that everyone and everything has something beneficial to the world. I began pacing back and forth on my porch, and I flung open the front door to Willow Avenue possibly too hard, and bolted up the stairs like I would when I was younger once I would feel like something scary was chasing me. I knew the layout to this house like I knew the back of my hand, so I took the familiar route to the room that stored all of my Dad’s research papers. I used to never be able to touch these, for even my dad said that what was in them I should not know at that moment. He said I wasn’t ready. “Sorry Dad. I need to read these. You’d say this is a vital moment for your notes.” I knew exactly which book I needed since I have been eyeing and desiring to know the contents of it since I came in here for the first time when I was 7 years old. I grabbed a large dusty book that had 7 capital letters on the front that spelt DRAGONS and Austin Woodruff lining the bottom of the book. Austin is my dad, and I know that he meant for me to read this when I would need it because in the inside of the book where typically the author’s note would be; I read a letter that appeared to be written for me. “Whitney, there are secrets about the world that I should and could never tell you. Although I know that you will need this information to stay safe. I hope that you find what you are looking for in here. I love you to Jupiter and back. Love, your father.” I suddenly noticed that a tear of mine dripped onto the page. “Dang it.” I whispered as I dabbed where I wet the page. “I love you to Jupiter and back too Dad.” I repeated like I did when I was younger going to bed. With new determination, I began the search for what specifically I am dealing with in my own front yard that has now become a fantastical forest. Slowly, I flipped the first page and began to read what my own father had discovered about dragons-a creature that I thought could not exist in my universe. The first page covered what a dragon is and what one may look like, the third page explained how to groom one properly, and the seventeenth page was directions to where I could sell their talons. I was getting emerged in the information this book was providing that I have been imagining reading for decades, but then I heard that screech again. Quickly, I scrambled up on my feet and rushed to the window where I could spot the whole forest. However, somehow I still could not fully see the dragon, only the same two wings. “Come on, I need to hurry up and find what I can do.” I flicked quicker through the pages and I stopped abruptly when I saw exactly what I was looking for. There was a dragon drawn on this page and it resembled the wings exactly to the one that is living in my forest. “Ahah!” I yelled in success. Swiftly, I sped read the section about the “Greenland Hornshakle Dragon” and I read out loud the paragraph I needed. “These are hostile creatures. Do not approach them. Your life is at risk if you do so. No way to tame them.” as I was reading I suddenly felt scared, I thought I hadn’t found anything I could use to protect myself and Willow Avenue. Fortunately, my dad provided that solution for me. He wrote that I need to use his Willow wood Staff that has been passed down from generation to generation in his family and I would’ve been the rightful heir to it if he hadn’t died before having the chance to tell me himself. For the second time since I’ve been in this room, I heard the ear splitting screech once again from my dragon. I slammed my book and Also, I heard sirens arriving in the forest from the police station. They must’ve been alarmed, and I watched as the police troops began chasing impulsively towards the yells. This time I saw both of the dark green wings flash above the highest canopy of the trees. I need to hurry up and figure out what to do. Instantaneously, I remembered that my dad was the master of fantastic fantasy events.Taking a deep breath I began sprinting towards the woods that I have lived next to my whole life. Once I stepped past the first tree, I felt that eerie silence that fills these woods all of the time, but now it doesn’t scare me. I run further and deeper into the woods continuously now feeling the bouldering yell of the dragon on the soles of my feet as if the yell is pushing me to where the dragon is. I desperately was trying to search the floor and sky for the dragon, and then I swallowed a breath as I saw it. It was a colossal verdant dragon that nearly towered over the tallest sequoia trees that have been growing here before all civilization has. I paused abruptly and almost tumbled down onto the muddy floor as I was able to make eye contact with its amber eyes. The police troops already got here before I did, for they were already gathering strategy on how to push the dragon out of the forest.

My staggering and uneven gasps of air must’ve alarmed the dragon because it moved with a start. I had to duck into a bush because the dragon swiped its tail panicky into the nearest sequoia making a booming sound that we all covered our ears for. The dragon groggily tried to stand up, but as soon as it stood on it’s left foot it staggered back onto the ground. I looked quizzically at this dragon that I thought would be disastrous and a nightmare, but instead it was timid, scared, and more like a mouse than a dragon. I relaxed my shoulders and began walking slowly to the shrinking dragon, and I noticed that the dragon was a girl because once she scooted over I saw one baby dragon that was as tall as a full grown giraffe. “Hey hey! Stop! This dragon is a mom!” The police lowered their limitless weapons and opened their eyes in clarity. Compared to the giant mom dragon and the ginormous sequoias surrounding this family, the police, and I; it made the baby dragon seem just like another dust fragment in this universe like all of us humans are. I compared the two dragons and noticed that the mom has a longer snout while the baby has more of a robust snout, so I assumed the dragon was a baby boy. The baby dragon hid behind his mother’s leg and the mother dragon put her wing over him as a warmth method. I hadn’t realized it until now, but I have goosebumps wrapping around my arms and my knees have been shivering. I wrap my arms around myself, and let out a shuddering breath from the cold. Then, Mom dragon scooted a little closer to me and lifted up a tremendous wing as an invitation to enter. Carefully, I entered the warmth that a dragon can give to something apparently.

“Whitney! Are you okay?” I heard the chief of police yell at me “Yes. I am okay. You guys are fine to go. Thanks for your service.” I said as a response, but freezing at this point and the forest is a lot more frigid since the canopies cover the sunlight from entering. “No we cannot leave her here sir! That dragon is a menace! It will try eating her as soon as we leave!” I heard a new voice command to the chief. “No we leave now, that’s an order.” I watched as all of the police began following the chief except for that man that didn’t think it was right. “Graham! We leave now.” Graham did not want to be moved. He stood staring at the mom dragon, but then he did begin to turn around and walk away. However, as soon as the chief turned around Graham cocked his gun and you only heard pop once. I have always been impulsive and ambitious, but sensible people would’ve said I went a bit too far. But I knew I had to do this, I had to do something above myself. I jumped out from under the wing and instantly felt a pang in my chest. I felt my chest hotten as if I pressed a hot ready iron onto it. I heaved forward and realized that I couldn’t quite grasp for air. I could only hear and see at this point. I heard the mom dragon screech and she brought her head down to me as all the police were watching and the chief rushed to my side. “Whitney! Whitney! Say something!” I think that’s the chief yelling. “Go. Fly…” I whispered to the mom dragon, and she must’ve understood because I couldn’t see or hear her or the baby boy anymore. My chest began hurting even worse than before and suddenly I couldn’t hear anything anymore except for four words that I’ve been waiting 12 years to hear, “Hello my Lightning Bug.”.

#story #writing #reading #fantasy #dragon

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blackswaneuroparedux · 5 years

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Anonymous asked: I hugely appreciate how educated you are with your education in the Classics (at either Oxford or Cambridge I think) but I ask with sincere respect how does any of it inform your privileged life in this day and age? It’s easy to say how much we should value our European traditions and heritage it is quite another to live it out don’t you agree? What do you personally get from it?

This is a very relevant question and I apologise if I have stalled in answering it as I was busy with work and life to formulate a worthy reply. But your question is an important one indeed for anyone who harkens to the past as a guide for the present and the future.

I won’t waste space here and tick box all the purely academic reasons why the Classical world is still relevant for us today. I think you can find that in easy to read books and articles written by eminent Classicists who do an admirable service in making the Classical World come alive for the general public (Mary Beard, Bettany Hughes, Emily Wilson, Edith Hall, Peter Jones, Bernard Knox, Robin Lane Fox, Paul Cartledge, and Donald Kagan amongst others that come to mind). But it’s an uphill battle to be sure.

Classics - at least in United Kingdom - has been regressively marginalised with each passing generation starting from school up to university entry. It has an image problem. Few pay much attention to scholars of Latin and Greek. The impression is that Classicists are snobbish and is the education of privileged elitists who master languages that are not spoken. They learn to write them only to read them better. They slap your hands when you write a Latin word common in Sallust or Livy, rather than in Cicero. There is some truth to that sadly. To a large extent Classicists themselves have not been a good advertisement for why anyone should appreciate let alone study the classical world.

At one end those educated in the Classics can come across as encouraging elitism, snobbish pedantry and a sniffy social superiority and at the other end those not versed in Classics but through Hollywood (any sword and sandal film like Gladiator etc) and PC white washed TV series (BBC’s Troy is a good example) have formed a romantic attachment to the ‘heroic’ past by having blue pilled themselves into escapism. Both extremes makes Classics a fetish rather than a guide for life through the beauty and power of the language and culture of the singular Greeks and Romans.

The study of Classics can become the proverbial dog who can dance on two legs, but for what practical purpose? There is the rub. Classics, at its best, offers the historical, philological, and literary foundation and discipline to apply a critical method to every general aspect of learning - and living.

I was fortunate that I had Classicists - both within my family and also my teachers - who were cultured and had led such interesting lives and were able to marry their Classicist mind to their life experiences (often through the experience of war). So learning European languages was not just to get one’s head around arid esoteric articles by 19th-century Frenchmen on the Athenian banking system or Demosthenes’ use of praeteritio and apophasis, but also to appreciate the genius of Dante,Voltaire and Goethe. Classics should never just be about philology though because it can result in a life mostly missed.

Perhaps others might call it privileged but I consider my childhood blessed because I was surrounded by family members who were educated in the Classics - more rare than one might suppose. Through my great aunts and grandmother they instilled the discipline that the mastery of Latin and Greek fuelled the ability to speak and write good English -- and why the latter mattered as much or more than the former.

By the time I left both Cambridge and Oxford behind, I could cite passage numbers in Greek texts of what Thucydides and Plutarch thought of Nicias. But it was only when I went through Sandhurst to pass out as a commissioned army officer did it truly jump off the page and become alive for me.

Moreover having had long fire side conversations with both my grandfather and father - both Oxbridge educated Classicists and both served in distant different types of wars as swashbuckling officers - did I use that learning to understand why for example was Nicias such a laughably mediocre general of the Peloponnesian War. And this was essentially the practical point of reading Thucydides and Plutarch about Nicias in the first place.

I spent many hours in my down time during my service in Afghanistan between missions re-reading dog earred favourite Classicist texts. I began to see the ghosts of the Greeks in the characters of those with whom I was serving. Some began to resemble Sophoclean characters - especially the less well-known ‘losers’ like Ajax and Philoctetes - the sort of tragic heroes whom we root for but the odds are against them - think of any American Western film or the more pathological Tarantino films. Like Sophocles I saw majestic characters (some special forces operators) out of place in a modernising world who would rather perish than change - but in a context where their sacrifice schools the lesser around them about what the old breed was about and what was being lost.

A running thread from a childhood spent in many other countries - from South Asia to the Far East - to the present day is learning to appreciate our landscape as the Ancient world did. The cultivation of curiosity of cultures was seeded in childhood. Respecting and even admiring other cultures - Indian, Iranian, Chinese and Japanese primarily come to mind - led me to appreciate and treasure my own cultural heritage and traditions. The DNA of both the Roman and Greek world went far and wide and so teasing out their fingerprints was fun. In northern Pakistan, we came across ‘Alexander’s children’ - children with blonde and blue eyes who were said to be descended from Alexander the Great’s time in Afghanistan and India - and wandering around the banks of the Jhelum river imagining how Alexander beat his respected foe (later ally) King Porus at the Battle of Hydaspes in 326BC.

These days despite having a busy corporate career I help support running a French vineyard managed foremost by two exceptional cousins and their French partners. As such the Classics still resonate in how I look at the land beyond the vineyard - bridges, roads, towers, walls - and imagine the Greeks not with ink and papyrus but as men of action, farmers and hoplites, in a rough climate on poor soils. I suddenly envision them pruning and plowing in Laureion, the Oropos, and Acharnae, more like the rugged local farmers with whom come harvest time I roll my sleeves up and get my hands dirty in the vineyards than as the professors in elbow patches who had claimed them.

Knowing and learning about the Classical roots of our Western heritage isn’t just a question of culture it’s also about what personally motivates us in life and how that determines how we make consequential choices in life.

I live in fear of one Greek word ‘akrasia’. Ancient Greek philosophers coined the term to explain the lack of motivation in life. Most of the philosophical conundrums explored by contemporary philosophers were already explored in Ancient Greece. In fact, Ancient Greek philosophers laid the solid foundation for all philosophical approaches that appeared throughout history: theories of Kant, Hegel or Nietzsche would never exist without Socrates, Plato or Aristotle.

Among the many problems that baffled the Ancient Greeks, one of them gets quite a lot of attention today. Why don’t we always do what’s best for us? Why do we abandon good decisions in favour of bad ones? Why can’t we follow through on our plans and ideas?

Many people would say that the answer is simply laziness or decision fatigue, but Ancient Greek philosophers believed that the problem lay much deeper, in human nature itself. ‘Akrasia’ describes a state of acting against one’s better judgement or a lack of will that prevents one from doing the right thing. Plato believed that akrasia is not an issue in itself, because people always choose the solution they think is the best for them, and sometimes it accidentally happens that they choose the bad solution because of poor judgement. On the other hand, Aristotle disagreed with this explanation and argued that the fault in the human process of reasoning is not responsible for akrasia. He believed that the answer lies in the human tendency to desire, which is often far stronger than reason.

As with almost all philosophical concepts, a consensus has never been reached and akrasia remains open to interpretation. But its practical consequences are all too real in today’s world. Motivation is what makes us unpredictable and persistent, and the life circumstances of the modern world often make motivation disappear.

Today - regardless how old or young one is - many are more and more tempted to exchange a long-term goal for an immediately available pleasure in all its forms from the emotional band aid of porn from a lifeless relationship (or a lack of one) to escaping loneliness for the false intimacy of social media friendship. The lack of motivation can cause us to reduce ourselves to someone else’s standards when we know we can be or do better.

The Greeks felt that the way you think and feel about yourself, including your beliefs and expectations about what is possible for you, determines everything that happens to you. When you change the quality of your thinking, you change the quality of your life. I’ve been deeply influenced by Aristotle’s idea that virtue is a habit, something you practice and get better at, rather than something that comes naturally. “The control of the appetites by right reason,” is how he defined it. Another way to reframe this is to say, “Virtue is knowing what you really want,” and then building the intellectual, spiritual, and moral muscle to go after it.

To be cultured - as opposed to be merely educated - is how you put what you’ve learned to work in your own life, seeing the world around you more deeply because of the historical, literary, artistic and philosophical resonances that current experiences evoke. This is the privilege of being cultured. For me Classical stories come often to my mind, and some times provide guides to action (much as Plutarch intended his histories of famous men to be guides to morality and action). The classics then are a part of my mental toolset and the context I think with some of the time. I see that as the real blessing in my life.

Thanks for your question.

#question #classics #education #life #personal #bio #library

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out-of-jams · 5 years

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Airplane Mode | Track 04: 2!3! | jhs

Summary: Inspired by Love at First Touch by bagelswrites.

In a world where a bruise marks the first touch of your soulmate, time is the only thing that matters. The marks take hours to appear, sometimes even days if you're really unlucky. Once First Touch is initiated, both parties only have a few weeks to find the other. From then on, the body begins to reject any form of sustenance other than the touch of the other. If one fails to find their soulmate in time, they starve to death.

So what happens when your soulmate is a world famous idol?

And you're just one fan in a sea of many who can't even speak the same language?

Pairing: Hoseok x Fem Character

Word Count: 4.1k

Genre: Fluff. Angst. Idol!au. Smut. Soulmate!au. Explicit language.

Warnings: Angst.

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The sun was just beginning to warm the sky, orange and yellow rays peeking out through the clouds. It was still cold and the winter chill seeped through protective layers to freeze skin. The city had long since awoken and the streets were filled with life as people began their day.

It was quiet however, as Eunjae softly closed the door of her grandmother's apartment behind her. Warm air melted the cold from her skin as she stepped into the living room and she figured that her grandmother must have blasted the heat all night. She’d barely even stepped inside and already she was beginning to sweat. Why her grandmother liked to keep the apartment at an even 80 degrees was beyond her.

Eunjae shouldn't have been surprised when the voice of her grandmother greeted her as she toed off her shoes. She was always an early riser, something that Eunjae always secretly envied her for. The only reason that she was even awake and comprehending the world around her at such an early hour was because Miles had kicked her out of his apartment that morning. Literally.

After the overwhelming events of the morning previous, Eunjae had stumbled out of the hotel with her thoughts barely entact. Everything that had been mercilessly piled on top of her had been in constant war with each other. She’d been at a loss for what to do and the only thing that kept her grounded was her best friend as she stumbled into his apartment. Miles had taken one look at her and snapped his mouth closed around the questions that had been about to spew from his mouth like a fountain.

He’d just silently grabbed her shoulders and forced her back out through the door. They’d spent the entire rest of the day window shopping in the high end stores of the Upper East Side. Neither of them had bought anything, just using the time to decompress. Eunjae was borderline flat-out broke anyway.

Miles was the one with the money. He worked part time at a hair salon near his apartment and spent the other half of his time posting beauty videos to YouTube. Most of his income came from his 3.7 million subscribers, which Eunjae relentlessly teased him for. (“My best friend is a celebrity. Don’t forget me when you get in good with Beyonce. That woman could step on me and I’d thank her.") She never said it out loud, never had to, but she would always be his biggest supporter.

The two of them had wrapped up the day by wandering through Central Park, warm coffees burning through their gloves. Whenever one of them were feeling down, somehow they’d always end up there. Miles just liked to people watch, pointing out people whose hair he’d love to give a makeover to. And Eunjae would sometimes bring her sketchbook, pencil skimming across the pages whenever she got inspired for a new design. She’d been studying fashion design at NYU (how she even got in, she still didn’t know) for the past two years, and her mind was always racing with a new draft for her portfolio.

Eunjae had been doing just that, stretched out on a bench with her back pressed to the handrail and her feet propped in Miles’ lap. She’d looked up from the blank page of her sketchbook and stared at the sharp profile of her best friend. He’d always been all jawline and high cheekbones and pouty lips.

The white lid of his steaming coffee was pressed to his mouth as he stared out at the people passing by. Eunjae had felt it then. A pressing feeling in her chest like she was losing time, like the moments like these that they shared were limited. She hadn’t even made a decision on what she was going to do about Hoseok, and already she felt like time was running out.

So she’d closed her eyes tightly and tried to commit the moment to memory. Tried to hold on to what felt like the beginning of an end.

“Eunjae, is that you?”

The call of her grandmother’s accented voice snapped Eunjae out of her thoughts. With slowly warming fingers unbuttoning her coat, she shuffled in through the entryway of the apartment. The living room to the right of the small hallway was dark, the outline of the couches just barely visible with the light streaming in through the curtained windows.

“Yeah, it's me.” Eunjae’s socked feet padded softly on the wooden floors as she made her way to the dining room at the end of the hall. The lights were on and the figure of her grandmother greeted her when she stepped through the threshold. “I’m home.”

Eunjae’s grandmother, a short Colombian woman, sat at the small dining room table. A porcelain cup of what smelled like green tea was clutched in between her wrinkled hands. Her short dark hair was streaked with strands of gray and the frame of her striped brown glasses were perched atop her head. Dressed in a comfy pink nightgown and matching slippers, she looked the epitome of a kind, warm hearted grandmother. But old age or not, she was still a Latina woman and wouldn’t hesitate to throw down with anyone that crossed her. Eunjae had been living with her ever since her parents died when she was twelve.

Her grandmother, on her mother’s side, had been the only person available and willing to take her in. Eunjae’s family on her father’s side had disowned him long before she was even born. She never got the full story as to why. All she knew was that it had something to do with her father forfeiting his inheritance of some major Korean tech company to marry her mother. The rest of her mother’s family lived somewhere out in Colombia and had been unable to be reached before her grandmother took her in with open arms.

“What are you doing awake so early, hm?” Her grandmother asked in amusement, taking a sip of her tea. “I normally have to bribe you out of bed with coffee to get you up before nightfall.”

“I-”

“And what the hell happened to your face? Don’t tell me you got into another fight.”

WIth a playful roll of her eyes, Eunjae pulled out a chair and plopped down. The bruises on both her hands and face had somewhat faded from the time she’d spent with Hoseok. They weren’t completely gone though, seeing as how the meeting had been rushed to hell and back.

“My first and only fight was way back in the ninth grade. And that was only because those assholes were beating on Miles because of his sexuality. So don’t worry, I haven’t been getting into trouble.”

“Uh huh.” Her grandmother eyed her over her teacup. “I believe you.”

“Not with that sarcastic tone, you don’t.” Eunjae snorted and leaned back into her chair. Fingers tapping on the table, she sobered. “I met my soulmate, ‘lita.”

Her grandmother raised an eyebrow in surprise and her brown eyes stared at the bruises on Eunjae’s face intently. “Then why do you look like someone just ran over your foot with their bike?”

“That was a very specific analogy.” Eunjae’s lips twitched in amusement. “Has that happened to you before?”

“You’re deflecting. Try again.”

Letting out a sigh, Eunjae hesitantly chewed on her bottom lip. “Well, he’s a celebrity for one thing.”

“That sounds horrible.” And people wondered where Eunjae got her sarcasm from.

“That’s not the part that’s bothering me.” She admitted, pulling down the sleeves of her white shirt until they covered her hands. “He lives in South Korea.”

The clock hanging above the cabinet of useless china tick-ticked into the heated air.

Eunjae paused and rubbed at the clean table with her sweater paws before continuing, “He and his band are going on tour soon. Like a world tour. And I can’t...if I stay here it’ll be hard. It’s a 14 hour flight one way just to get to South Korea. The two of us would barely even get a day in between flying to make sure neither of us starves to death. The easy solution would be for me to move there, I know. But I don’t...I don’t want to leave, ‘lita.”

Biting back tears, Eunjae took a deep, shaking breath. Her voice came out in a quiet whisper. “Everything I have is here.”

The teacup was set down on the table as her grandmother sat up a little straighter in her chair. Her hands folded themselves on the table and she pursed her full lips in thought as they sat in silence for a moment. “I never wanted to move to America. Did you know that?”

Eunjae shook her head. Her grandmother wasn’t originally from America, she’d lived in Colombia just like the rest of her mother’s side of the family before she was born.

“I wanted to stay in Colombia where I knew everyone. Where everything was familiar. I never even had thoughts of moving to America until I met your grandfather.”

Her grandmother paused to take a sip of her rapidly cooling tea. “We met when I was only seventeen and we fell in love shortly after. He was always an adventurous man, my Emiliano. Never liked to stay in one place for too long. He’d dreamed of moving to America long before we met and long after.

“We were together for three years when he told me that he wanted to leave Colombia and asked me to go with him. I didn’t know what to do for the longest time. He was the love of my life, but the love I had for where I came from competed with that.”

Fingers twisting the wedding band she still wore on her finger, Eunjae’s grandmother continued. “It took him almost a year to convince me, that man was so stubborn. But in the end I chose him over what was familiar. So, we sold what we could for money and packed up what was left over. I’d said goodbye to my friends and my family and the places that held all of my memories up until that point. We ended up settling down here in the city and we got married and had your mother. And do you know what I regret the most? What I still regret to this day, even long after your grandfather has passed?”

Eunjae shook her head slowly, enraptured with her grandmother’s story. She’d been told things about her grandfather before, though she’d never met him. This story however, was new to her. The older woman reached out a hand to cup Eunjae’s chin, fingers gently brushing against her faded bruises.

“That I didn’t leave sooner. That I wasted all of that time holding on to what I knew because I was too afraid to let go of what was familiar.”

The woman released Eunjae’s chin with a small, wistful smile. “Live your life without regrets. If you spend too much time looking back, you’ll never experience the life waiting right in front of you.”

Her words washed over Eunjae and she closed her eyes against the silent answer to her questions lingering in the air. “So you think I should—”

“Go. Yes.” Her grandmother patted her hand twice before sitting back with a huff. “Go and see what’s out there. Live your life. I may not have had a soulmate in the literal sense, but I knew your grandfather was mine from the moment we met eyes. Now you have yours. Whether you fall in love as friends, or as something deeper, know that you won’t have to experience it alone.”

“Okay...okay.” Eunjae’s head nodded before she realized it. Her grandmother was right and she knew it. Eyes opening with newly renewed vigor, she met the answer lingering in the air straight on. “I’ll go. No regrets.”

“Good.” The woman sniffed before leaning across the table once more to grab Eunjae’s bruised hands. “Now show me a picture of him. Does he look anything like Brad Pitt?”

Two hours later, Eunjae found herself sitting on the bed in her room. She didn’t spend a whole lot of time there; she practically lived at Miles’ apartment to be closer to school. The walls, painted a light, sky blue, were littered with old pictures and ripped off covers of style magazines. Sometime over the course of her life, she’d painted the walls with puffy white clouds. Lines from where Miles had scribbled sketches in chalk filled the empty spaces in between. ("You’re not touching my room with paint. You can’t even draw stick people. Here, use chalk instead, that way I can at least erase it when it turns out ugly.")

Eunjae hadn’t erased them though. The giant “M” shapes were still scattered across the walls in a multicolor rainbow of incoherent lines. It brought a smile to her face and she slid out her phone to take a picture to remember it. Her fingers paused, however, when she noticed that she missed a text from Hoseok almost an hour ago.

Unlocking her phone, she pulled up the short text conversation. She’d responded to the one text he sent her right before leaving her alone in that small, stuffy meeting room the day previous. The fact that he was just now responding must have meant that he’d been too busy to message her back after landing in Chicago yesterday.

Eunjae had gone on a whim when she’d responded earlier by using just emoji’s. She hadn’t been sure if he’d understand what she was trying to say, but figured that it would be easier than trying to decipher her words in English. A laugh slipped from her lips at his response. Apparently he’d understood and was playing along. Her fingers slid across the screen as she searched deep in the emoji section for a response.

A squeak left her lips in surprise when the speech bubble signifying that he was typing popped up. She hadn’t expected to get a response so quickly. The swoosh of an incoming text alerted her to a new message. Not like she wasn’t already staring at the screen in anticipation. The thought of texting Jung Hoseok, her soulmate, sent excitement through her veins. Even though they barely knew each other, she held out hope that they could at least become good friends.

Eunjae fell back into her bed, silver hair splayed out in an undignified mess. If they couldn’t communicate like normal human beings, at least they could talk to each other in the universal language of emojis. The thought made Eunjae snort into her pillow in amusement.

“Wow it’s so empty in here. I don’t think I’ve ever fully seen your floor before.”

Twisting from her spot standing in the middle of her empty bedroom, Eunjae glared at the blond man leaning against the door frame. His green eyes were taking in the space almost wistfully. He’d been doing a good job lately at trying to hide his emotions, but Eunjae could see straight through him. She let him be though, not wanting to traverse the minefield just yet.

“Like fifty percent of the shit in my room was yours, so you can’t even talk.” She turned back and eyed the boxes stacked against the foot of her bed with her hands on her hips.

It’d been about three weeks since that talk with her grandmother on that one chilly, winter morning. While the weather stayed the same, many things in Eunjae’s life did not. She’d called up Sejin later that day to tell him her decision. The man had sighed into the phone like a giant weight had been lifted from his shoulders and thanked her for making the choice to move to Seoul.

They’d switched to FaceTime less than halfway through the lengthy phone call so that they could discuss all the details of her upcoming move. Sejin explained to her that it would be best to try and get the ball rolling as soon as possible. Big Hit would move forward with renting the available apartment in Bangtan’s building. He informed her that it would be easier if she started to ship her belongings once the lease was signed so that she could be as comfortable as possible when she arrived.

Most of her things were already there except for the few boxes still left in her room. Eunjae hadn’t been planning on leaving so soon, but plans had been changed quickly when the bagel she bit into one morning left the taste of garbage in its wake. She’d read up on the first signs of First Touch, and unfortunately the only way to know when your body was beginning to reject food was by taste.

Eunjae could still stomach food--throwing up being the next warning sign--but it tasted horrendous. It wouldn’t be long now until her body rejected food all together and she needed Hoseok’s touch to survive. Which was why her moving date had been pushed up. There was no being able to predict when it would begin, so it was best for her to leave now before she ended up starving to death. Which, in turn, would cause Hoseok to suffer the same fate.

He’d been starting to experience the same things apparently. At least that was what she was able to decipher through the game of pictogram they played through text. When he’d been informed that she was coming earlier than anticipated, the man had sent her a long string of confetti and sun emojis. What that was supposed to mean, she didn’t know. But Eunjae could garner a guess.

The two of them didn’t talk a whole lot. With his busy schedule and the time difference between them, they were only able to send off a few texts every few days. They still didn’t know very much about each other, but that was a given since they couldn’t even converse with actual words. Eunjae had brushed up on a few Korean phrases when she had the time between trying to sponge up as much information from her classes as she could. She ultimately had to drop out of NYU, but they’d been extremely understanding of the reason. Not that she’d told them who her soulmate was, of course. She didn’t want to die at the hands of ARMY, thank you very much.

“You promise to ship this off as soon as possible?” Eunjae spun back around to purse her lips at her best friend. “This is all of my wardrobe for summer and fall, so if you forget, I’ll fly back and murder you. I can’t be walking around Seoul in last season’s clothes.”

Snorting, Miles rolled his eyes. “You know, for a broke bitch you’re really high maintenance.”

Eunjae let out a noise of annoyance and punched him in the shoulder hard enough for him to let out a yelp. Turning her nose up at him, she quipped, “it would be a shame to fashion designers everywhere to wear outdated clothes. Besides, you know this broke bitch makes her own stuff. And if you want me to continue to make some for you, you’ll do what’s best for you and hush.”

Miles snorted and threw an arm around her shoulders. “Relax shorty, you know I’ll ship it off. Can’t have you hanging around beautiful Bangtan with an ‘outdated wardrobe.’”

“Whatever.” Eunjae jabbed a finger into his ribs. With a glance down at the time on her phone, she sighed. “We gotta get going. I have a flight to catch and all that jazz. And you and I both know that the lines for bag check at JFK are going to be longer than my life expectancy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Can’t have you throwing down with some innocent old lady for holding up the bag check line.”

“For the last time, Miles.” Eunjae ducked out from under his arm to grab the straps of her small, red backpack. “I did not throw down with an old lady . All I did was politely tell her that it was her turn.”

Miles shooed her hand away when she grabbed for the handle of her rolling suitcase. “Tell that to her. Pretty sure she almost had a heart attack.”

“I literally cannot stand you.”

“Better sit down then.”

The ride to the airport was too short. Eunjae had spent the time pressed up against Miles’ side in the too expensive cab that he insisted he splurge on. She’d already said goodbye to her grandmother who’d ushered her out the door with a hug and a promise that she could fend for herself.

Like predicted, the line for bag check in JFK had been ridiculously long. Big Hit had set her up with a flight in the morning so that she would arrive in Seoul by nightfall. Sejin had explained to her that it would be easier to be discreet at night, since it would be way less likely for a fan to spot him picking her up from the airport.

Silence pressed down on both Eunjae and Miles as they stood in line. He had tried to lighten the mood during the ride over, but started to flag halfway there before falling into silence all together once they arrived. Eunjae had been doing her best to repress the thoughts racing through her mind a mile a minute, instead trying to focus on what was going on around her.

It wasn’t until they reached the point of no return that Eunjae turned to her best friend, passport and ticket in hand. Standing off to the side by security, she took a deep breath Eunjae wasn’t much of a crier. The events of the past few weeks was the most tears she shed in a long time.

“Whelp,” she began, trying to bite down on her quivering bottom lip. “This is me.”

“This is you.” Miles’ voice came out just as quiet as hers. Like Eunjae, he preferred to wear his smiles like a mask. “You better call me when you land. I don’t care what time it is.”

“I will.” Eunjae promised through the tears welling in her eyes. Her soft voice broke and she pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes to stop the salty water from spilling over. “I promise.”

“Don’t.” He looked up, staring hard at the light above their heads. His mask was starting to crack. People passed them by, rolling suitcases as they traveled to their own destinations. “Don’t.”

“I’m sorry.” And she was. Not just for the tears, and he understood.

“Don’t apologize either.” Miles finally looked down at her, his green eyes glistening. He let go of the suitcase by their feet and wrapped his arms around her shaking body. Eunjae clung to him, fingers clutching at his thick coat like a lifeline. He rested his chin on top of her head as he murmured, “go have fun and don’t be sad. You’re moving to a new country, your soulmate is an international superstar, and you’re going to get to go on tour. What’s there to be sad about?”

His words contrasted greatly with the tears rolling down his cheeks. Eunjae could feel them dampening her hair, but she couldn’t move away. Not yet.

“Go get that J-dick.”

A loud, shaky laugh left her lips at his statement and she finally pulled away to wipe at the tears she refused to acknowledge. Eunjae slapped his arm lightly with a sniff. “You’re a menace to society.”

“But you love me anyway.” He shrugged, using the sleeves of his bulky coat to wipe his face.

“I do.” She gave him a watery smile, dark eyes staring up at him earnestly.

“I love you too, shorty.” Miles hooked an arm around her neck to squeeze her to his chest one last time. “Have a safe flight. And say hello to those adonises for me.”

“‘No goodbyes,’” Eunjae pulled away, holding out a pinky as she quoted the small, fresh tattoo that pulled at the skin of her ribs. Huffing out a watery laugh, Miles hooked his larger pinky around hers and quoted the words from his matching one.

“‘Only seeya later.’”

Eunjae grabbed the handle of her small carryon suitcase and backed away slowly, not yet moving her eyes from his. Her hand lifted in a sad wave that he returned and, with one last parting, wavering smile, she turned around.

No regrets. The words matched the cadence of her fading footsteps.

#bts #bts soulmate au #bts fanfic #hoseok #hoseok fanfic

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atasteforsuicidal · 4 years

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five years ago today, i had my first shift at 10am at starbucks, the whole time during which my sister was in labour and i was eagerly awaiting news. then i had class that night at 6pm, and she was still in labour. i saw my beautiful, itty-bitty niece for the first time as i sat in one of utm’s lecture halls learning, ironically, about developmental psychology. i still remember getting utterly distracted looking at the first photos my mum sent me of my sister holding her.

it’s so fucking wild to me how time flies?

in that time, i’ve only been able to spend one halloween, one birthday, and two christmases with her, among a handful of non-holiday trips, including visiting for the birth of her little brother and two bereavement visits. last year was actually the most times i’ve visited home in a single year since violet was born, and it’s almost like the world knew what was coming, because with this pandemic, i can’t begin to guess the next time i’m going to see my family from back home. it will be a year come january, and lord knows we won’t be much closer to a solution by then, given that it’s barely two months away.

it will never stop making my heart ache to miss all those celebrations and milestones, not just for one little darling anymore, but for two, and video-chatting tonight to wish my mum and my niece both a happy birthday and hearing that little girl tell me she misses me and she’s sad that i can’t visit broke my heart. knowing that river is going to have no real memories of me from his younger years kills me - i saw him four time in his first year of life, and then that was it. i met him sooner than i met violet, but he won’t have the same kind of spread-out memories of me that she does. it kills me.

in that five years, i also lost two grandparents, and i watched from afar as my other grandmother and one of my uncles struggled against, and ultimately beat, cancer. i received the kind of messages you don’t ever want to receive - i had to call the ambulance for your father. your aunt had a stroke. someone had a miscarriage. your cousin’s wedding is off. your grandmother is in the hospital. your grandmother is gone. your grandfather is gone, too. your other grandmother had a bad fall. now she’s had a stroke.

but there were good calls, too. ever since the 911 incident, your dad hasn’t needed insulin anymore, it’s like something reset in him. your sister’s pregnant again. your cousin is pregnant. that cousin is also engaged again. and there were good visits, too! my parents visiting for my graduation from university. a different cousin’s wedding. river’s birth. a christmas where everyone came home for the first time in years and years and years. a birthday visit from my mum.

i actually graduated from university with an hba after taking two years off in the middle of the degree. i sat on my ass and did nothing with that degree, hemming and hawing over going for a masters. i had a few really wonderful visits with some important friends. i got closer to my cousin kat, and i met morgan. i made some new friends at a regular gaming event thanks to some co-workers. i discovered some new things about myself. i learned to explore my own intimacy. i got active in fandom life again and made some new online friends. i started seeing a therapist. i went back to school and have been absolutely killing it. i started writing again. i actually spoke to one (1) whole person on a dating app. for the first time in my life, i have savings (ignoring the fact that i still have student loans, too). i have really good credit, after struggling on-and-off with debt for years.

but i also broke my own heart - badly. i lost touch with a lot of people who still mean so much to me, and i broke a really important promise to one of those people in doing so. guilt eats at me every day for it. my social anxiety grew worse than it ever was before, and i closed myself off. a mix of social anxiety and a change in location had me not really seeing those games night friends anymore. i forgot how to do anything but keep people at an arm’s length. forgot how to trust, how to let people in. more than ever before, i am a listener and not a talker. it took me days to tell my roommates about my grandmother’s stroke. hell, kat knew my other grandmother had died because her parents called her and told her so she’d come pick me up at work, but when my grandfather passed, i don’t think i said a word to my roommates until i already had my flight booked. i started college in the hopes of meeting people and a global-fucking-pandemic pushed my classes online, secluded me more than ever. i continue to be atrocious at keeping in touch with people online, too, and thus continue to estrange myself from my family and friends, and being unable to visit makes it even worse. discounting kat and her parents and brother, i saw family for the first time in a year this month. that’s. that’s unheard of, in my family. it’s just not done.

and throughout all of that, i’ve had so many ups and downs at work, too. i’ve worked at three different stores in these five years; worked under nine different store managers, two interim store managers, and five different district managers; and, in a few months, it’s going to be coming to an end. i’d be lying if i didn’t say that i’ll be a bit sad, but, more than anything else, it’s going to be a huge weight off my shoulders, and i’m so looking forward to my departure. it’s too social a job. literally being told to talk to customers makes me want to run into traffic, that’s how bad my anxiety has gotten. these last two or so years, making “customer connections” has felt like pulling teeth because opening my damn mouth to make words come out feels like it’s going to kill me. that’s. that’s so fucked up. i spend more time at work thinking about creative ways to kill myself than i do about actually enjoying my job. it’s a shame, it really is. i work for a surprisingly good employer - not a perfect one by any means, but a good one. i used to love the job. now it makes me miserable, and it’s only partly because of the micromanaging.

seeing hundreds of faces a day is exhausting. and then coming home to people who are significantly more social than myself... it’s draining. i feel like i’m being crushed under the weight of it sometimes. i’m under no illusions that the career path i’m aiming for now will still require socialization, but it’s not going to be at that same level. it’s a job that will drive empathy and give you the chance to actually connect with clients you see and correspond with regularly rather than customers who get lost in an endless sea of people day in and day out. i’m ready for that change, i really am.

it’s been a long five years, and it’s been draining, and exhausting, and discouraging in a lot of ways, but it’s had some really rewarding times, too. it’s hard not to look back at the start of those five years and wonder what the fuck happened that i’m still where i’m at now, but the important thing to remember is that i’ve already started the process of getting out of this slump. my motivation comes and goes, and i seem to be dipping into another slump again, but that always happens as winter approaches; i’m used to it now. it’s important to acknowledge where you’ve been and what you’ve gone through, but i just need to keep telling myself to keep my gaze ahead of me and continue moving forward.

so, yeah. ramble-rant-thing over, i guess.

here’s to five more, or whatever. may i have a lot more successes to bring forward at that point.

#this was supposed to be a short little wow time flies post #instead i decided to dump my emotions everywhere holy shit i'm so sorry #uhhh cw for talk of death and illness and depression among other topics #oh and i guess for mentions of suicidal ideation #maybe i can find something in here to talk to vivian about later this week

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melanieratford · 4 years

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Bloody Mary

@retailhell, @retail-hell, @retail-retales, @fuck-customers, @retail-problems, @retail-truestory, Ya’ll will find this very interesting.

Backstory: I work as a courtesy clerk/cart pusher at a local grocery store. My emotions have been shot for over a month because on December 28th, my mother was admitted into a hospital in my aunt’s city with respiratory failure and since then, my aunt and I have taken over my family’s finances. As of 01/25, my stress levels have been so high that my immune system is down and my body is now trying to catch a cold. Not to mention how I have blood sugar issues (they haven’t been confirmed by a doctor, but I know I have them.)... Basically, when my blood sugar drops too low, I faint, vomit, or both. I can usually feel this coming on, so usually, I go to my backpack and scarf down a snack. My store also has a laundry counter so people can pick up and drop off their dry cleaning.

Now to the hell...

About a year ago, a cashier named Mary was given the position of Store Trainer. As a cashier, she was sweetness and light, but since her promotion, it’s easy to tell that the “power” has gone to her head.

Over the past year, she has begun to nitpick EVERYTHING. She especially enjoys doing this with me. And I mean EVERYTHING. She has told me that I’m not allowed to wear a green jacket (despite the fact that the only jacket colors I’ve ever worn during her time at my store have been black and white. And I stopped wearing the white jacket when the Store Director said I couldn’t wear it anymore). She has told me that I’m not allowed to wear my Slytherin hat and scarf, and gave me a dirty look when I got permission from the Store Director to wear them (my customers love them, btw). She’s yelled at me in front of customers about how I sack groceries wrong (despite the fact that I’ve been at this job nearly 4 years). You name it, she’s yelled at me about it.

Now, when mom was admitted to the hospital, I thought she had gotten a cold and let it turn into Bronchitis, or Pneumonia... She was admitted on Saturday... It was Sunday night that I was told that her lungs were approximately 50% failed and the doctors were working their asses off to save her. I had work the next day.

I go to work completely distraught. So, I begin looking for the “higher ups” so that I can notify them of the situation and explain that my emotions are shot because of it. I see Mary and a cashier first. The cashier is awestruck and she runs off to find the Store Director so she can tell him that he needs to talk to me asap. Mary yells at me “I’M NOT YOUR BOSS. Find Mr. C (the Store Director) and tell him!”. I eventually get around to telling all of the managers what was up. Mr. C. and the office manager tell me to let them know if I need to leave early, and thank me for notifying them of the situation.

The cashiers all end up getting wind of why I was upset. At one point, it was dead, so I was explaining to 2 cashiers that I’m not going to give the hospital the D.N.R (Do Not Resuscitate) unless mom is a vegetable and can’t be saved. Mary walks up and tells me that I need to give the hospital the D.N.R and to prepare to let my mother go (die)...

Needless to say, what Mary said about my mother has kept me in a constant state of pissed off towards her for a month... And my family is so angry that my grandmother has talked about seeing if we have grounds to sue her... Not to mention how all my friends are pissed off at Mary.

Then Friday (01/24) happens.

So, my stress is firing on all cylinders. Mom has bounced back so well that the hospital is preparing to send her to a rehab facility for physical therapy, but my aunt and I are still trying to make sure the finances are taken care of. This particular day, I had an important, financial, family, meeting to attend to after work. I was supposed to work from 7 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. Mr. C is on vacation, Stan (the manager in the store at the time) is in the back dealing with a truck, and the office manager had to leave early to care for her husband and children (who all have the flu).... Leaving Mary with free reign over the front end.

Now, I don’t know if I’ve told ya’ll about Paula (a religious nutter/preacher’s wife) and Dwayne (a very bitchy, extremely demanding, mentally handicapped man (seriously, this guy is an asshole)). But, Paula was the primary cashier I was dealing with, and Dwayne is usually the second courtesy clerk to come in (after me). These 2 are key players on this day.

Mary starts in on me. I was refilling the spray bottles with cleaning solution for the cashiers, I got told there was someone at the laundry counter, and I decide that I’m gonna kill 2 birds with 1 stone by bringing the bottles to the counter so that I don’t have to go back for them. Too late, Mary is taking care of the customer. A couple of minutes later, while I’m with a customer, she gives me the death glare and yells “YOU KNOW YOU HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF THAT TOO!”. I raise my hands and say “Hands up! Don’t shoot!” and my customer asks what Mary’s deal is.

My emotions flare and I accidentally lose my tact while I was with a couple of customers. I meant no malice towards the customers, I was simply really stressed and upset.

Dwayne clocks in, and we have no customers, so I go to the Laundry Counter and begin doing book work. At 9:45, Mary pops up and orders me to go to break, and yells at me to be nicer to the customers when I get back. I tried to explain myself, and say that I meant no harm when she cuts me off by yelling “YES YOU DID!”. Keep in mind, a 7 to 1:30 shift means that I shouldn’t have gotten a break until around 10:30 (the halfway point of the shift). As I walked off, I muttered “My animosity isn’t towards the customers, It’s towards you.”.

I come back and in an effort to keep Mary from yelling at me, I just refrain from talking. I keep my responses to my customers’ small talk extremely short...

However, that doesn’t work.

Throughout the time, my blood sugar begins to dip. Mary is circling the front end like a vulture, so I was afraid to get the chocolate to boost it and keep it from bottoming out... Only when my body said “If you don’t help me, you will suffer!” did I sneak away to scarf down some chocolate. This happens at least 3 times. Luckily, Stan was up front and Mary was elsewhere when I had to sneak away. At one point, I felt my phone vibrate. Now, usually, I walk off and check my phone... Because it could be my aunt, my grandmother, or the hospital, calling me to tell me that something has happened with my mother (who is working on her breathing and getting dialysis) or my grandfather (who has recently spent time in a hospital and a rehab facility). With Mary circling the front end, I was afraid to check it, which made me worry even more that something could be wrong.

Then 1 o-clock happens. Dwayne is told to go to lunch, and I have told him “I need you to get back on time, because they’re not gonna let me leave until I get back. And I can’t stay late because of an important, financial, family, meeting.”. Dwayne is the type of guy who clocks out, buys his lunch, then takes 30 minutes from the time he buys his lunch to come back... Despite the fact that he’s supposed to come back 30 minutes from the time he clocks out. It was 1:13 when he bought his lunch.

2 other courtesy clerks have clocked in since Dwayne has gone to lunch, meaning there are 3 of us running the front end. Everyone knows that I can’t stay late.

1:30 arrives, no Dwayne. Mary yells at me to fill the drinks. 1:45 arrives, Mary and Paula are riding my ass, while I begin to panic about being late for my meeting. 1:50 arrives, I run to the back, find Dwayne and beg him “PLEASE! Please clock back in so I can leave! I have an important family meeting to get to!”, to which he responds by yelling at me “YOU DON’T HAVE A MEETING! YOU JUST DON’T WANNA WORK!”. 1:55 arrives, Dwayne FINALLY clocks in, I clock out and bolt to where my backpack is.

As I take out my phone, discover it was my grandmother who called me, and begin taking my earbuds out so I can talk on the phone hands free while I drive, Mary corners me and screams “YOU’RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WITH A FAMILY TO WORRY ABOUT!” several times, ending the rant with “I’M SICK OF YOU!”.

Keep in mind, Murph (another manager) has clocked in, and neither him, nor Stan are in the area during the times that Mary yells and screams at me. She NEVER takes me into the office with a manager and lays out the problems... Instead, she aims to publicly humiliate me.

My fight or flight reflex is firing at maximum capacity at this point. Hell, by the time I clocked out, my desire to leave has shifted from worrying about the meeting to wanting to get away from Mary. My brain is telling me to stand up, fight and tell her off. My body is telling me “Get the fuck out of here and away from her!”. I listened to my body.

As I leave the building, I say “Mary P, more like Bloody Mary.”.

I got my grandmother on the phone while I was in the parking lot walking to my truck. She called to say that my neighbor took her to the meeting earlier in the day and that it was dealt with. As soon as she stops talking, I burst into tears. I was BAWLING. I went ahead and drove to my favorite coffee shop, because I really needed a boost.

I get to the coffee shop, end the phone call with my grandmother, and order my drink. It’s easy to tell that I’ve been crying my eyes out. After I order, Jennifer and John (the people who run the shop), ask me what’s up. As John begins making my drink, I begin explaining what had happened. I tried to pay, but Jennifer stuffed my money back in my hand saying “This one’s on me.”. John hands me my drink and Jennifer sits me down on a couch and listens to my woes. She then tells me that I need to report Mary to H.R. and that Mary was severely out of line. She also states that, because I came into the shop in tears, she and John both thought that something had happened to my mom. I love this shop so much that I frequent it enough that I tell Jennifer, Bridget and John about my family and friends (especially considering my friends like this shop as well). One of my friends (who happens to work in the Deli at my work) is in the shop, and as soon as Jennifer stands up from the couch, he sits down and asks me what’s up. I explain what had happened and he was awestruck, but not entirely surprised...

Apparently, Mary likes going into the departments and screaming at them as well. So, there are department members, cashiers, and courtesy clerks who all call her “Bloody Mary”.

I sent a very detailed report to H.R. on Saturday morning... My friends, family, and I are all hoping Mary gets fired. As it is, I’m afraid to go to work this week, because, if she’s there, that bright, neon, flashing, target will be back on my back.

#retail hell #retail #retail worker #Retail problems #retail employee

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averygim · 5 years

Text

hello all. you can call me cal or jeepers, which is my discord name and i think is funny tbh, but i mostly go by cal. my pronouns are they/them and ‘m in the est timezone. i’m a bit late to the game but i’m still v excited to introduce my child avery to ya’ll. below is a whole mass of text that’ll help you get to know this mess of a child. uwu it’s easiest to reach me on discord at jeepers creepers #5103, but i also try and respond as quick as i can to tumblr ims so it’s really whatever you prefer !!

basics

name: avery gim job: baker at peau d’amour age: twenty-five gender: cismale pronouns: he/him sexuality: grey-asexual / panromantic birthday: february 6th zodiac: aquarius personality type: advocate | infj pinterest board: HERE

aesthetic

the haunting sound of a piano in a memory you can’t quite reach

a warm summer night spent watching fireflies dance among the trees

a bite of a fresh peach that leaves your mouth sticky and sweet

theme song: the 7th sense by nct u

hatred that will not go away and dreams that torture me the clock laughs at me, it does not give a single error i’m a mess, I don’t even know myself, my future is colored darkly i’m struggling, coloring this night even blacker in the irregularity that’s hard to understand there’s a story that’s deeply hidden eyes are being opened through this song your dreams are being read it’s being awakened from a deep sleep my seventh sense

positive & negative

affable ( adj ) : friendly, good-natured, or easy to talk to.

languid ( adj ) : (of a person, manner, or gesture) displaying or having a disinclination for physical exertion or effort; slow and relaxed.

versatile ( adj ) : able to adapt or be adapted to many different functions or activities.

candid ( adj ) : truthful and straightforward; frank.

then

it begins when he’s four years old - this obsession in him. his parents couldn’t have expected that sending their son to piano lessons we enact such a wild passion in their small, quiet boy. it was hard to pick out at first. often, they would pick their child up from his lesson to find his small chubby cheeks stained with tears. his parents assumed he was simply being stubborn about learning the instrument. they would see the kids dragged to the lessons bemoaning their distaste to it to their parents and would tell each other “our boy is simply quiet with his dislike for it. he has never been a talker.” and would keep taking him week after week. the piano teacher couldn’t enlighten them to what was going through their child’s mind in terms of why he seemed to work himself up into such a state. she explained to them that he seemed attentive whenever she would teach him and it was only until he started to practice on his own that the tears would begin. neither parties could get a word out of the child though he often seemed to calm fairly quickly post lesson, spending the car ride home pressing his small fingers into his thighs as though there was an invisible piano etched into his skin. at one point, his parents seemed to give in a bit to their uncertainty of how their child was doing, offering to take him out of the lessons. the aggressive shake of the four years old’s head and high squeaky voice insisting “ no, no !! “ was quite the surprise. it wasn’t until a year later, when he began to find his voice that he admitted to his piano teacher that he just loved piano so much, he couldn’t stop himself from crying whenever he got to play. the teacher passed this along to the parents with much amusement and relief.

the passion the young boy had for the instrument didn’t falter over the years, even as his peers turned to other extracurriculars and sports rather than the piano. his parents opted to get him a keyboard to set up in his room on his seventh birthday, still wary about how long he would remain content with the lessons. they had never enjoyed the instrument with such conviction when they were forced to take lessons growing up. it was, at least, comforting to know that their quiet child still enjoyed spending time doing kid things, such as playing outside, playing pretend and colouring. he even showed an interest in baking, which he often did with his grandmother, much to the disbelief of his father. still, he was a good child and despite the wariness his father had of allowing him to indulge in his more feminine hobbies ( he was very much stuck in the throws of toxic masculinity ), his mother and grandparents supported him fully in whatever he wanted to do. so during the week, he would go to his piano lessons and play with the neighbourhood kids outside. then, on the weekends, he would spend time with his mother’s parents, often baking some sort of treat with his grandmother and listening to his grandfather tell tall tales of his own childhood.

as he got older, his skill in piano progressed more and more. between his lessons and the studious way he practiced, he ended up participating in a variation of different concerts. by the time he reached his early teens, he was playing with the adult orchestra with nine years of lessons and experience under his belt. it was an astounding thing- to hear him play. it was as if this lazy, beautiful human was gifted with talent from the gods, but he wasn’t. he worked for his ability. countless hours pressing fingers into plastic keys. perhaps that is why, for his sixteenth birthday, his grandparents and parents pulled together the money to buy him a grand piano. it was then, upon walking into the home to find the piano gracing the room that used to be the den of their house, that he discovered he hadn’t quite outgrown his habit of crying when overwhelmed with emotion.

between creating compositions, practicing, baking with his grandma, and the hell that was high school, he didn’t have much time for anything else. he didn’t mind. he was content with his work, both with the piano and at school. he had a tendency to overwork himself within the confines of his piano room and bedroom between the two. this led to him developing a bad reputation of being a lazy and privileged individual who got away with sleeping in class. his peers saw him as someone favoured by teachers, when in truth it was simply because he’d had multiple discussions previously with them about being awake in class. many of them had agreed to let it slide so long as his grades were maintained. it was a necessary thing to seek as if his parents found out they would no doubt put restrictions on how he was working.

despite the peer isolation, which later led to a fair amount of social awkwardness on his part, he seemed to get along great with those he went up against in competitions. perhaps it was their shared love or enjoyment of the instrument. regardless, he created a group of friends outside of the school scene and, despite many of them being older than him, he was respected and treated much better than others his age treated him.

the summer post high school graduation saw him doing something no one could have predicted ( aside from his grandfather who swears up and down that he saw this coming since he was seven years old ). he set out on a tour of major cities, performing alone on a stage with simply a piano, a mask, and a single spotlight. see, in the latter years of his teens, he really blew up thanks to the internet. he became known under a moniker the he’d used on his youtube channel, which he would post videos of his personal compositions and covers of songs on. it led to some artists and producers reaching out collaborate, which, in turn, increased his popularity.

( car accident tw ) life was good for five years. he got to do what he loved and loved what he did. of course, all good things must come to an end, even if that good thing felt like it is your entire life. at twenty three, the now grown quiet boy got into a car accident. a drunk driver hit the car his mother was driving with him in the passenger seat. his mother survived with a few bruised ribs and a broken arm while he came out of it with severe head trauma. head trauma that, out of all things, resulted in hearing loss. the cochlea and hearing nerves in his inner ears were damaged to the point that it sounded like a hush fell over the world. it was a difficult reality to swallow.

( depression tw ) it was a loss like no other. he could no longer hear his piano. he could no longer get lost in the world his music created. depression hit him heavy and hard, dragging him under in a suffocating hold. seventeen years. he’d been playing piano for seventeen years and now that ability was severely disabled. he withdrew, cutting ties with almost all of his friends who were apart of the music world. his parents didn’t know what to do with their quiet child who seemed to become deathly silent after the accident. the whole family had signed up in solidarity to learn asl alongside him. the only ones who seemed to muster out any sort of reactions or responses from him were his grandparents who struggled to learn the new way of communicating. he tried hearing aids in addition, however, the damaged required a more intensive solution. cochlear implants. he refused despite the struggle he still faced with the hearing aids. his family tried to get him to go through with the surgery, however he was an adult and it was his decision to make. so he continued to allow himself to waste away in the distorted world around him. his father responded to his state with anger, while his mother grieved and worried over him from afar. his grandparents were around as much as they could be, reaching out with patient hands. it would take two years for him to reach back.

twenty-four and feeling stuck, exhausted, and just down right sick, the quiet boy finally inched out of the shell the accident had left him in. it starts with therapy, then medication, and ends with stepping into the kitchen with his grandmother again. his piano remained untouched, gathering dust in his home behind a locked door. no one brought it up, not yet, and instead slow steps were eventually taken. he spoke for the first time post asl and hearing aids to his mother. his voice raspy and barely there from disuse. he couldn’t hear himself, but his mother had burst into tears as his grandparents smiled at each other with watery eyes. it was progress. slow progress, but they were glad that he was finally taking steps forward.

it was five months after his twenty-fourth birthday that he decided to undergo the cochlear implant surgery. he held no hope for what he’d be able to do with the upgrade. he didn’t allow himself to think of the abandoned piano or the possibility of getting back into music. no, instead, he simply kept his eyes forward as though the past no longer existed. instead, he spent his time baking with his grandmother, helping with the small business she’d started when he was in middle school. the surgery was a success, but the quiet man did not cry when he was finally able to hear with more clarity. there were no tears of overwhelming happiness, instead he’d simply smiled at his mother when she asked if he could hear her and said yes.

it took him six months to decide he needed to move. despite his family still living in the area he grew up in, he needed to get away. he wanted out of the city and eventually settled on moving to beauhart, a place suggested by one of the few friends he kept in touch with post-accident. the official transition happened three months ago where he moved out of the apartment he bought for himself at twenty and into his own home. it was a bit large for just himself and his mother worried that he would fall back into bad habits, but he loved the old styled place. it had a front porch and was painted a gentle yellow. the front was filled with a garden of flowers and bushes that wrapped around to the fence that encased the backyard. his father hated it, but his grandparents had approved when they first saw it, having travelled with his mother to help with the unpacking once everything had arrived. it held more warmth than his apartment had. perhaps it was because he was going to be living in it full time or the character / personality the house itself had. regardless, he felt settled for the first time in almost two years. no one mentioned the grand piano that had been placed in the third bedroom of the house.

three months post move found him working at the local bakery. the early mornings were tough, but the consistency was enjoyable for him. it helped, significantly, with his mental health. he promised his mother to call at least twice a week and his grandmother almost every other day to gossip. despite his awkwardness with social cues and languid nature, he managed to make connections with other residents. things seemed to be looking up, though there still remained that empty part of him and a door unopened.

extras

he is, for all intents and purposes, socially an idiot. he can’t pick up verbal cues up very well and often chooses to ignore them even if they are glaringly obvious. some kind find this incredibly annoying or be endeared by it. usually it’s the former, though avery has never minded. he has no desire to be liked by everyone and is more than happy to continue going by the beat of his own drum.

definitely often produces the wrong first impressions, especially with his looks. he takes care of himself, has been instilled with the habit, especially after how rough his twenty-third and fourth year was. so it’s not often he goes out looking like the drowned rat he enjoys being at home. it’s part of his routine that has helped him stay on track mentally.

definitely a momma’s boy, but would literally do anything for his grandparents. he is planning on having them visiting him as soon as he manages to get his guest room furnished and decorated.

if he wants to avoid something, he ignores it. it’s a terrible coping habit that manifests in small instances and larger situations. it’s very childish in many ways, but his therapist has yet to be able to break him out of it.

is looking into adopting an animal, but is torn between what sort of animal. he has been looking at the humane society, but has yet been able to decide.

he is very indecisive about the smallest of things, but somehow manages to be able to make the bigger and more important decisions ???

has a very weird and varied taste in music.

learned korean from his grandparents when he was younger but primarily speaks english or asl.

often moves around his house without his hearing aids and keeps things quiet. a book nerd post accident. his favourite thing to do is spend the day on his porch swing reading.

he has been thinking of taking online business courses to learn more about running/owning his own business. he hasn’t mentioned it to anyone, not is planning to, but when he thinks about the future he’s wondering if owning his own bakery could be a possible option.

honestly a sleepy boy even though he has a perfectly reasonable sleep schedule ???

doesn’t know how to flirt. doesn’t even know how to hold a conversation with someone he has a crush on. is very awkward with them.

likes to try and make wacky things (baking wise) when bored then try and make you try it without any forewarning.

is actually pretty good at making elaborate cakes and frosting designs. does cake commissions on the side for birthdays, in fact.

gets lost really easily. its been three months and he still sometimes forgets where to turn when driving home.

will steal your pet if you leave him alone with them ( not literally ).

is terrible at texting and is the type of person to call you to have a conversation. this is mostly because he’s too lazy to text.

enjoys memes and quotes them sarcastically, sometimes when it’s definitely not appropriate.

has a habit of staring without meaning too. this could either be off into space or actually at someone. he doesn’t necessarily mean to do it. at times it’s a case of dissociation and others it’s simply him having no common sense and/or is blatant day dreaming.

will not ride as a passenger in a car. he’s been able to drive again post implants but the trauma of the accident has caused him a real fear of being someone else’s passenger.

sometimes, without him realizing it, he’ll mime playing the piano. the habit of pressing his fingers into invisible keys too engrained to erase. he attempts to avoid music a lot, especially classical. it’s somewhat impossible to do at work and outside of his home. at times, he gives in to his desire to try and hear it the way he used to and will blast the music until he can feel the base thrumming in his veins. it’s as detoxing as it is frustrating. as much as he can hear, it will never be like it used to be for him.

if you read all of this i applaud you. tell me your favourite colour, animal, and/or food and then we can plot C:<

#stories.intro

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overwhelmed-ravenclaw · 5 years

Text

Admitting Having PTSD

Admitting something like this is extremely hard for someone. For me, it was especially hard because of the fact of how my family is. They have toxic tendencies and the other side is majority toxic in general. So I am not precisely safe from them playing blame game if they even admit it to themselves that I do have PTSD. I hope this helps someone else who has to admit their family or to other people about PTSD. Also, I would like to point out that I didn’t tell my whole family (I won’t tell my whole family) and I will also like to say that others may have even more different reactions. It is something scary and no one knows what to precisely expect. I was trying to be trigger wary while writing this. TL;DR at the end I’ll have a line separating them. Everything I pre-typed for this is undercut. @ptsdconfessions

My family like most is complicated. It feels to me like mine is more so than a lot of others but I know that probably isn’t the truth. My mom left when I was young, which is important to this but not what this is about. I had accepted my mom left because she wasn’t happy in her marriage to my dad. She explained to me she didn’t know where she was going so she couldn’t take us with. She didn’t want to put us in any kind of danger by accident. For a 7-year-old, I understood she was trying to protect us and get out of a loveless relationship.

I have 4 older sisters, but one doesn’t play a role in this till years later, so I am going to skip her for the time being. (She was adopted after my mom left and around the time the PTSD started to form) My counselor and Therapist both had repeatedly suggested I explain more than “I have depression” to my family. They knew that I knew I had PTSD. The reason behind it varied to a bunch of things that most of which happened before I was 13 and there was nothing I could do about it. Some of the stuff that happened later in life adds onto that but I am going to stay vague to avoid triggers as much as I can. None of my PTSD had to do with my mother leaving, or at least very little did, because if she was there then a lot of it wouldn’t have happened.

So I first sat down with my sister and uncle who lived with me. I am going to call this uncle (huge family) U-D, the sister at hand is L. L’s reaction was “So you are mentally insane, that means you can get disability and quit your dream of whatever it is, I don’t know it doesn’t make sense.” My dream is to help children that dealt with same past like me and make sure they don’t end up as bad as I did, so I became a paraprofessional (Fancy word for special needs aide) The other part of my dream is to become a published author. Not through self-publishing but a big name company. I don’t care if my books don’t sell, I want to know that I have at least tried to be an author.

U-D stated that he doesn’t understand how I have PTSD because I was never in the army or warzone. Later on, he learned what happened to me when I was little, or at least small bits, from my sister B. Let just say after learning some information he had dropped that I couldn’t have PTSD and just went with it. L kept pushing me to do things that she knew would trigger me till finally not one but four councilors had all sat down and explained to her what she was doing, she kept it up. She saw that if she can keep triggering me then I will do what she wants to make her leave me alone. Then eventually I told my aunt AD and my Dad. Dad stated he could tell that I had PTSD because of the fact that he was a lousy dad. Which is partly true. If he would have done what should have when I was little then I wouldn’t have it this server. He isn’t fully at blame but he admitted he did things wrong and knows it. AD then learned a few of the things through dad and me. She was supportive and wanted me to seek deeper help. Which I did with her encouragement and her nudging me on the path of healing. Next person I told was my grandmother on my mother side. Up to this point, I have only talked to the family who is on my dad’s side and I can be face to face. My grandparents on my dad’s side passed away years ago and my grandfather on my mom’s side passed away while I was still a baby. So this grandmother was the only one I could talk to. Her reply to finding out made my stomach feel like I had eaten lava and nauseous. You know the feeling that you just did something bad and disgusting and you get after that? Well, that was my version of that feeling. I am getting it now, but I want to get this story out here.

My grandmother’s reaction which a lot of my PTSD does ties back to her in my childhood… was the simple saying “It is your mother’s fault. She left you at such an impressionable age. It caused you to have depression. If you would stop living in the past your doctor wouldn’t mistake it as PTSD. So start smiling more and live in the future!” Which I ended our conversation with a quick “My phone is dying, talk you later” then it took me 2 months to be able to call her again.

My Aunt who works at the hospital AB was next and AB snorted. “I have known that since you were twelve. You on medicine now for anxiety? What kind so I can check it against my copies of your old medical records.” Which was a huge Wait, what? So I told her my meds, she then told me to ask the doctor about lower doses because I don’t take medicine. I never liked to. Which the doctor agreed and gave me lower doses and the kind my aunt requested because, after a second look, the doctor stated that it would be better for me. I have nightmares that make me have insomnia. (Solution to that is lots of caffeine. Mainly coffee.)

My sisters B and M (adopted one I said I would skip for time being) both knew about me having PTSD but because my dad wouldn’t seek help for me when I was little there was nothing they could do until I was an adult. By then they thought I already sought help, but only did about 2 years ago. I haven’t told my eldest sister, because a huge chunk of it is because of her and her husband. I also haven’t explained properly to my mother because I don’t want to make her worry, she has PTSD too. I know I will have to eventually. That just left one uncle that I was extremely close to. AD’s husband. When I finally told him about it he dismissed it stating “Everyone has PTSD.” Which made me confused and I stated that. “Listen, you are perfectly normal. You are fine. Nothing is wrong with you. What they claim is PTSD is normal for everyone. Everyone has it. It is like breathing air, it comes naturally to us. You just have to ignore it and move on in life. Not take the medicine they give you and become a pill popper, man.” ((He’s an old school hippy)) He then started to use that tone that parents do when you have done something wrong when I tried to explain that it wasn’t sadness or depression that I have actual flashbacks and nightmares. That I have physical issues once triggered that too much happens at once to explain in dept. Which one he started to give me that look and down talking me saying basically what he said before. He stormed off and act liked I was an idiot. I was heartbroken because out of everyone, I figured he’d understand. He was drafted into a war when he was 17 so he should have understood, right? Talking to AD later, I explained what happened and I could see the emotions in her eyes seemed to scream in annoyance. Not at me, but at her husband. She then explained to me when she first met him in her teenage years, he was already married but they were filing for divorce, they became good friends since they worked together. She was a waitress, he was the cook. He then told her about how he has been forced to see a doctor who he thinks was coo-coo (her words) he had been diagnosed with PTSD from the war, though he was just a sailor who picked up injured soldiers and brought them home, and he was diagnosed Bipolar. He didn’t like how the medicine made him feel and react so he stopped taking them declaring that they were trying to make him into a pill popper, which she stated it took him months to stop having the withdrawals from the medicine. In the 80s before his daughter was born he tried again, and again he didn’t like how they made him feel and once stopped taking them the withdrawals were the worst thing he has ever encountered or at least that is what he told AD. So much like how older people in our small town area is still using racist words but not in a racist way, only because their mind is set to that programming that can’t be overridden, he is same way about medicine for “fake mental illnesses” and that was why he was so hard on me. He still is hard on me whenever someone brings up about when I need to take my medicine and he is around. It got to the point I have actually started to try to avoid him as much as I can. I hate that because I love spending time with him at his house, we do crafts together and bounce craft ideas off of each other. He used to come over to mow the lawn for me so I didn’t have to use the old push (not engine mower it is an actual push contraption with opened blades and you have to put your weight on it to make it cut the lawn) He does it with his actual mower that is run on gas. Now avoiding him, he started to avoid me too and I hate the feeling of loneliness I got. In my family, it is rare to hear someone to say sincerely “I love you” he did. No one else in my family besides, my mom, B, and M do that. Everyone else does it as if they rehearsed it and don’t mean it. Like it is something that they are supposed to say. Which when I hear it so sincerely from him or my mom or my two sisters that do that, it puts me in tears of happiness because my normally numbed emotionally body is filled with this comfortable warmth. Any bad thoughts or images that popped in my head or even the worst day imaginable, once I hear those words with someone being sincere, it is all out of my mind and I am too happy to care about anything else.

TL; DR // Summary

So each had a different type of reaction to me coming out.

L - Money, thinks she is going to get to control me because I can leave my job (I am not getting money because of PTSD)

UD - At first not understanding then he is. He makes sure I eat and when triggered he normally gives me chocolates and make sure I take my meds.

AD - Love, lots and lots of love. She buys me random stuff (including lunch while I am working at the school) and my favorite yet is when she baked me a freaking cake because I was annoyed at my sister trying to trigger me before I got to school that day.

Dad - Guilt and understanding.

Grandmother - Blaming everything and everyone else not even caring what was the true cause, when that didn’t work then stated I don’t have it just living in the past.

AB, B & M - They knew already and thus why they were always loving and supportive of me (besides B always states “You are my baby girl, of course, I love you” Then I normally get roped into really tight hugs that make all my bones pop.)

Hippy - Denile. Claims that PTSD isn’t real. Set in old time ways of thinking when really damaging to me but he doesn’t mean to be. He is trying to be helpful.

I’m leaving my mom out, I rather her think for now until I have to tell her, that I just have depression. It is easier on her mental health and I don’t want her to stress and worry about me.

#PTSD #anxeity #Councilors #Therapist #Family Reactions #PTSDconfessions #I hope this helps someone else that needs it

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