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brooklyn2006 · 3 years

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The cafe

MENTIONS OF ABUSE AND RAPE

After three failed serious relationships, love just seemed silly and meaningless. You were almost certain you’d never find true love. It was you that was the problem, the reason the relationships never worked out. You were too clingy, fell in love too fast, spoke too much and never did enough for your supposably other half. At least that was the last thing said in arguments before the men you loved walked out of your life. All those things were true and you had come to terms with it, taking it on board with every relationship you got into, but it still always ended and was still because of you. You decided to prioritize work over love after Hunter left, he broke it off because you’re ‘a lazy ass who doesn’t make any money and relies on the people you sleep with to pay the bills’. With a stable job and a good income, this was the one sentence you didn’t believe said about you, but it still made you work even harder. You had two jobs to keep you busy. A primary school teacher three days a week and a café manager, but inly worked on sight for two days.

-May 23rd 2019-

It was Thursday today which meant working at the café. You got there around 4:30AM to prepare all the sweets, but you didn’t officially open until 6AM. You were in the middle of making a cinnamon scroll when you heard the bells jingle at the front door indicating someone had walked in. You looked over your shoulder at the clock that read 5:17AM and sighed. You finished off putting the second round of scrolls in the oven and walked to the counter with the first freshly cooked ones. There was a tall man standing near the end of the café looking over some of the books, then picking one up and flipping through the pages after reading the blurb.

“Good morning sir, can I help you?” You asked softly, not to startle him.

“Oh sorry, good morning” He smiled turning around to face you, his pupils dilating at the sight of you standing there in your apron with icing sugar all over your face. “Um-“He starts but then cutting himself off with his thoughts, suddenly forgetting why he walked in.

“We aren’t open yet, but if you’re on the go I can make you a quick something?” You offered, kindly letting him know you’re not open.

“Oh I’m sorry I didn’t realise you weren’t open, I just saw the lights on and assumed” He put the book back on the shelf and walked towards you.

“That’s alright, can I get you something?”

“Um, if it’s not out of your way, could I just have a black coffee?”

You smiled up at him and put it into the cash register then walked to the side to make the coffee.

“What brings you walking around at 5 in the morning?”

You make conversation with this man for what feels like hours, but was really half an hour until opening time and you had to get busy.

“Oh before you leave sir-“

“Harry” He puts his hand out for you to shake

“Harry, would you like a freshly made cinnamon scroll for your travels? Made by me of course” You say already getting it ready without giving him time to say no.

“Would love one” He says getting out his wallet

“On the house Harry, for keeping me company this morning”

“Then keep this as a tip, for the friendly service” He says sliding the 10 dollar tip over the counter towards you.

“Oh, no Harry, take it back please”

“Come on, I insist” You hesitate but take the money and exchange a small smile, before he leaves the café. When you hear the bells ring to indicate his left, you bring the money out of your apron pocket and put it in the tip jar.

It was a pretty normal day at the café. You’ve been working at the café pretty much since you started university 6 years ago, you were a trusted employee, which lead to the owner resigning and asking you to become manager. It was around 7PM when you peeked outside the window to see the pouring rain hitting the side walk. You lived a short distance from the café, so you walked. Now regretting your decision to leave your rain coat at home. You grabbed the last two scrolls and jelly slices to take with you on your wet walk home. As you closed the doors, you saw a familiar figure standing at the window of your café, but looking at the book section.

“Harry?”

“Hey- uh… I didn’t get your name earlier, sorry”

“Y/N” you smile. The majority of the day, this man standing in front of you consumed your thoughts. Something about him was so chronic. By the way he looked, he should be a dick, a heart breaker, but he wasn’t. Well he didn’t seem like it.

“y/n” he repeated smiling at himself. “Closing up?”

“Yup” you say holding up the bag to show that you were packed up.

You spoke back and forth for a while until your phone buzzed which reminded you of the time. “I should get going now, before the rain gets even worse”

You both looked around at the weather. “You’re walking home?”

“I didn’t realise this morning when I left it would be raining and I like to walk before a long day at work”

“Let me give you a lift” He stated more than asked.

“Thank you Harry, but I couldn’t ask you to do that, not after your tip this morning”

“The tip you put into the tip jar and didn’t keep for yourself?”

You looked at the ground not being able to hold in the smile. He was watching you, even after he left. You let out a small laugh, making Harry chuckle, something so small that you did was contagious to him.

“Let me take you home” He say once again stepping closer to you so you can be shielded underneath his umbrella as the wind picked up and pushed the rain in your direction.

You gave him a look saying ‘are you sure’, to which he replied with a smile and a nod. Moments later you were getting into his car, giving him your address, then last minute inviting him in to say thank you and for another sweet you made this morning.

May 24th 2019

It was a late night of small conversation over desert and wine between you and Harry. The late night an alcohol opened you both up about your lives. Not too much, but enough to lose sleep over thinking about him. He left just after midnight, promising he’d come bright and early the next morning for his black coffee and cinnamon scroll.

He held up to his promise, coming nearly at the exact same time, 5:31AM.

“Good morning y/n, how’d you sleep?” He asked walking through the doors, pulling of his grey beanie.

“Good thanks” You replied already getting his black coffee ready.

Much to Harry’s dismay, he didn’t get much sleep last night. He could blame it on the alcohol and say that’s why you were on his mind for hours until his useless alarm went off. But, the alcohol wasn’t to blame because it’s not the first time his mind only held you. He wanted to ask you out. To show you a good time. A good time with him.

“What are your plans for tonight?” he asks shaky at first, but finishing strong

You thought for a moment. “Uh- no plans tonight”

“Would you like to make plans with me tonight? I could use the company” he asks hopefully

As soon as the words hit your ears, butterflies explored your stomach, almost making your legs weak. You cursed yourself for feeling this way, even after promising yourself you wouldn’t fall again. Oh, how you wanted to say no, how you wished he wasn’t so damn resistible to make you say “Sure”.

“How does the bar sound? The one down the street?”

7:30PM

Your floor was a mess after throwing unapproved dresses on the floor. Again scolding yourself for putting this much effort into looking good for someone, who you don’t want to look good for. Finally you came upon the perfect dress in your closet. It was a basic, tight black dress that reached your mid-thigh with sleeves that wrapped around your forearm. You tied up the string covering your exposed breast. You grabbed your clutch, put on your black heals and sat on the couch waiting for Harry to knock on your door.

Just as you were getting lost in your thoughts, you heard the knock you’ve been waiting for. Checked your appearance in the mirror once more before unlocking the door to the gorgeous Harry Styles. He looked unlike you’ve ever seen him before. You wanted to stare, to run your fingertips over his partly exposed chest and trace over his butterfly tattoo. It took more than mental and physical strength to stop yourself from doing just that. You brought your eyes to the floor, too embarrassed by your vibrant red cheeks to meet his eyes. Harry using your lack of eye contact to his advantage to look at you. He didn’t want to take his eyes off you.

“You look really nice Harry”

“Y/N- you- uh, you look gorgeous!”

You internally roll your eyes, just as your blush was disappearing, he makes it come back up.

You meet with his eyes as he holds out his hand for you to hold.

It was a comfortable silence on the way there. Both of you stealing unknown glances at each other’s complexion.

You arrived at the club and headed straight to the bar, to buy your first drinks. It two shots and 15 minutes until you let your hair down and had fun. You danced the night away with Harry. Swaying chest on chest to the beat and singing to your favourite songs. You felt happy with Harry, dancing with him here, right now, you’ve never felt safer with anyone before. It scared you, but the alcohol in your system plucked the emotion from your mind for your sober mind to deal with. The drinks were catching up with your bladder, so you left Harry’s side for the first time tonight so you could relieve the throbbing feeling. You fix yourself up and go to head back to Harry when you felt someone’s eyes on you that had a different vibe to Harry’s. You mindfully twist your head over your shoulder, only to see your most recent ex- boyfriend, Hunter. You agreed that Hunter was your worst boyfriend. Taking your self- doubt and insecurities to his own advantages. Cheating on you, then making you the victim. Said the most disheartening comments on your appearance and personality. You sucked in a breath when you met his gaze, thinking back to the physical and mental abuse he caused you the last time you met. You quickly turned your gaze back to where harry was. He was sitting in the booth at the back waiting for you to come back. You quicken your pace before a hand grasped your elbow pulling you to a halt. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. You were praying Harry would look over and see what was happening. You knew what Hunter was like when he had a few drinks in him too well.

“Hunter, let go of me” You state sternly. In your relationship, you’ve never spoken to him in that tone or even defended yourself like you are now.

“Well, hi to you to honey” ‘Honey’ a name he called you, in which only brought back graphic images into your head. You looked around back at Harry frantically trying to see if he noticed, to your concern, his still invested In his beer.

“Hunter, let me go” You almost yell, looking him dead in the eye.

“What makes you think you can talk like that to me” He pulls you in closer, close enough you can smell every drink that’s gone past his Tounge. “HUH” he yells. You flinch, trying to pull away your arm as well as covering the fear your eyes hold. Come on Harry. You think.

Hunter starts pulling you towards the front of the bar. His grip so tight on your wrist you can ear your bones clicking, like when you crack your knuckles.

You yell repeatedly, for him to release you. Given up on trying to hide your fear. You look back over your shoulder, no longer in view of Harry.

Hunter pushes your body up against a wall, were intoxicated people are In a heavy make-out session. He starts to untie the strings around your breast, the only thing other than your too tight bra keeping them from spilling. His other hand slowly rising up your leg from your knee to your crouch. He push at his chest, screaming for help, but it’s the silent part of the club. For all the terrible things Hunter has done to you, you’ve always gotten away from him before his threatened to go this far. You unfortunately knew how his routine worked. He’d hurt you, sometimes mentally, sometimes physically. You’d get away after cleaning up the shattered glass from his beer bottles or thrown objects that missed you by inches. You’d ‘fall asleep’ shortly after him making sure he can’t hurt you when his passed out. The next morning, it’s like nothing ever happened. This was how he fooled you: claimed “I don’t remember doing that shit, sorry Honey, it won’t happen again” kissing your cheek, then isolating himself in the garage where his beer cans were stored.

His now kneading your breast he got free from your bra, still pushing and playing with the bottom material of your dress. You’ve given up on yelling, its no use. You felt this was the end of your life. as dramatic as that sounds, you didn’t think any therapy could fix the damage he would cause to you, if he slides his dick in.

Just as he was sliding your panties to the left you felt he suddenly, forcefully being pushed away to the right. You opened your eyes for the first time since being shoved up that wall. Its Harry. You almost didn’t recognise at first, but you met with his eyes. You felt yourself let out a breath as he held you. You slid yourself off the wall onto the floor where Harry was now kneeling to comfort you.

Two security guards where handling Hunter, but you didn’t care, you didn’t want to have one last look at him for his last time of freedom. He yelled words of hate as he was getting pushed out of the club and into a police car. That’s when you let it out. All the tears you forcefully held in, came pooling out onto Harry’s exposed chest. Everything felt dark around you, like finally after all the torture, you broke. Harry rubbed reassuring circles on your back, whispering sweet words of comfort in your ears. That safe feeling that Harry had brought to you had vanished.

After continuously apologising for what this night could have gone to, harry finally offered to take you home. The whole way home, Harry held you. Wheatear it was your hand or your body, he never let you out of his touch. He held your hand and put his arm around your waist as he led you up to the front door of your apartment. He grabbed the keys out of your clutch he was holding and unlocked the door to a chilly breeze. For the first time in almost 2 hours (what felt like longer), his touch had left your skin. Usually his warmness would linger on your skin, this time it felt it wasn’t even there. It could be the cool in your home or the processing, but it wasn’t warm anymore.

Harry knew when he looked at your emotionless face that this wasn’t a rare thing for you that the man who hurt you tonight, has hurt you before. Harry was known for his heart healing, but he wasn’t sure if he could heal this heart. He gently rushed back to your side on the couch and you instantly rested your head on his lap. You were exhausted from all the crying and mental convincing that you deserved this. You fell asleep almost as soon as his fingers raked through your hair. Harry wasn’t going to be leaving your side for as long as you needed him to.

#harry styles #harry fan fic #harrystyles x reader

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banashee · 4 years

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Part 24 of my @badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: “Chained to a wall”

Please mind the tags and warnings in the notes

Sticking Together

Bruce can feel a headache pounding through his entire skull. It might as well be splitting his head in two, and the familiar angry roar echoing back in his mind sure doesn't help it.

Hulk is trashing frantically, itching to break out and take over, but Bruce has got himself under control. He needs to, especially now. If only they could stop arguing, he thinks.

Tony has been yammering on about this solution for what feels like hours, and if he had his hands free, Bruce would have started to tear out his hair by now.

A tiny little part of him kind of wants to throttle Tony, but he knows the regret would come soon if he did.

“I’m just saying, if you were to hulk out right now-”

Truth be told, fantasizing about it helps a little bit.

“I would be unable to control anything and the worst case scenario would be crushing both of you while I’m at it.” Bruce snaps at Tony, eyes flashing green for a second. Then his anger simmers back down. He doesn’t want to get angry, because he knows that Tony means well and his faith in Hulk for not accidentally or intentionally murdering him is very much real, but it’s getting exhausting. And at this point, Bruce is pretty devastated.

The inventor takes a deep breath, but is cut off before he can start again.

“Come on, knock it off” Clint grouches from his own corner of the damp, windowless cell without even looking up. He’s been awfully quiet so far, and they’re not entirely sure if this is a good sign or not. Usually, he’d be a lot more talkative and probably would have joined the argument, if only because he’s easily bored. Now though, no such thing is happening.

Clint squirms on his spot, probably attempting to get in a position to get the cuffs off of himself. How exactly he’s hoping to achieve that is anyone's guess, but it would be far from the first time that someone underestimated Clint. It almost always works out in his favor.

Letting out a shaky breath, Bruce tries to get into a more comfortable position. Which proves to be hard, since he is sitting on a cold floor and with both of his hands tied behind his back. The cuffs are connected to a long chain, which leads to a heavy metal collar around his neck as well as similar restraints around his ankles. It makes it impossible for Bruce to move a lot or even get up, because the chains holding him are firmly bolted into the wall.

Technically, he could get out, if only he would allow Hulk to take over. If it were just him trapped in this hellhole, he wouldn’t think twice and just do it.

But as it is, Tony and Clint are in here, too. Their chances of survival would be pretty slim, once Hulk would freak out in a tight room like this. He refuses to try, purely to avoid hurting his friends.

“Okay, I’m sorry - I’m sorry. Just, you know this would be the easiest way. Hulk likes us, too. He wouldn’t hurt us.”

To his credit, Tony does look apologetically - it’s not his intention to stress Bruce any further in this already shitty situation that is weighing on him, but he’s clearly doing so anyway. If he could, he would move closer to be able to touch his friend, but as it is, he is just as restrained as Bruce is. That, and the fact that he doesn’t have a suit anywhere near bothers him. While generally able to think, build and improvise his way out of most sticky situations, there isn’t anything even he can do while he’s bound into a tight bundle and chained to a wall - it pisses him off to no end.

Silence stretches out for a while. The only noise they can hear is their own breathing, thumping heartbeats and the steady drip-drip-drip of water hitting the concrete floor from the leaking water pipe in the corner. Also the faint rustling of fabric as Clint keeps moving tirelessly.

“Look, I understand why you’re worried, I do. But if it comes down to it, we’ll be okay, Bruce. If the big guy makes an appearance, it’ll be fine. He knows us, and he likes us. It would be fine.” Tony insists.

Despite everything, Bruce finds himself smiling. While he’s not entirely sure he should be happy about how lighthearted his teammates react to his other half in general, it really helps a lot. His mind wanders to the framed photos on his desk back home.

There are various team photos, all of them laughing and smiling, arms wrapped around each other, but there are also photos of Hulk letting Clint use his shoulders as a perch, or Tony feeding him greasy pizza after a battle.

Right now though, the roaring in the back of his head is still very much present, but at least, it isn’t as all-consuming anymore.

“Thanks, Tony. I appreciate the sentiment, honestly. But even if he were to hurt you on accident, I can’t take that risk. This room is way too small.”

He shakes his head, and the movement yanks on the chains holding him. He winches, unable to hide it.

“Okay, so, Hulk is the last resort.”

With a deep, unhappy sigh, Bruce agrees - but he decides he won’t let it come to that unless absolutely necessary.

“Alright. So, what is plan A? It’s not like we can do anything with the way they left us here. Or can we? Clint?”

“Give me a minute, I almost got it.” the archer answers, slightly pressed and out of breath like he’s been working hard on something. Which he probably has - only a little while later, he sighs in defeat, weighing his options and then coming to a decision.

He really hates this part.

“Okay, fuck.”

Then, the noise of popping joints is audible - it makes his stomach turn, and then Clint has somehow managed to successfully free his right hand.

His thumb and wrist stick away in wrong, nauseating angles. Bruce winches in sympathy and speechless shock while Tony bites out a half panicked, half disgusted, “What the fuck?!” and suddenly, he is very pale and very silent.

“Former carney and Shield Agent, at your service.” Clint says with a half hearted shrug, as if that’s the answer they need right now. His features are drawn, but it is clear he won’t discuss anything more.

‘Please don’t throw up’ Bruce thinks in the privacy of his own mind - Tony sits directly across from him, and if he were to be sick now, it would absolutely hit Bruce and then he wouldn’t be able to make any promises regarding Hulk.

“What the fuck?!” Tony repeats quite a few times, and he might as well be asking “Holy shit, are you okay?!” but it feels kinda stupid to say that, given their situation. The obvious answer would be “no”, but he knows that both Clint and Bruce speak his language, so he figures it’s okay. It has to be.

Clint must be in pain, but he clenches his jaw and starts clawing into the thin mattress on the floor next to him, looking for anything resembling thin wire to pick the locks with.

Their captors have left this mattress in the cell, just out of reach for the three of them, leaving them on the cold floor instead. It’s thin and shitty and full of holes, but still so much better than dirty, cold concrete.

Bruce is wondering if this is supposed to be a form of psychological torture, almost certain that he’s right about that.

Despite being here for a while, they haven't been physically hurt by any of them - yet. At least, they didn’t do more than knocking them out, kidnapping them and chaining them onto the walls of a tiny cell. Which, truth be told, is more than enough for now.

His breathing gets a little harder as Clint is digging through the stuffing. Trying to use his fingers results in a sharp pain that shoots up his entire arm, but he forces himself to keep going. His hand is throbbing and will be swollen very soon. It’ll be useless for a while, he already knows.

But then, Clint lets out a triumphant little “Hah!” as his fingers are closing around something cool and bendy. He lifts it up with a grin, like he just won a trophy.

Appreciative noises from two sides of the room tell him that his friends share the joy.

It doesn’t take too long to pick the locks of the cuffs and collars holding him, and then, he’s finally free. Not long after, the shackles are off of Bruce and Tony as well and the three of them scurry their way along a hallway that is just as wet and dark as their former prison.

Feverishly, they hope and pray that their escape has gone unnoticed - no one has come down the entire time, and while being abandoned in a dark basement is a scary thought, it would also mean that they wouldn’t have to fear another attack now.

They have no idea where to go though.

“Where are we going? I can barely see anything!”

“I don’t know, it’s not like the bastards provided us with a map!”

“Shut up, both of you!”

All three of them freeze. Unconsciously, they scoot a little closer together, hands fisted into each other's shirts and cold fingers wrapped around arms to be reassured that they don’t lose anybody to the eerie half darkness in a building possibly filled with hostiles.

Clint can’t hear any noise, since his hearing is getting worse these days, but the years of experience tell him that something is going on. He is as tense as a bowstring. Inwardly, he curses the fact that he’s only got one usable arm right now - he slowly lets go of Bruce’s arm, preparing to fight, even with his other hand cradled close to himself to avoid any further damage.

In his left hand, he’s still clutching the wire. It will be most likely useless in a fight, but it’s better than nothing. Even though he hates to admit it, because he is trained in all kinds of combat, with or without weapons, he is not in top form right now. So he feels a lot safer even with the shitty piece of bended wire as his only weapon.

“Footsteps.” Tony hisses under his breath, and pulls his friends further along the way in hopes of getting away fast enough. If only there was anywhere to hide, but he can’t see anything but walls and a long, cold way.

The footsteps sound like they’re coming closer now, and Tony really, really wishes he’d carry a gun or anything else. But there is nothing, nothing of use at all.

He can feel Bruce tense up next to him, and it is obvious that he is working hard on staying in control of himself. Hulk is roaring again, pushing and tearing on his insides. But Bruce fights it with everything he’s got, even as they stumble into each other and along the hallway.

Suddenly, a door swings wide open and floods the place with an intense bright light.They’re scrambling, eyes shut against the sudden glare of brightness, but it’s already sharp and blinding. This doesn’t stop any of them from throwing punches all around though.

A mixture of yelling, curses and incomprehensible words ring in their ears as absolute chaos ensues. But the fight is a rather short one, even though it is messy.

Bruce is hit by multiple tranquilizer shots, unable to do anything as he drops to the floor. Tony is yelling obscenities at the men as he’s kicking and elbowing at them in seething anger.

Then, something hard hits Clint in the head, and a second later, he drops to the floor and everything around him fades into a deep, deep darkness.

*+~

Square: "Chained to a wall"

Warnings:

- implied violence - graphic description of injury (intentional dislocating of a hand) - brief mention of vomit - hostagte situation

#banashee writes #Bad things happen bingo #marvel fanfiction #tw violence #tw injury

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amma292005 · 4 years

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The wild blossom- Part 1 - Just the beginning

Hey,the quarantine thing is getting to me . Decided to write again. But I'm a bit rusty soo enjoy:)) "Just a few more hours and you would be back in Aldonia. It sent chills down your spine knowing you hadn't been home for about 13 years. Memories start to flood your mind. From your first horse back ride when you were only 5 years old to the pillow fights with Celeste in your room. Up until the very night you were told your parents were dead. You could clearly remember as three days later you had to leave everything, everyone , Celeste, Abuela. You moved to the States with the hope that you'd forget the tragedy back at home. As you left the palace , leaving that part of you, the princess, the sole heir to the throne of Aldonia hoping for a new life. You had fun . You are now a pediatrician with a successful career in the US but here you are on the royal jet back home. At least , you knew your grandmother was well. Your train of thoughts being interrupted as the pilot announced your arrival. As you looked down the feeling of euphoria and pain overwhelms you. How good it felt to be back" "Why do you have your hands in your pockets like you've stolen another bagel?" You heard suddenly followed by a snicker . You knew that laugh. "Celeste!" You scream running to meet your childhood friend and personal hand maid. "Feels great to be back doesn't it chica? She asks with tears streaming down her cheeks. You nodded , whilst hugging her. " Ai, let me go you're gonna choke me "she says laughing. Sorry can't let yo go you reply. " Addison Maria Antoinette de la Cruz! I thought you came back to see me! You grandma wails behind you. You quickly turn to embrace her saying don't worry Abuela I haven't forgotten about you. You both share a ramble of words which was muffled by tears but you knew she was just as excited to see you as you were to see her." How long has it been,24 years ago you were just a baby and now you're a grown woman" ,she says laughing. "And you haven't aged a bit ",you say smirking. "You naughty girl", she says laughing. "C'mon let's get you home". You and Celeste with your grandma head towards the royal limousine. It's been 3 months since you arrived. You haven't forgotten a thing you were taught in the earliest stages of your life but you were a bit shaky but now, now you've gotten the hang of the princess thing again. But you did not want to wake up this morning because you'd spent the past day planning a surprise birthday for Celeste. You prayed that today was going to be a good day but you kept getting the gut feeling that the day would not go as planned. If only you knew you were right " Excuse me your highness but you said it yourself, she's 24!. Most heirs get married at 21. She's overdue!" " I know but , is this gonna sit well with her ? Addie(the nickname almost everyone in the palace calls you by) can be very stubborn -hearted just like her head strong father. You and I know she won't agree to an arranged marriage! " "But it's for the sake of the kingdom. The kingdom of Empardia is very strong and with them as allies we'd be much safer and secure " he tries to convince your grandmother. "And this is the life of my granddaughter we are arguing about!" She shoots back. "I understand but this offer is from Empardia itself. Plus your granddaughter will be in good hands. After all aren't the King and Queen of Empardia good friends of Their majesties King Reindolph and Queen Deanna , may their souls rest in perfect peace,?" " I do suppose you're right then. Send a word back to the that we agree to this alliance. But I must speak to Addison first." "As you wish, long live Queen Amelia" "Dammit !" ,You mutter. The stupid clock! why did it have to wake you up so early. Wait, today's Celeste's birthday. So many things to do before she arrives at the palace. "Alright, up we go then!", You say, half wishing you could just flop back unto the bed. " Addison, we need to talk." You whisper " what is it now again, another foot rub or spilt tea" under your breath , only to receive an I beg your pardon! . "Listen, there is something important I have to tell you , freshen up and meet me in the throne room" ___________________________ "This is absurd , this is the 21st century for Christ's sake!" you shout, angrily. I will not have you raise your voice at me. I am the Queen, and my word is final, do you get that Antoinette!. So, it was Antoinette now, she only uses that name when she is serious and she seemed to be, now. "You are getting married to Prince Harry Edward Styles of Empardia and I do not want to hear a single word of objection from you. Do I make my self clear?" "Yes, my Queen", you answer ,mortified." You may leave now". You feel like hitting yourself against a wall and never waking up as you choked on tears on the way to your room, with Celeste's party forgotten. Deep down the Queen regretted her decision but there was nothing she could do. Celeste, seeing you half running and walking into your room. You tell her everything as she strokes her hand through your thick black hair. "What am I gonna do?" You ask her. "I don't know" she replies, sadly. And this was just the beginning. Please send me your views on it. Requests and suggestions are welcomed. Just ask me if you want a part two. Thanks and enjoy:))) #harry styles imagines #harry styles au #harry styles smut

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dp-pastandpresent · 5 years

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Past and Present: Chapter 19

"Let me get this straight. You've been working with the Fentons for a while now in their lab, as an intern?"

The group was still in the same room, having just listened to Sam confess about her 'internship' with the Fentons.

"Well, like I said, it's been more like cleaning up Jack's messes," Sam concluded.

"Either way, Sam, if you needed answers, there were better ways to get them." Danny had a hurt look in his now green eyes.

'Says the ghost who has been doing the same thing,' Danny found himself thinking.

"It's not like you were being much help…" Sam said under her breath.

"Again!" Sarah chimed in before a lover's quarrel could ensue.

Both teens looked at her in frustration before deciding she was probably right.

"I understand you needed answers Sammy, but I wish you had tried a different way about getting them." Her grandma continued, "Or at least told me. Ever since you started hanging out with Danny you've been so secretive."

"Grandma, since when are you so against the Fentons? You do remember that Danny is one of them?" Sam asked, somewhat confused.

"Well of course, but he's different. I know him. I never even met Jack and Maddie…"

'Wait, what? She was so close to my parents, to Jazz. What happened to make her change?'

This statement took Danny by surprise, as he had assumed that Sarah had kept her connections to his family after his death.

"You didn't?"

Sarah turned to Danny, a pained look in her eyes.

"Danny it's a long story…"

"It was after your funeral. Your parents were devastated, you had such a bright future ahead of you, and then you disappeared. I, of course, was heartbroken and didn't even want to go off to college. I spent that whole summer in the house, barely eating. Finally, my parents realized something was up and forced me out. "

Sam and Danny both sat in awe as Sarah told a story she hadn't shared in years.

"But as bad as I was Danny, Jazz was worse. Your sister adored you, and always wanted to protect you. But she couldn't this time, and it ate her up. She wouldn't leave her room for the longest time, and when she finally did, she spent hours upon hours at the library trying to find answers. When the library couldn't help, she ended up skipping town to study parapsychology in California."

"Parapsychology?" Danny asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"The study of ghosts and paranormal activity," Sarah said dryly. "Back then there were only two programs that offered it, and no one took it seriously. Everyone tried to stop her, saying it was a waste of her time and money, that she was too smart to give up being a doctor, but she wouldn't listen. You know how independent Jazz was."

With the recent surge in memories, Danny could recall several things about his older sister, and her independence was definitely one of them.

"But she ended up back here, and she started the research that led to the portal, right?" Sam asked, trying to connect the dots to a family she'd been coming to know.

"Yes, she and her new husband ended up back here after they graduated, moving into the old house and starting their research. But that was after I was already gone, so I don't know the full story," Sarah confessed.

'Gone? Sarah left town too? Why hasn't she mentioned that before?'

"Sarah, You never told me you left town? You always loved it here!" Danny exclaimed in awe as the conversation started to change directions.

"Wait, Grandma? Is that what Dad used to always talk about when he said he'd visit you and Grandpa during summers?" Sam began, recalling stories of rain forests and African safaris.

Sarah turned to Danny. "Danny, as hard as it may be to believe, I needed to get away from here for awhile. Even at community college I was still too close to all the painful memories your disappearance brought."

Sarah looked away at this, small tears forming in her eyes .

When she next looked up, it was to face Sam. "Promise me Sam, that no matter what happens you will never run from your past like I did. It's my biggest regret in life that I left instead of trying to piece together things here. "

Sam moved closer to her grandma, putting her hand on her shoulder and giving her a squeeze.

"Grandma, I promise," she whispered.

There was silence for a moment before Danny broke in.

"It doesn't make sense to me. I know I just disappeared and my sister shut you out, but you never would have left before."

"That was before. When I went to school I met Tom, and he really helped me see that staying here was doing more harm than good. That we could do more good elsewhere. So we joined the Peace Corps, traveling the world and saving lives. It felt so great, for a while."

Sarah rolled over in her hammock and looked out the window of their tiny shack. Another day in Peru was about to begin.

She and Tom had been stationed here for the past six months, helping the locals of their village work on revitalizing after a major hurricane.

She had loved it at first, the same way she had all of their other missions. But the novelty was starting to wear thin, as thoughts of home and family weighed heavily on her shoulders.

Getting up to prepare for the day, she found herself brushing her long black hair in the mirror and thinking more and more about home.

'Can I really keep doing this? Running from my past? Shutting out my family the way my parents did to me?'

She looked over at Tom as he rolled over and stood up from his hammock, his scraggly beard a mess this morning. Rubbing his eyes, he looked at her and saw the frown on her face.

"Sarah, what is it this time?" he yawned, as he came closer.

"Tom, don't start with me. I'm not in much of a mood today."

"It's just, honey, you've been distant. I thought doing all this was supposed to help."

"And it did… for a while. But lately I've been missing home. My family. My son," she confessed, raising her hands to emphasize.

"Sarah, we talked about this when we decided to have him. Warren doesn't need to be globe-hopping with us. He's safer back in America at school, and when our mission is up, we'll go back and be a family."

"Which mission, Tom? This mission?" She waved her hands, emphasizing the area they were in, "Or the global one? Because every time one ends you sign us up for another!"

"Sarah, baby, you know how much I love doing good, helping people, traveling. It's been my dream since I was a kid!"

"And then you met me, a poor depressed loner and figured it'd be a good excuse!?"

Her blood was boiling now, as all the emotions she had been keeping inside as of late finally came to the surface.

Now Tom was frowning too."Remember how long we dated before you would even TELL ME why you were so guarded? Not once during that time did I ever think of you as an excuse to get away from town."

She had to admit he was right on that one, for during those first few months he had stood by and let her hide the truth without question.

Bringing her voice back to a normal level she began again. "It's just been on my mind a lot, how much I HATED it when my parents went away on business. We were never close, and now I'm doing the same thing to my own son. What kind of example is that?"

"Sarah, please, just listen to me. Going back there, to Amity Park, isn't going to help you. All your friends shut you out after…"

"Don't say it, I can't think about that right now." She quickly turned as the memories began to flood back.

"And that is exactly why you can't go back there!" Tom almost yelled in frustration.

"Who are you to say what I can and cannot do? We're not even married!"

Despite everything, including their son, Sarah and Tom had never taken the time to have an actual marriage ceremony. And the more she thought about it, Sarah was glad they hadn't.

'Who are you and what have you done with the man I love?'

They had been in love when they made the decision to take off and travel, or so she had thought. But now, twenty-five years later, the love was wearing as thin as her patience.

"I just can't do this anymore. I need to be somewhere stable. With running water and air conditioning. With Warren."

At this point Sarah had made up her mind and knew what she needed to do. Grabbing her suitcase and throwing a few things back into it, she stomped out the door, leaving Tom standing there, staring at the doorway.

"We can't just leave! We have a job to do here!"

"Who said anything about we?" she called as she stomped off. "I'm going alone. I'll send for the rest of my things soon."

With that she ventured off to the street, determined to make things right.

"It was after that that I moved back to Amity, moved in with Warren. He was so happy to see me, but so distant for the longest time. After all, he had grown up with barely a family, and now here I was living upstairs."

The strain in Sarah's voice became worse with each word.

"So that's why I never met Grandpa." Sam said, a bit of shock in her voice.

"He was a great man Sammy, don't let me tell you otherwise. But in the end, I needed to be here."

"Grandma, I… I knew Grandpa left, but you never told me all this… I wish I had known," Sam said, squeezing her grandma's shoulder.

" I didn't want to bother you with the pains of my past," Sarah said, laughing at herself for the irony they now faced.

"But that doesn't make sense," Danny interrupted. "You could have gotten in touch with Jazz when you returned, or my parents."

"I wanted to Danny, but they were gone. Your parents had died long before, and Jazz kept to her lab 24/7. No one ever saw her or her husband except when he took little Jack to school."

Sarah looked at Danny again, sincere remorse in her expression.

"Despite my return and the ease I finally felt about being back in town, I could never bring myself to approach Jazz. We had both changed so much and both gone our separate ways. I didn't need the burden of her and her research bringing me back down again. So I stayed away, never even explaining to Warren the true reason I left in the first place."

"And then one morning I woke up, turned on the news, and found out about her death. Apparently the amount of chemicals and radiation from all her research had gotten the best of her and she died younger than she should have. If I had known she was in the hospital, I would have visited, tried to fix the past. But it was too late."

"It was never too late Sarah. You should have tried to reach her the second you got back, or even before that. You said you never stopped caring, loving, but it sounds like all you did was run. You don't run from the ones you love. You help them."

Danny didn't know where this anger was coming from – he never expected to find himself mad at her. But something about this whole story just seemed off for Sarah.

'She leaves town, completely vanishes for a while, and then returns without even trying to reconnect? How could she?'

Almost as if knowing what Danny was thinking, Sarah let out a sigh.

"Danny, I know you are angry, and you have a right to be. It wasn't like me to just run from my family and friends like that. But you have to understand the circumstances. You were gone, Jazz was a mess, my parents didn't care. Tom did. He took me in and helped me, and even though we separated, I don't regret leaving town when I did. I needed to get away. Clear my head. And I did, and it helped."

Danny could tell Sarah was done with her story and was going to hold to it. Another thing from the past that he was remembering: her stubbornness.

Sam had been sitting on the sidelines for most of this story, trying to comprehend it all, and was still not sure if she understood. But there was one thing she did understand, and that was her Grandma's need to escape. After all, she held felt the exact same way recently, although the methods she had taken to escape were much worse.

But escape is escape, and sometimes we all just need to leave the world we know.'

"Grandma, don't listen to Danny. You did what you needed to do. You escaped, found a new home for a while, cleared your head…. But in the end you came back, and that's what matters."

Sam leaned over and squeezed her grandmother's hand, looking her straight in the eyes as a sign of support.

"Thank you sweetie, I knew I could count on you to understand," Sarah replied quietly.

'What would we do without each other?'

Finally breaking away, Sam pulled back a bit.

"But we do still need to talk to the Fentons. They have the answers we need to figure out what's happening to Danny. Why he's here and why he's changing."

Sarah sighed and turned to the boy next to her, his green eyes shining below a mop of black hair.

He looked back, unable to come up with anything more to say in regards to her story, and nodded.

"Well, I guess it's time I met my nephew."

#danny phantom #danny phantom fanfic #phanfiction #dpau #danny phantom fanfiction #sam manson #fanfiction

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queenstephaniaa · 6 years

Text

tell me that it's all okay

After Guero’s death, Teresa keeps James at arms length, thinking it is safer for him and her heart this way. But when James is injured, she can no longer keep her distance. Takes place after 3x07.

Teresa knows she is hovering, that she should leave the room, but she can't bring her feet to move to the door. She stands in the corner, watching as Taza’s reservation doctor stitches up a large gash across James right shoulder and chest. Her arms are crossed, eyebrows knitted with worry as she tries to calm her pounding heart. It should be enough to convince herself that he is okay as he is sitting right in front of her, but she can't shake this feeling of fear. James’ gaze flickers to her curiously every now and then, almost surprised that she is still in the room but he doesn't comment on it.

After Guero's death, Teresa tried to keep her distance from James, limiting their conversations to business only and avoiding spending time alone with him otherwise. They argue more, mostly about her decisions he feels are borderline reckless and it makes it easier to push him away. They never talk about what their night together meant to either of them. She thinks he figures she regrets it, that he was her second choice, but that is far from the truth. She remembers how it felt to be with him, to make him feel the love she told him he deserved instead of pain and self-loathing he carried inside.

He starts wearing his sunglasses more, and when he's not, sometimes Teresa thinks she sees flashes of sadness in his eyes before his walls go back up, but he respects the new line she has drawn through their partnership. Now she is the one causing him pain. She tells herself and her heart that it is safer for him this way, after all, look at what happens to the people she cares about most.

He grimaces through the pain while the doctor works, but doesn't make a sound. She notices a bruise blooming across his ribs opposite of his other injured side and there are various cuts and scrapes scattered across his body. Her eyes burn and she can't help but think, this is her fault. Everything in life had a price and this was a direct result of her reckless decisions.

Teresa had been having nightmares more frequently since Guero had died. Sometimes she relived his death, sometimes they were about Pote, but lately her nightmares had been about losing James. And today as she watched him nearly lose his life from an explosion, she felt like she had been living one.

With war on the horizon and the winery no longer a safe place to stay, Taza had invited them to the reservation. The quietness and peace of the reservation was short lived. Within 24 hours, they had found themselves in a firefight with Pecas and his men. Trouble really did follow her wherever she went, but she had brought this trouble on herself, Pote, and James.

Many of the roads on the reservation were desolate, surrounded by fields of tall grass and weeds, providing little cover for them as they fought Pecas’ men. She and Pote had taken cover behind a car, James behind another, leaving him closer to the gun fire.

James had tried to find a better angle to shoot from. As he moved across the open road and towards another car, one closest to Pecas’ men, fear began spreading through her body like somehow she knew this wasn't going to end well. Suddenly, the car that he had been heading to for cover exploded right in front of him and her heart stopped. He was too close. The force of the explosion threw him backwards onto the pavement. He wasn't moving. No.

Teresa screamed his name as she ran towards him. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears and all she could think was James. James. James. Pote had tried to stop her, but she had wriggled free from his grasp.

The heat from the explosion got warmer the closer she got to James, but she didn't care. When she finally reached him, she kneeled down next to him, her knees hurting from the glass and shrapnel on the pavement. Her hands were shaking as she pulled on his arm in an attempt to turn him over, afraid of what she would find when she did.

Teresa turned him over so his head was resting in her lap, her hands frantically skimming over his cheeks, his neck, his shoulders, searching for injuries. When she reached his chest, her right hand comes away coated in blood and she heard a groan. Words began spilling out of her mouth in a panic, most of them just his name as she tries to stop the bleeding.

Getting James to the hospital was a blur. She remembers yelling for Pote to help them to the car, him laying across her lap in the back seat, speeding through the reservation as Teresa keeps pressure on the wound. It was too familiar to all those weeks ago when Guero died and she thought she was going to be sick. When they finally reach the hospital and the doctors take him away, she tries to keep herself together. Pote ushers her to a bathroom where she nearly scrubs her skin raw trying to get James’ blood off her hands before she finds herself in the corner of his hospital room.

As the doctor finishes up and leaves the room, Teresa walks closer to James, who is still sitting on the hospital bed, legs hanging over the side. “Are you alright?” She regrets the question as soon at it leaves her mouth. Of course he isn't, look at him.

James meets her eyes and nods, “I'll be fine.” Even though he is right in front of her, living and breathing and talking, she is still terrified she is going to lose him. Before Teresa even realizes what she is doing, she steps closer to him and presses her hand to the left side of his bare chest. And then she feels it, his heartbeat, strong and steady beneath her palm. Relief floods through her.

“You almost lost your life today because of me." Her throat feels tight with unshed tears. James is looking at her with soft eyes as he brings his hand up to cover hers on his chest. His touch lets her feel something besides pain and guilt; a sense of peace and hope. Why had she pushed him away for so long?

“I can’t lose you.” Her voice is so quiet and small that he almost misses what she said. She watches him through teary eyes as he takes in her words. His eyes meet hers and all she finds is wonder and warmth, almost as if he believes he still does not deserve this.

“Teresa, I'm not going anywhere. I chose this. I chose you.” James reassures her by gently squeezing her hand tighter with his, his eyes soft and earnest as he looks at her. She doesn't deserve forgiveness this easily for hurting him like she has, but here he is giving it to her and she didn't even ask for it. God, she had missed him.

She steps closer to him and uses her free hand to cup his face, his beard tickling her palm as her thumb brushes gently along his cheek. James eyes flutter closed with her touch and he looks more at peace than she had seen him in weeks. And in that moment, she decides that she is done pushing him away, especially when this man deserves all the love in the world.

Teresa presses a sweet, soft kiss to his lips, which he returns just the same. It reminds her of their first kiss they shared on that couch all those weeks ago. She had been happy and so full of hope that next morning. While she wasn't quite ready yet, she knew that James would help her get back there. They were in this together.

#jeresa #jeresa fanfic #queen of the south #my writing #jeresa fanfiction #qots

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djinmer4 · 6 years

Text

Amalgam Dream

Kitty wakes up slowly, drifting up to consciousness. She can’t remember where she is or how she got here, but she’s lying on a bed, warm, sleepy and a little sore. A familiar soreness. There’s a moment’s panic before she remembers that it’s been years since Department K. Wherever she is probably safer than that.

She keeps her breathing slow, her muscles loose and her eyes shut while she reorients. What had happened last night? That’s right, Galactus. As Colombina, she had met many of the major figures of the world’s underbelly. From Green Skull to Dr. von Doom, to her own patron, the Hyena. Kitty had thought nothing could frighten her more than they had. She’d been wrong. Galactus had been an entirely different level. The people she had met before had devastated lives, cities, and countries. Galactus had been a planetary threat, so large that nothing she could do even mattered. She couldn’t fight against him, talk him down or even run away. It had been a humiliating experience.

The threat was gone and the world was saved, and Colombina had just wanted to go home and forget everything. She remembered meeting up with the Nightcreeper while the other Misfits were still filling out their reports, and he had eventually convinced her to go home to New Gotham with him. They’d been sort-of dating for a while and she needed a good laugh to feel alive again. So she’d agreed and they’d wandered around the city for a while. Somehow they’d ended up in his apartment (surprisingly expensive for a maniac Gothamite) and then . . .

Kitty scrunched up her face in worry. It’s not that she objected to sleeping with the Nightcreeper (and he’d been remarkably good too), but she was pretty sure he was only romancing her as a lark. She didn’t even know what his civilian identity was. This was going to put quite a damper on their relationship.

“Buck up, Kitty.” she whispered to herself. “You’re going to have to open your eyes to leave anyhow. You can deal with whatever revelations come from this. You’ve been through worse. Besides, you’ll probably never see him in his civilian identity again.” She shifted back to get a little room for herself and felt the arm around her waist tighten and pull her closer. The Nightcreeper, or whoever he was right now, gave a small snore. He was still asleep, maybe if she was quiet enough she could sneak out and put off this confrontation till later. Maybe if she was really lucky he’d just think it was all a dream and they could continue on as if nothing had changed.

She opened her eyes and saw . . . well, it was a very well built chest. No surprise, given how ‘Creeper went around wearing next to nothing. Pale, Caucasian pink, not green and furry, but she could see one of the patches that Dark Claw always made for the guy slapped haphazardly on a muscular bicep. This guy must have put it on after she had passed out. Moving her gaze up, she saw athletic shoulders, a prominent Adam’s apple and finally reached the man’s face. A very familiar face.

Oh hell, this was Kurt Ryder.

Well, that tore it, now she knew her relationship would never go anywhere. Kurt had never expressed any interest in her beyond that of a close friend. Nightcreeper really was just dating her on a whim or maybe out of pity, she couldn’t decide which was worse. And it’s not like she could just avoid him, he was Logan’s best friend. They see each other all the time.

Kitty started to phase out, too upset to even think of staying. Unfortunately, that woke up her bedmate, causing her to panic again and freeze in place. Sleepy blue eyes opened up and focused on her face. “Ah, Katzchen,” for a second Kurt appeared not to know what had happened and smiled at her. Kitty felt her heartbeat flutter in a familiar fashion and inwardly cursed herself. Then he looked around and the smile fell off his face as he realized what had occurred the previous night.

“Well, this is awkward.” He sat up in bed, unashamed of his nudity. “Would you like to take a shower first or shall I?”

She needed to find her clothes first; everything they had been wearing last night was scattered all over the place. “You can go first.”

“You know, if Remi Cord ever finds out about this, he’ll be so mad. Although it makes your continued insistence that Nightcreeper isn’t real quite comedically funny.”

“What better way to throw off suspicion? Besides, Remington Cord has several reasons to hate me by now.”

By the time she had made it to the kitchen, Kurt had had enough time to go out and buy some breakfast for them from the nearby 24-hour diner. “I would have cooked,” he apologized. “but . . . “

“I like living, thank you.” Kitty had wanted to get out as fast as possible, but fate seemed to have different plans. First, her idea of a quick rinse was defeated by the sheer grunge from yesterday’s fight. She’d ended up taking a full shower, having to use Ryder’s soap and shampoo. Then she found her clothes were in tatters. They’d been torn up in yesterday’s battle but Nightcreeper had ripped them completely to shreds at the start of the night. Only her belt, tights and boots were intact. She’d ended up grabbing one of his button up shirts to wear; the thing was so huge on her it could have been a dress. When she’d walked in the expression on his face had changed to something warm, almost coveteous but she wasn’t sure what it meant.

Kitty sat down. She really didn’t want to do this but better than letting it fester. “I don’t suppose we used protection, did we?”

Kurt coughed. “I’m afraid not. Anything we need to be concerned about?”

“I haven’t done anything since the Hyena recruited me from Department K. All my tests have been negative since then.”

He nodded. “My last test was six months ago and it was clean, and my last one night stand was before that. So at least that’s one thing out of the way. So about . . . “

“I’ll have Dr. Thompson issue me a day-after pill on Monday. So you don’t have to worry about that.”

A pregnant pause filled the air. Kitty couldn’t look him in the eye. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep away from Nightcreeper in the future.”

“Was?”

“It’s one thing for people to talk about the Hyena’s whore and the maniac from New Gotham being a couple. It’s an entirely different thing when it’s the Hyena’s whore and the famous Kurt Ryder. I hadn’t realized you had so much to lose.”

“I didn’t think you disdained my company so much.”

“I don’t. But there’s no reason you should risk your reputation on your counterpart’s prank.”

“Why would you think our dating was a joke?”

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s not like you’re actually attracted to me. Unless you're claiming that the Nightcreeper is a separate personality to you and that’s not how Logan explained it to me.”

“Less a separate personality, more like me without my inhibitions.”

“Well inhibitions or not, I know I’m not your type. I’m nothing like Kokoro.”

“Which is a good thing. Besides, do you really think I would have slept with you, either as Kurt or as Nightcreeper, if I wasn’t attracted to you?”

She shook her head. Kurt dragged his chair over so that he could sit next to the young girl. “Logan is going to laugh so hard at me. I’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask you out as myself for over a year, and now this happens.”

That startled Kitty. “Really?”

“I’ve been fond of you since the beginning. But for the past two years, I’ve thought about becoming more than friends. I’ve only been able to act on it as Nightcreeper though. And I’ve never seen any sign that you were interested in me as Kurt.”

“Of course I was interested. But celebrities don’t date pathetic hench-wenches who are still trying to earn everyone’s trust.”

“Celebrities are human and can’t help who they fall in love with either.” He took her hands. “Would you really consider dating me if I asked?”

She finally met his eyes and smiled. “Yes.”

The expression she got in return was full of relief and something else. To her surprise, he leaned forward and kissed. A little fast, but she kissed him back. Kurt pulled her into his lap and deepened the kiss. They parted for breath, but he just used the opportunity to move down her neck and start sucking on her pulse point.

Kitty was so distracted she hadn’t even realized they’d moved until she heard the squeak of his bedroom door opening. She was surprised to realize that he had picked her up and carried her in one arm back to the bedroom. “I always thought those mutagens had given you a boost in strength, but that’s not true is it?”

“They did, but not as much as people think.”

He carefully placed her on the bed, then crawled over to continue kissing her. Kitty recalled the same thing happening last evening, with the Nightcreeper looming over her before tearing at her suit. Kurt did the same thing, pulling away just long enough so that he could grab the collar of the shirt she was wearing and tear it open. “Your shirt,” she tried to remind him.

“I have others.” He slid his hands up from her waist to cup her breasts. It was pretty clear where he intended this to go.

“Uh, not that this-” she gasped as Kurt began to toy with her nipples. “Isn’t great, but aren’t you moving a little fast?”

“You said you’d be willing to date me. I want to give you a reason not to regret that decision.” He paused then deliberately thrust against her. In spite of herself, Kitty threw her head back and moaned, arching into him. “Several reasons.”

#i'll tag later

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defiancerpg-blog · 6 years

Photo

Congratulations VAL, you have been accepted as VULPECULA with the faceclaim of NAOMI SCOTT and the DOPPELGANGER MORPHING ability!

Notes from the Admins: Ellie and Tasha:

We had some really hard decisions for multiple skeletons during this acceptance, but this one was certainly the hardest. Both were very much in line with how we envisioned Riaan. But ultimately it was yours that we felt fit the most. I (Ellie) just fell in love with the little details of who Riaan was to you. Your headcanons really stuck with me, the emphasis on her pronouns and the little line of freckles and then I really love their answer to the power question (the shapeshifting one especially), but it their answer to the final question that sold me on your app. I (Tasha) have to agree with Ellie, the little details are what really pulled me in. As much as I wanted to hear your version of how the family was, I really loved that i didn’t get to. To me, I felt like that pulled me in and I am a fan of your writing.

You have 48 hours to send in your blog. If you haven’t already joined the group discord then you may do so now (if that’s your wish) [x]. Once you have turned in your blog, you will be given a role that will allow you access to the private channels regarding plots/characters. Please remember to do everything on the checklist, and also we just want to thank you for joining this roleplay. We hope your time with us will be a fun and memorable one!

OOC INFORMATION

ALIAS & PRONOUNS: Val, She/her

AGE: 25

TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL, & RP EXPERIENCE: TZ: EST Activity: I have a full time job on first shift, but since i’m not involved in other rps atm I have plenty of time to be active, and should easily be able to meet and excede activity requirements. I typically do my writing early in the morning before work, or after dinner. My one concern is the opening date, because I’m going on a pre-planned vacation from April 5th to April 9th (WALKERSTALKER CON CHICAGO!). I’ll have limited access to a computer, but I will have my phone so I’ll at least be available for plotting and getting to know people via the discord server during that period. If you’d rather wait to review my application until the 9th or 10th I understand that as well. RP experience: I’ve been roleplaying since 2012 in several fandoms: HP, the 100, TW, TWD, etc. I delved into indie for awhile, but definitely prefer rpgs. A couple of my past blogs are: http://nickbeckett.tumblr.com/, https://seakept.tumblr.com/, http://auroragood.tumblr.com/, https://kylexbennett.tumblr.com/

BASIC IC INFORMATION

SKELETON: Riann Foster (Vulpecula- The Little Fox)

FACECLAIM: Naomi Scott, Liza Koshy (Though she’s known for youtube, she does have an acting career including series regular for two seasons of the hulu series Freakish), Alia Bhatt

AGE: 24

ORIENTATION: Demisexual.

ORIGIN: New York, New York (Queens)

NOVA TYPE: Corpus

ABILITY: Intangibility- The ability to pass through physical matter, though difficulty increases as the density of an object increases. If the whole body or part of a body becomes tangible within another object, the object would have to expand outwards at a detriment to its own form (explode, etc) but could potentially cause extreme physical harm to the user, depending on the property of the material. Shapeshifting (Doppleganger Morphing)- The ability to change one’s personal appearance to identically mimic that of another human being that they have seen before. This user cannot create a completely new form, nor mimic any superpowers should they morph into a nova. The longer they stay in the altered form, the harder it is to return to one’s true self. (I don’t actually have a preference for either, I love both abilities as possible for them)

THE INTERVIEW:

So, tell me a little bit about growing up. What was your childhood like?

“I moved around a lot, I guess…” Riann’s arms crossed lightly over their chest, anchoring their hands in place rather than allowing them to fidget nervously. Memories, both fond and disheartening, flashed through their mind, but they couldn’t help but wonder how much their verbal answers even mattered. Could this AI detect a lie? Could it determine the truth by analyzing their brains waves, their temperature, or other physiological responses? Did it matter? “I don’t know, I, uh… I was never bored, that’s for sure. Had plenty of extracurricular activities. Learned a lot. Didn’t starve or anything. That’s all you can ask for, right?” It’d be remiss to say they weren’t hesitant to give this AI personal information, particularly to ensure the safety of their makeshift family. A career criminal couldn’t afford to admit all faults. Despite them living in a world of uncertainty- where they’d sleep the next night, what they’d eat, when they’d eat, if they’d all make it home safely- Riann had grown numb to the anxiety stemming from the unknown. What they remembered most about their childhood was the laughter, the hugs, and the beautiful night skylines. Their teen years were a bit more rambunctious, especially as the NPA loomed closer and closer, but the way they saw it, their life was their life and they’d learned not to live with regrets and what-ifs. “I mean, like anyone, I had a bit of a rebellious streak but… It all worked out.”

What about your relationship with your family?

A small smile spread across their lips as Riann let out a warm chuckle, leaning back more casually against the wall as they relaxed. “I have three older siblings and they, uh, well they made sure I knew I was the youngest. Didn’t get much alone time, but I didn’t want it either.” How many times had they been delegated ‘look out’ or done surveillance checks on a mark for their siblings before anything actually went down? They were a cute child, slight in stature and innocent looking, and lying had become second nature to them, ingrained in them from their earliest memories. Fictional stories became so real to them that it occasionally took an extra moment for them to slip out of a character, but that’s what made them good at it, and kept them from having to actively participate in thefts they found morally wrong. Plus, it allowed them a bit of alone time to explore their own Robin Hood type interests. “But I mean, we got along fine, I guess.” They loved them. Their siblings and “adoptive” mother were their home, at least, they had been. The seeds of resentment and abandonment from being left by their biological mother so young were mostly trodden underfoot by the loyalty and love they learned from their family, but sometimes they couldn’t help but wonder, couldn’t help but indulge in anger when they thought about the sperm and egg donors that actually created them. Maybe their family wasn’t perfect, maybe they didn’t function the way others thought was healthy or stable, but for a long time it was consistent, and without that, who knew where Riann would be. “They… still think I ran away with some boyfriend, headed for Miami. And that’s for the best.”

Are you the only Nova in your family? Or were your parents Novas too? What about any siblings?

“They’re human.” And as far as Riann was concerned, that was the end of the question. As far as they knew, they were all as human possible, and they’d continue to believe that so long as it kept them safer. But were their biological parents novas? Did they have any biological siblings? They couldn’t know. Didn’t want to. They shrugded their shoulders, mounting nonchalance on their features. “”It’s just me.”

What’s your ability like? Is it easy to control or harder? Do you even like it?

A heavy silence fell, weighing down Riann’s pause as they tried to sort out what exactly they wanted to say. “It’s, uhm… It’s sort of… instinctual? Like once I make the decision, it just happens and I can’t- I can’t stop it halfway or control it. But… it’s not hard.” Every morph was like a milestone as they wore others’ bodies. In a way, it solidified their comfort in their own skin, as this body felt like home. Like them. Their appearance could change on a whim to that of an existing person, and they were the wolf in sheep’s clothing. They didn’t belong there. The freckles on their arm were the only thing that stayed in tact in their new form, and they often used them as a focal point for changing back to who they were. What was worse- the longer they stayed in a different form, the harder it was to get back. The freckles disappeared one by one as time went on, and Riann had only ever stayed in one body for up for 16 hours before getting so scared of losing themself they had to change back for a few hours for fear of being lost totally to this stranger forever. It was a dark time, a long con at the beginning of their journey to the Sanctuary, and they could distinctly remember the loss of foreignness in the new skin, the comfort and familiarity settling in, hoping to cement them there forever. Riann shook their head to clear the intruding thoughts before finishing their sentence. “It’s, uhm… it’s a cool party trick, that’s for sure. Always win charades.” And that was true; amongst the novas it was easy to get sucked into the game and posture about their ability, flirting with the danger just ever so slightly, but Riann preferred to err on the side of caution. The ability was extremely useful for concealing their identity, or protecting themself, and it made them quite good at the former job, but they’d never admit how each passing hour felt as though they were inching closer and closer to their own identity’s death.

How would you describe your personality?

"I look out for myself,” they concluded. “I have to. I think I’m….” A light chuckle escaped their lips, grin growing across their face, “Wow, I almost said nice. I’m not nice. It’s such a stupid word. But… I care, and I think that kinda comes through. Maybe I’m… I don’t know, a bit too blunt, but I think you have to figure out what’s going to push people away, and what they’re willing to deal with, you know? Does that make sense? I don’t like wasting time or energy, and you gotta go with your gut about what or who is worth it.”

What do you think your greatest strengths and weaknesses are?

“Wow, I guess both my greatest strength AND my greatest weakness is my selfishness. I look out for me, and the people I care about, and I dunno… my own moral compass? But I’m not trying to be a hero.” They paused for a moment, realizing the error they’d made: admitting to caring about others, like they could be used against them, and pointing out their usually self-servitude. This new “home” was still unexplored, and they couldn’t be certain how long they’d be staying. “Also I can’t take a joke.” It was a half-truth. People within their circle had miles of slack, but anyone they didn’t trust couldn’t expect the same wiggle room. There was a certain amount of satisfaction associated with pointing out flaws in logic, even when it meant not accepting a “joke” as something funny.

Where and what were you doing the day the Nova Protection Act was enacted?

“God, I don’t know…” They shifted nervously then, rearranging their arms in front of them. Honestly, they couldn’t quite remember- bigotry and disdain from others had always been a part of their life, whether it be because they were poor and on the streets, or a person of color, or just plain female-passing, they were more than used to the ugliness of society to take note of the “important” day the world gained yet another reason to turn against them. “I was… probably eating ice cream in Staten Island or something. Wasn’t a big deal.”

Did you immediately run? Or did you try to obey the law and report to the Anti-Nova Force?

At the question, the couldn’t help but actually laugh. It was a dry, cynical laugh, one that rang hollowly in their chest, but a laugh all the same. “Yeah, like I’d turn myself in to the same people who’d “randomly” search me at an airport. I didn’t have to do anything. Nothing changed.” Other than the fact their existence officially put their family at risk for more than just being black market thieves. It was one thing to face prison time, and quite another to put their family in danger of detainment just or being associated with them. Looking back, that was exactly the day the left, but they made sure not to leave any indication it was because of the NPA. Instead, that fateful day, they’d announced to their family they and their boyfriend were headed for the warm weather of Miami.

How have you survived this last year and a half or so? Did you have any help or were you all alone? How did you find Yalena’s Sanctuary?

"When you have the skills I have, it’s not too hard.” They pushed off from the wall then, choosing instead to pace a bit. This interview was getting tedious, and they were beginning to feel closed in. Uncomfortable. The nervous energy was coursing through their veins and they needed some way to work it out. “I knew people who knew people, and when I wanted in, I found a way. That’s how transactions work.” They weren’t about to disclose the favors they exchanged for information, or the people involved. The truth was that though their family had a reputation amongst the black market, they had one with its own standing as well. A few skeptical questions, and a bit of calculated risk in admitting to some stranger what they were had gotten them the key to sanctuary, and that’s what mattered.

It’d taken a long time getting from New York to the Sanctuary. Hitchhiking, mostly, plus a few long bus rides, and a train or two, but the passing days just brought them closer and closer to “safety.” Eventually they found a scout (or was found, it was hard to tell), and the rest, was, as they say, history.

What were you doing when the raid happened? How did you respond to the flood of Wardens? How quickly did you go through Yalena’s portal?

"I was… uhm…” Riann paused a moment, concentrating. What had the been doing? Something inconsequential. Something benign. Something completely disrupted by the ruin of the safety they’d imagined they had. Was it playing cards? Riann enjoyed counting cards, and loved to use the skill when given the chance. That was probably it. Something lazy. They couldn’t remember exactly, because the trauma of it all being ripped out from under them was something they didn’t want to acknowledge. “I know I was with other people- I don’t do that a lot, just hanging out, so I remember that. And then this guy, he… slumped over. I saw the dart. Or maybe… it wasn’t a dart. Maybe it was a bullet wound.” They couldn’t remember clearly; perhaps in the nights spent afterwards they’d justified a bullet wound as being a dart to ease their conscience. They couldn’t be certain whether the figure had slumped over in sleep or in something far more permanent. Despite being focused on themself, a great deal of guilt followed them for not doing more that day. “And then there were wardens everywhere. I ran. I heard… screaming.” Panic. Pure panic. “I saw Marisol go through the portal, and I heard someone yell for help. I… watched them fall to the ground. And then, I ran. I…” They knew they could’ve brought more people through. Could’ve at least tried. “I did what I had to do.”

What has living in The Imperium been like for you? Do you feel safer than before? Is it better or worse than on the run, or Yalena’s Sanctuary?

There was an audible pause, silence reverberating with the thoughts collecting in Riann’s mind. Their weight echoed with such strength it was a wonder the AI hadn’t already read each passing thought as it grew. Finally, they let out a defeated sigh and rolled their eyes, settling on indifference and sarcasm for their response. It was too poignant, to real, to say what they really felt. “There’s no wardens yet, so obviously it’s a 10 out of 10…” False flattery was a go-to of theirs when they didn’t want to be honest. In the back of their mind, they wondered whether or not their satisfaction (or dissatisfaction) with their new home could get them booted and back on the streets. Alone. Truthfully? They felt caged. Locked in. Imprisoned with a group of people they mostly didn’t trust, and half they didn’t like. Perhaps it’d be easier to be back on the streets, but at least here their wrist wasn’t going to get scanned at any given moment. They couldn’t tell which they missed more- the safety of being surrounded by similar individuals in the sanctuary, where at least they could be themselves, or the rose-tinted memories of being at home with people that, whether they truly knew Riann or not, they knew they were loved.

“So long as you don’t turn into the terminator, I guess I’m good here.”

The last question. If war broke out between Novas and the humans, which side will you be on?

"I’d be on the side that keeps me safe.” Their answer was pointed and clear, but it didn’t quite explain. Riann’s ties to the human world were something they wouldn’t want to ever speak of, but they’d also made at least one friend within the group of novas, and maybe that was enough. Maybe the idea of coexistence was so long gone that they’d have to side with the novas, knowing that they could never truly belong in the human world. When push came to shove, Riann would choose their kind, but they didn’t want to admit that, even to themself. The idea of belonging to something bigger than them was both incredibly enticing and terrifying.

CONNECTIONS:

Tell us your feelings on their provided connections/relationships and also any other connections you’d be interested in exploring outside of those already provided.

The Hare- I LOVE their friendship. The idea that someone somehow, pushed past the walls Riann has built up and has become important to them is so special. I don’t think Riann would be capable of functioning if they were truly alone for a long time, so this connection is in a way vital to their survival. It’s important enough that I don’t think even Riann understands the gravity of what their feelings for the Hare means, or what they’d do to protect that connection. Since I interpret Riann as demisexual, this is the type of relationship I’d see a possible romantic future in (be it unrequited or not), so I’m definitely excited to see where it leads, but it could also definitely be entirely platonic, familial even, depending on the chemistry and what going on with Marisol, so I’ll just say I’m excited either way.

The Raven- With the personality traits prescribed to Riann, and their history, I can see this being a super interesting connection. Depending on the plot development, I could see the raven bringing out Riann’s more cut-throat nature, but the way I see it, the Raven is one of Riann’s enemies. They trust their gut too much, and will never really be able to trust the Raven. That being said I wanna throw them together as much as possible because who doesn’t love bringing out the worst in their character?

Other connections- I would like to see someone become almost mentor-like to Riann, or vice-versa. They really do havea great capacity to love, it just takes a lot of time to get there, and I want Riann to CARE about others. Preferably several others. In a variety of capacities. I also want someone to just dislike them- with Riann’s personality, it’s completely plausible. They’d definitely question and distrust anyone with authority over them (they even did with Yalena, to an extent, but there was a level of respect with her not afforded to many).

HEADCANONS:

Riann has a series of 6 freckles down their inner forearm that form a nearly perfect line, and traces them subconsciously if they’re really overwhelmed as a sort of grounding mechanism.

Most of the time, they use they pronouns, but occasionally will identify as especially female. As such, I’d write them mostly as they/them, with the occasional she/her thread, but maintain whichever pronouns I start with through the duration of that thread.

They LOVE spice. Curry especially, but they’ve been known to chow down on hot asian and latin foods as well. Not only do they have a taste for it and enjoy the adrenaline rush that comes with the scovilles, but growing up, the spicier their food was, the smaller the chance anyone else would try to eat it. Their affinity was born of necessity, but they’ve grown to truly enjoy a good hot sauce.

CHANGES:

n/a

DETAILED IC INFORMATION

(OPTIONAL STUFF; THIS IS ALL MERELY SUGGESTIONS, NONE OF IT IS REQUIRED)

Character tropes and archetypes related to this character: Bunker Woman, Affectionate Pick Pocket, The Artful Dodger, Friend in the Black Market, Karmic Thief, Little Miss Con Artist Other: Defrosting the Ice Queen/The Power of Friendship, Hidden Heart of Gold, Anti-Villain,

Goals: I’d love to see Riann swing towards an extreme- their self-interest keeps them rather neutral politically and such, but the right plotting could make them go Good™ or Bad™ and I’m so ready for EITHER. I want them to make someone mad and get their ass kicked, to show them they’re not quite as independent and strong as they think they are. I want their morality to be put to the test, and have to choose between saving a life and killing, or the consequences of doing nothing in a situation where they can do something. I want them to deal with authority figures and get to a point where they accept that authority figure. I don’t see Riann as a leader, per say, but they’d make a great sidekick eventually, and then, depending on the long run, it’d be interesting to make them step up as leader as well, but that’s not what I see in the immediate future.

I made a mockblog for them (sideblog to this one to reblog inspo and such): https://vulpeculamockblog.tumblr.com/

ANYTHING ELSE?

I also answered the ability question for the doppleganger morphing because I also think it’s really cool, and would love to play with either!

#defianceacceptance

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laschatzi · 7 years

Text

A Part Of Something

summary: a post-3x20 canon divergence where Zelena’s portal never opens. Just when Emma has made up her mind about a possible future for herself and Henry in Storybrooke, she discovers that Killian is planning to leave.

rating: G and a bit of A for angst

word count: 7k

also on: ff.net and ao3

“Home is a place, when you leave you just miss it. So yeah, I'm gonna keep running until I feel that.”

“So you're just gonna leave your parents then. Don't you even care about them? Or anyone in this town?” Killian laid as much brokenness and longing as he dared to in his voice.

“Of course I care,” Emma confirmed with honesty and regret in her eyes. “I just have to do what's right for me and Henry.”

So that was it. She simply wasn't ready yet, was still too afraid to accept. He knew what he had to do. Deliberately putting some physical distance between them, he leaned back a little, only a twitching muscle in his jaw betraying his tension. “Well, then,” he replied in a controlled voice, “Of course you have to do what you have to do.” Emma raised her eyebrows in surprise, his sudden surrender completely unexpected. He tilted his head. “Who knows, maybe you'll find what you're searching for when you leave.”

She was a little confused that he seemed to simply give up, and she was also confused that she felt strangely about that... she told herself she wasn't disappointed, just surprised. “Thank you,” she managed to cover it up. “For understanding.”

The exchange is still wavering through her mind the next day, yet Emma's steps are determined when she's on her way to the Mayor's mansion. She's parked her car a few blocks away, and she's walking, wanting to take the opportunity to sort her thoughts, the mess of emotions that have been running through her veins for the last 24 hours. She's made a decision that still weighs heavy on her, and she needs that walk to calm her nerves before she talks to Regina about it.

It's not like she's changed her mind – she's still planning to do what's best for her son, and that's exactly what she's about to tell Henry's other mom. Again, Hook's words reverberate in her head, because of fucking course he always has to offer his unsolicited advice. What's best for him... or for you? he asked, his piercing blue eyes searching hers. Why are you so scared of staying? he probed, I think it's because you can see a future here, a happy one. She had no other answer than to rebuff him rudely and avoid to give an honest answer otherwise, but now isn't the time for avoidance, not with her son's future on the line. And the thought of her son's future is what, in the end, tipped the scales.

When Emma finally arrives at the Mayor's mansion she searches her soul one last time, but she finds that she's sure about her decision, and so she raises her hand to knock. Before her knuckles touch the wood, however, the door opens, and much to her bewilderment, she finds herself face to face with Hook of all people.

Completely taken aback, she lets out a little gasp and almost stumbles a step backwards. “What are you doing here?” she blurts out.

His expression looks about as shocked as she feels, and he licks his lips nervously, obviously not really pleased to see her, and the odd thought shoots through her mind that that must be a first. “Swan,” he greets her with a little hesitation in his voice and brings up his hand to scratch behind his ear, another sure sign of his nervousness. “Ah, just a matter of...” he interrupts himself and waves his hand vaguely, “just an information I sought.”

His evasive behavior reminds her very much of how he acted when he was hiding the fact from her that the Wicked Witch had cursed him (his lips, she reminds herself) to have an advantage in defeating the heroes. Her superpower tells her that he isn't exactly lying, but all her tingling senses tell her that he's hiding something from her.

She frowns and eyes him suspiciously. “What could you possibly–”

“Were you looking for me, Miss Swan?” Regina has appeared behind his tall, leather-clad figure, and her impatient, always slightly haughty voice interrupts the awkward exchange. Hook seizes the opportunity to make his exit quickly, after an almost curt head tilt in her direction that doesn't really qualify as a bow by his standards. Emma's clueless gaze follows him, completely baffled. The fact that Hook would hide something from her is deeply unsettling, and she can't suppress the thought that it must be something serious. Something that has to do with him personally, because currently there are no villains in town – at least not that she knows of. She hopes for him to turn around to look at her, so maybe she could read something in his face, but he doesn't, he keeps striding on the sidewalk with long, determined steps.

“Miss Swan?!” Regina's voice rips her from her thoughts, a little louder and more severe now, also cooler than she's been with her lately. Which Emma understands completely, as Henry's other mom is facing the prospect of having to say goodbye to him again, even if it's not a terrible, seemingly forever-goodbye like last time.

She snaps out of it; she'll deal later with Hook. “Yeah,” she replies and stuffs her hands in the pockets of her jeans, “I've come to see you. Do you have a minute?”

Regina huffs, her attitude a little exaggerated, but she steps aside. “Well, I was getting ready to leave for your parents' celebration, but as I've already been disturbed...”

With a reluctant wave of her hand, she bids Emma inside, but she doesn't offer her to come in further. Emma doesn't blame her.

“I wanted to talk to you about Henry,” she starts and draws a deep breath. Regina waits, but doesn't reply. “I want what's best for him,” Emma assures, “I truly do. And I really believe that he'd be safer in New York... at least safer from stuff like... like... portals and witches and dark magic.” Regina crosses her arms, presses her lips together and says nothing, a dark cloud brewing behind her brows as Emma continues, “And he was happy there, he really was.” Regina looks away, more pained than angry now, and Emma thinks surprisingly fondly that Regina has indeed come a long way: Henry's happiness seems more important to her than anything else. Determined to cut to the chase and not torment the other woman longer than necessary, she finally says what she's come here to say, “But, the thing is... he could never be happy there now, that he remembers.” Regina's dark eyes shoot to hers again. Emma combs her hair behind her ears with booth hands, a little nervous now, because she's about to say this aloud for the first time – there will be no going back from there, she's sworn to herself. “His family, his home... it's here,” she admits, “I can't take that from him.”

Regina unfolds her arms in a slow, controlled move. “Does that mean you're not leaving?” she probes almost sternly, yet unable to keep the hope from seeping into her low voice.

Emma shrugs. “Yeah, well... it's a package deal,” she replies and smiles a little crookedly. “If he's staying, I'm staying. You're not getting rid of me so soon.” They're past that, but both women aren't too fond of things getting too emotional, and so keeping it on a bantering level seems a good idea.

Regina returns the smile and doesn't forget to raise the sassy eyebrow. “Well, then... welcome to Storybrooke, Miss Swan... Emma,” she adds a little stiffly.

Emma snorts a little laugh, somehow relieved that she's brave enough to stick to her decision and take that step. “Thanks.” She clears her throat. “About Henry...”

Regina waves her off. “We can figure out something once you've settled in for good.” Emma nods, and Regina suggests, “You might want to spread the news as soon as possible... someone's particularly interested in that topic.” She purses her lips in an ironic smile and adds, “Annoyingly so.” Emma frowns, and Regina rolls her eyes. “I'm talking about Captain Guyliner, of course,” she clarifies dryly. “He's been quite out of sorts since–”

“Hook,” Emma interrupts pensively, but without commenting on his particular interest Regina was so eager to point out, “right. What was he even doing here earlier?” she asks. “What did he want?”

Regina huffs. “Not that it's my job to play Cupid, but–“ She flicks her wrist up to cut off Emma's protest and continues, “He was indeed seeking a bit of information from me. Or, advice, if you want.”

Emma is even more confused. “Advice?” she echoes. “Advice on what?”

“Why don't you just ask him yourself?” Regina retorts impatiently.

But Emma doesn't relent. “Regina, what's up?” she inquires firmly. “Advice on what?”

Regina rolls her eyes, clearly annoyed now. “On leaving town,” she answers reluctantly.

Emma thinks she's heard wrong. “What?!”

“That's enough,” Regina snaps, “I've already said too much.” She takes three quick steps past Emma and opens the door again, nodding sharply towards the exit. “Go talk to your boyfriend and sort it out by yourself.”

“He's not my–“

“Alright, Emma,” she cuts her off gruffly, “whatever you say. Just go.”

She's almost running the few blocks to her car. On her way to the docks, because where else would he be, she's rough with her beloved yellow bug, slamming the door and thrusting in the gears. Her grip on the wheel is so hard that her knuckles turn white. Everything about her seems to be stiff and square and hard – the set of her shoulders, the tight line of her lips. She's furious, and she doesn't even know why. No, wait – she knows why. Her instincts were right – he's hiding something from her, so that's not what shocks her. But what he's hiding is like a sucker punch. Leaving town. He's sought Regina's advice for leaving town. Leaving her. After all his pestering her, roasting her about her plans, accusing her of running away... and now he's turning his back on her, the one she'd never thought would leave her side...

Emma frowns and briefly shakes her head, chastising herself for her thoughts. It's not like he owes her anything, is it? But then, he was the one talking about a future, a happy future he accused her of being afraid of... Let me guess, with you? she snapped at him, and he didn't have the opportunity to answer her. But the way he was constantly at her heels, flinging innuendos her way, flirting, comforting and supporting her, being always there when she needed him... she really thought it meant something. She really thought she meant something.

What the actual fuck, she thinks, don't even go there, girl. It doesn't matter what she means to him, she doesn't even know what he means to her. It would be stupid to deny that he does mean something to her, of course he does. Of course I care. She can admit that much, she does care for him. Weirdly enough, thinking of who he is and how they met, he's become a friend, her best friend, if she doesn't count blood relatives. Her best friend, yes. Further than that – she hasn't ever thought, hasn't dared to think. And it hasn't been necessary to figure it out, to figure out what exactly it is between them, that trust, that spark, that... affection. She barely has been able to breathe since he brought her back from New York, back into this madness he insists is her home... flying monkeys, lost memories and the Wicked Witch trying to steal her unborn baby brother made it conveniently easy to push the question about her feelings for Hook to the back of her mind and avoid it altogether.

She'd gladly continue to avoid it for a little longer, but obviously she's running out of time, because something's about to happen she never even considered the possibility of: Hook... Killian... leaving. A sinking feeling settles low in her stomach when she thinks he might be already gone, even though she refuses to think he would leave without a word... but then – why wouldn't he? Honestly, everyone in her life she ever cared about has betrayed and abandoned her in the end, at least at some point. Except for Henry. And, well, except for...

Emma slams her foot down on the brake when she arrives at the docks and scans the edge of the water for the figure in black. She spots him not far away, sitting on a bench, looking at the horizon... probably longingly, she thinks; it feels like a stab to her heart, and that's highly unsettling by itself. She can't see his expression because she's approaching him from behind, and the churning in her stomach grows stronger. His fingers are restlessly playing with his flask, but he's not drinking, at least not at the moment.

She raises her chin in determination (about what, she doesn't know), marches up to the bench and slumps down beside him, startling him.

“Swan!” he scolds. “You scared the bloody hell out of me!”

She ignores his complaint and gives him a tight-lipped glare instead. “So, you're still here,” she states unnecessarily, her voice clipped.

He tilts his head and scrutinizes her with narrowed eyes. “Why yes, where would I be?”

“You tell me!” Emma blurts out in ire. “Weren't you gonna leave?”

He closes his eyes in exasperation and sighs. “Regina. She told you.”

She's furious that he doesn't even try to deny it. “So you were gonna sail into the sunset without even saying a word of goodbye?” she snaps in disbelief, gesturing towards the horizon in a fierce move.

Killian throws her a glance she can't quite decipher before retorting, “What? Of course not, I never had the intention to–“

“Oh no, you didn't?!” she interrupts angrily and huffs. “You never even mentioned you were planning to leave. Sounds like a secret escape to me.”

That muscle in his jaw twitches, always a sure sign that he's upset. “You, on the other hand, made your intentions very clear,” he growls.

He has nerve to be upset and turning the tables against her again! She presses her lips into a thin, stubborn line. “I'm not having this conversation with you.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh, then what kind of discourse exactly is it we're having right now, love?” he asks quietly, his momentary anger seemingly dissolved.

And it is, it's completely gone. Sure, the last few days have been frustrating, the last few weeks, if he's honest – Emma's constant claim that life in New York was so much better than here, so much safer... and of course she has only her lad's best in mind. All his attempts to get her to be honest to herself have been in vain, dismissed with rude words. Just like she's rudely dismissed him, again and again. Mocked him for his one-handedness when he was trying to help, flippantly waved him off when he offered to comfort Henry after Bae's passing, gladly declared him untrustworthy after he'd struggled to keep her safe from the Wicked Witch's curse. He'd be lying if he said her words and actions didn't hurt him.

He knows, of course, the reason for her behavior: she's been pushing him away since he brought her back to Storybrooke, because she's scared – scared of finding everything she's ever been looking for, because finding it means she could lose it again. Scared of her feelings for him, those feelings that are there, that he's sure of. Alas, it's obvious that she isn't ready for any of it. Oh, he knows exactly what she's feeling, because he's been there, too: daring to care for someone again after years – or, in his case, centuries – of closing off your heart in self-protection, daring to hope for a happy ending... it's the scariest thing he's ever experienced. And Emma Swan... she just isn't there yet. He knows it, he accepts it – he has to, there is no other way than to give her the time and space she needs, and face the risk that she never might get there. He has to let her go, because he loves her – it's useless denying it, he's confessed it already aloud, he can't and doesn't want to pretend it never happened.

But he's only human, even if he saw himself as some sort of monster for a long time, and so – yes, he was angry for a minute. Angry that she claims for herself the right to leave everyone behind, just because she isn't ready to face life and accept the second chance she's given – but on the other hand scolds him because she thinks he's leaving, too. Angry that she seems to think he's at her beck and call any time, ready to let her pick him up to play when she's in the mood and drop him like a hot potato when she sees fit. But on the other hand... what could look like a selfish attitude, gives him also some sort of hope, very unexpectedly.

He scrutinizes her closely, registers the way her shoulders are hunched a little, her hands knotted together in her lap, her expression more disillusioned than upset now – it looks a lot like she's indeed afraid, but not only of her feelings and everything she's been afraid of before... it looks like maybe, just maybe she's afraid... to lose him. Or is that just wishful thinking?

Emma's anger has evaporated, too. She realizes that she's sort of betrayed herself by attacking him for his supposed plans to leave. He's still looking at her with that unreadable expression of his, waiting for her to answer his question... and she can't. She can't, because she doesn't know. She doesn't know what it is they're talking – arguing – about here.

“Nevermind,” she finally manages to get out in a feeble voice, “I guess I just... just... didn't expect...” She waves her hand vaguely at him and falls silent with a sinking feeling in her stomach, because this is getting more and more awkward, and awkwardness is something she never felt with him. But now she has the impression that she's talking herself more and more into trouble with every word, because he's right – what kind of talk is it she's trying to have? And what right does she have to question him? The answer is, she has no right. No right to ask him to stay, let alone demand it from him – nor any right to be angry at him for wanting to leave, or even to be disappointed. Because, if she's honest with herself – and she's been practicing that lately – she has to admit that she's never given him any reason to stay by her side; on the contrary, she's done her best to push him away, to make it clear to him that she doesn't want anything from him... and yet, he has stayed, until now.

She's surprised how much it hurts now, to imagine that she won't be seeing him around every day, and she wonders where that hurt comes from. She has a suspicion, but she doesn't want to go there, because it's pointless. She draws a deep breath, mentally preparing herself to get up and leave him alone, leave him to whatever business he has to do to get his ship ready or whatever.

Killian sees it, sees the hurt in her expression and then the closing off, and if there's anything he can't bear, then it's seeing Emma Swan hurt and knowing he's the one to put that pain on her face. Even if she's probably heading out of town tomorrow, she needs to know that he wasn't going to leave her. He can't let her believe that another person she... cared for was going to abandon her. Because no, of bloody course he wasn't.

“Swan,” he stops her when she's just about to get up, and she freezes mid-move, turning to him again with a question in her eyes. “I figured you were going to head to New York any day now,” he says, “so I tried to find out, with Regina's help, how it would be possible for me to leave Storybrooke, so I could...” His words have come out like a waterfall, unusually uncoordinated for him, and now he doesn't know how to continue without scaring her off even more.

Emma stares at him in confusion, feeling completely dumbfounded. She doesn't understand where he's aiming at. “So you could what,” she blurts out in frustration, “...follow me?” It's meant to be a rhetoric question, because of course he wouldn't... but when he doesn't reply, and averts his eyes, his hand coming up to scratch behind his ear, her eyes widen in disbelief when she realizes the truth. “You were going to follow me?” she repeats.

Killian sighs. On the one hand, he's glad that she knows, on the other hand – knowing what he's planning to do could frighten her, make her walls go back up again – not that they were really down yet. He tilts his head in a shrug. “My business with the Crocodile is done,” he explains soberly, “and I have no further bonds to Storybrooke.” She stares at him with an open-mouthed expression, trying to process what he's telling her. “I feel I have already overstayed my welcome,” he continues, trying to sound nonchalant, “and I supposed New York is as good a place as any.”

“Overstayed your welcome?” she echoes and shakes her head in disbelief. “You're aware that you helped defeat the latest threat to the town and save my brother's life?” she asks, and this time she isn't so sure it's a rhetoric question, because he seems indeed completely unaware of how much he has done for her family, for the entire town lately. “You're a hero now,” she tells him, her voice firm but soft.

Killian shakes his head once. “Hardly,” he contradicts and adds matter-of-factly, “It was your and Regina's magic that defeated the Wicked Witch.”

She rolls her eyes. “Maybe, but I wouldn't even have been here to do that if it wasn't for you. And everybody knows that.” Everybody but you, she thinks and asks herself how he would know – as nobody ever seemed to have cared to thank him for anything, or even let him know how much his help and he as a person were appreciated. Including herself. All the change in him, the good and selfless things he did – they have all been taken for granted by everyone, but the moment he made a debatable decision (like hiding the Wicked Witch's curse from them), everyone was all too eager to slip back into the shouldn't-have-trusted-the-pirate routine.

He waves his hand, clearly uncomfortable, and Emma's heart grows heavy, because she knows the feeling – of worthlessness – all too well. “Anyway. My apologies if–“

“I'm not leaving,” Emma interrupts.

He raises a questioning eyebrow. “Pardon me?”

“I'm not leaving,” she repeats. “Henry and I are going to stay in Storybrooke. For good.” Strangely, every time she says that, it seems less weird and terrifying.

He narrows his eyes and leans a little forward, not sure he's heard right. “You're not–?” He doesn't dare to believe his ears at first, but she shakes her head. “But I thought you were going to run until you found–“

“A place I'd miss, I know.” Emma nods, then she shrugs. “The thing is... Storybrooke is that place for Henry. His entire family is here. I can't take that away from him.” The hint of a smile crinkles the fine skin around his eyes, and after a short pause, she draws a deep breath. “I have a confession to make.” She hesitates, frightened by her own courage, because she didn't plan to open up that much, and she doesn't know what it is about him that pushes her to reveal so much of herself. Killian doesn't reply, he just scrutinizes her and waits patiently until she goes on. “You were right,” she finally admits, “My plans to leave were not due to what I thought was best for Henry, at least not mostly. It was about me.” She shrugs. “For all my life I've been alone and on my own, and the thought of suddenly being a part of something, having a family, friends, people who... who care about me and who I care about...” She interrupts herself with a nervous little laugh before she explains honestly, “That's terrifying. But... it's a fact that I have all of that now, and if that doesn't come closer to a home than anything I knew so far, then I don't know.” She raises her chin in a gesture that reminds Killian very much of her mother. “So, I'm willing to give it a try. For Henry's sake, and for mine.”

She looks relieved, and Killian has the impression that she put all of that in words for the very first time, perhaps also admitting it to herself for the very first time. He can only imagine how much courage that cost her, and his heart goes out to this fierce warrior princess and the lost girl who took that leap of faith – to try and make a home instead of running from it, and to voice those fears.

He tilts his head and smiles. “You made the right choice, Swan,” he tells her. “For the both of you.”

Emma nods thoughtfully. “Who knows. Maybe this... this patch of dirt can become home for me, too.” She sways her arm in an all-encompassing gesture and then combs her hair behind her ears with both hands. “I mean, the other day you told me I could be a part of... all this. And some time ago, I said the same thing to you, and you... you listened to me.” He scratches behind his ears and averts his eyes for a moment when he remembers the occasion. “And maybe if you could make that choice, to be a part of something, after all these years of being alone... I can do it, too?” She smiles, still a bit insecure and skeptical.

Killian thinks back to that memorable day when she offered him the chance to do the right thing and be a part of something, instead of continuing to be alone. It took some time before her words reached his heart, he almost used the magic bean he'd stolen from her, but then he couldn't. He couldn't let another boy get lost, especially not a boy who had just lost his father. He thought of the boy Bae, dragged away by Pan's brigade, of a sleeping boy on a ship who woke up to his father gone, and finally of another sleeping boy who had to wake up to find his father murdered in the night. For the sake of all of them, and for the sake of Emma Swan's son, he saved the magic bean and turned his ship around and his life, too – telling himself that maybe it wasn't too late for him... maybe there was still a chance for him to become the man he'd always wanted to be. It was a good feeling, letting hope in again, but it was also, yes, outright terrifying.

He nods. “I know it isn't easy,” he tells Emma and smiles. “But I'm bloody sure you can do it, Swan.”

She presses her lips into a smile and tilts her head, his encouraging words from another occasion ringing in the back of her mind: I have yet to see you fail... She's not gonna lie, his constant and unwavering support of her and belief in her has helped her more than once to overcome her insecurities and fear when it came to fight battles against villains. He always seems to provide exactly what she needs, exactly in the right moment. Even if sometimes she doesn't know herself what it is that she needs.

“Were you really going to follow me?” she asks with an incredulous shake of her head and then smiles when he averts his eyes. “Thanks for having my back,” she tells him honestly, and then suddenly a strange feeling takes hold of her, and something crosses her mind. She tries to wrap her mind around it and frowns. “But I'm wondering... why would you even ask Regina?” She looks at him inquiringly when her thoughts become clear and logical in her head. “I mean... your ship's made of enchanted wood, right? We know you can leave town, you already did when you went after Gold in New York – you sailed.” Her voice is pensive, almost like she's talking to herself.

Killian scratches behind his ear and looks away, clearly uncomfortable now. “Ah... true, yeah,” he manages, strangely tongue-tied. “Hmmm, you know, with villains and curses and all, I guess it just...” – he gesticulates vaguely – “It just slipped my mind.” Finally he lifts his eyes to hers again and grins sheepishly, but the grin doesn't reach his eyes.

Emma narrows her eyes when it hits her unmistakably. “You're lying.” It's an assessment, not a question. His face falls. “This is about what happened during the last year, isn't it?” she persists.

His face falls. “Swan...”

She leans forward and searches his eyes, urging, “What are you hiding from me?”

“Didn't you tell me only a few days ago that you were tired of living in the past?” he retorts. “That it doesn't matter?”

“But this isn't the past,” she argues, “This is now.” It pains her almost physically to see him cringe and avoid her gaze as it's vivid proof of the distance his secret is putting between them, and she just can't have that, not when she was just about to... “Please, I have to know,” she interrupts her own thoughts in an almost imploring voice. “I've been honest with you, now I need you to be honest with me.” She can see him fight with himself, but he still hesitates, so she goes on, “Your ship can travel from Storybrooke to the Land Without Magic,” she says matter-of-factly, “but it cannot travel realms, not without a portal, right?” Finally, his eyes are looking at her again, but he still doesn't reply. “When you came for me and Henry,” Emma continues relentlessly, “you weren't with your ship. Why?”

Killian sighs deeply. He never wanted to reveal it, simply because he once promised to win Emma Swan's heart without any trickery. And because there's a good chance that knowing what he did for her would frighten her so much that it could drive here away beyond any reach. But he also knows that he can't hide the truth from her, not if she really insists on having it. So he draws a deep breath and starts to lay bare his secret.

“It's no big deal, really,” he tries to play it down. “I needed a portal, right.” He tilts his head. “As luck would have it, I crossed paths with someone who was in possession of a magic bean... and in need of a vessel.” He averts his eyes again, irrationally hoping she might just let it go or simply not understand what that means. In a desperate attempt to save the situation, to make it less heavy and meaningful, he shrugs with a grin that feels false on his lips. “Fastest deal I ever made.”

Her eyes widen, grow big as jade marbles, and her mouth falls open in disbelief, because of course she's aware of the meaning of his words. Her voice is almost toneless when she finally finds words to say. “You traded your ship for me?”

Killian shrinks a little, the shock in her voice doing nothing to calm his nerves. In a moment of utter panic he contemplates playing it light, making a joke of it, but then he opts for honesty. There's no use in hiding it any longer anyway, whatever the consequences may be, she knows the truth now. He raises his head to look at her in an utterly serious, almost apologetic way, and nods once, slowly. “Aye.”

Emma's thoughts are whirling, the blood rushing through her veins, causing a deafening swoosh in her ears as the scales fall from her eyes. That is why she often found him at the docks, but never saw his ship since her return from New York. Why he's always at Granny's, why he has a room there – because he has no other place to go to, no other room to sleep. Because while she's been struggling to find out where and if ever she could find a home for herself, he's been without his – because he'd given it away, so he could bring her back to hers. Not for the sake of her family, for the sake of breaking a curse or for his own sake – no, for her alone. She remembers his words, spoken over a tumbler of rum from the bottle she kept in her New York apartment – the bottle she didn't remember buying, because rum had never been her drink... yet something must have pushed her to buy it. I came back to save you.

She looks at him with wide eyes, her disbelief slowly fading into acceptance and wonder. His ship, his home. She swallows, her throat dry all of a sudden. When she speaks, her voice comes out croakily, barely more than a whisper. “Don't... don't you miss it?”

Killian tilts his head, a very tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Every day,” he admits and shakes his head once. “But not as much as I'd miss you.” His eyes rest upon her with a profound melancholy in them, but bare of even the tiniest hint of regret, and that is what makes her crumble in the end. It's not like she's losing the fight with her feelings – she just gives it up.

A tear slips down Emma's cheek, and even though he has sworn to himself he wouldn't do anything she could perceive as pressure, as an unwelcome approach that could make her retreat into her shell, Killian can't help himself – he raises his hand to her face and gently brushes his thumb across her cheek to wipe away that errant tear. “She was just a ship,” he says softly, “A few planks of wood and a sail.”

She lets out a little snort, something between a sob and a laugh, and he starts to reluctantly withdraw his hand. But then the most surprising thing happens when she shifts closer to him on the bench, gravitating his way and leaning forward, her cheek following his fingertips as if she's chasing his touch. He stops his movement, terrified almost, when her face is so close to his that he can feel her breath on his lips. Her tear-brimmed eyes are fixed on his, and now he stops breathing.

Emma exhales slowly in relief, as if she's made a decision and a heavy load is falling from her shoulders. “Why do you have to be like this?” she murmurs, but it doesn't sound accusing, and then she tilts her head to the left, deliberately leaning into his touch now. And after a short glance at his mouth she closes the last tiny bit of distance and touches her lips to his.

As shocked as he is by her unexpected move – before he can think of what to do, how to react now, his heart and his instincts take the helm, pushing his fear and caution out of the way. So, he responds to her kiss, slowly and carefully, because how on Earth could he not? He feels the warmth of her hands through the layers of clothing on his chest where she laid them, but unlike that other time when she kissed him, her fingers are not grasping his lapels as if she's trying to keep herself from retreating. No, this time her palms are resting against his pounding heart, her fingers spread like wings, completely relaxed and at ease. And finally, some of that ease she transpires engulfs him and encourages him, telling him that this – this is what she really wants; he is what she really wants. His fingers, still resting against her cheek, find their way slowly, tenderly across her jaw until they come to a halt at the back of her neck, combing into her soft hair. He curls his fingertips a little and presses them lightly into her scalp, just a tiny bit, to show her that he's there to hold her.

He knows how she kisses... or so he thought. That one time back in Neverland was frantic, all-consuming, scorching... but this time? Oh, it's not less intense, by no means, that's not it. But this time it's intimate. Slow and soft, and full of meaning. Of promises. Fragile, yet firm. Determined. Her kiss in Neverland was a determined move, too, but that determination waned as quickly as it had flared up in her eyes right before she'd grabbed him. This time...

Fear grips his heart and twists his guts when Emma slowly lets go of his lips and tilts her head back a little bit. He swallows hard, his skin burning and prickling, his blood rushing in his ears. The seconds are ticking away, are turning into ages as he looks into her eyes and waits for her to say something, to pull back, to shake her head and push him away... her green eyes are still sparkly with the unshed tears from before, and his heart grows heavy, so heavy... but then she does the unbelievable thing again and smiles. Her lips, that have been caressing his a mere few seconds ago, pull into a tiny, almost shy smile. Her eyes drop briefly to his mouth again and then look back into his, one slow blink of her lids sending him an unspoken invitation.

And just like that, his fear subsides, and his nerves calm. His heart and stomach keep fluttering, but mostly for different reasons now, and without noticing, he lets out the same exhale of relief as Emma before, as he finally dares to smile back. His fingers still curled at the back of her neck, he pulls her forward a little, encouraged by her smile, and she eagerly follows. Their lips meet again, and this time, he doesn't remain as passive as before... Killian doesn't just respond to the kiss or simply return it, this time he kisses her back. Still carefully, still slowly, but very thoroughly and with a new found confidence. There's a new depth behind this kiss, and even though it's still not as frantic and scorching as back in Neverland, it holds a promise of that passion, of more – much more.

When they break apart this time to catch some air, it happens very reluctantly, and their foreheads remain leaned together, her hands still resting against his chest. Emma still smiles, and there's no reluctance, no awkwardness in her look, no avoiding his gaze.

They remain still like this for a while, both basking in the warmth that blooms inside them and surrounds them all at once.

But then, eventually someone needs to say something, and Emma takes that part. “Before you ask me...” she begins, and the huskiness in her voice makes his heart soar, “I don't know what that was... or what this is, or what it's gonna be...” she pauses and blinks, but oddly enough, it doesn't make him nervous at all. “I just know one thing,” she continues, “whatever it is... I don't want it to be a one-time thing.”

She averts her eyes for a moment, a rosy blush tinging her cheeks, and when she looks back at him, tentatively almost, he understands. He understands what a huge leap of faith for her this really is. Despite all his barely hidden chasing of her affection, despite his admission that he was going to follow her to New York (and he knows he'd follow her to the end of the world, if he had to), she still isn't sure that he won't reject her. It's simply because she's Emma Swan, and she hasn't experienced anything than rejection almost for her whole life. She's in the middle of the process of realizing that she isn't alone anymore, that she doesn't have to be, but she's got still a long way ahead, and the lost little girl, it's still living there inside, behind those huge green eyes searching his.

He smiles and slides his hand carefully from her hair, resting his palm against her jaw and his thumb caressing the apple of her cheek. “Good,” he answers her unspoken question, and her eyes twinkle as she nods once.

“Good,” she replies and then sighs, leaning back a little and letting her hands fall from his chest. “As much as I'd love to stay here cozy with you all day... they're waiting for us at the celebration.”

Killian frowns in confusion. “The celebration?” he echoes.

“My parents' celebration,” she reminds him. “The naming ceremony for my brother. Apparently, that's a thing in the Enchanted Forest...” She interrupts herself and narrows her eyes. “Wait, why am I telling you this, you're from there, you should know more about it than me.”

“I do indeed, love, but I don't know...” he sways his head from side to side, “A pirate at a royal festivity? What am I supposed to do?”

Emma smiles and gets up from the bench. “Blend in?”

He rises to his feet automatically, it's the gentleman in him that can't remain seated when his lady – his lady! The thought makes him delightfully dizzy – is on her feet, but he still hesitates. Averting his eyes, he scratches briefly behind his ear. “I don't know, Swan...”

“Hey, let's face it,” she says almost severely, “You and me, we're both a part of something now.”

He raises a teasing eyebrow at her, delighted about the lightness and naturalness in her voice, like she's completely at ease with all of this. “Whatever it is?” he questions.

She simply reaches out for him and laces her right arm through his hooked one, a weirdly old-fashioned gesture for her and thus all the more endearing to him.

“Whatever it is.”

#cs ff #cs #captain swan #cs fic #captain swan ff #my ff #a part of something

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transgenderteensurvivalguide · 7 years

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Ok I'm sending this in bc I'm genuinely confused and want to be corrected if necessary. Why aren't trans people taught to embrace their body instead of changing it? I've seen posts going around with words like 'its ok to be a trans man and feminine' and I agree because your gender is what it is no matter your outward appearance. why can't trans men be men and be feminine why is 'transition' needed? You can be a man with a vagina and that's okay.. I don't understand why that needs to change

Kii says:

If a man is comfortable with his vagina, then there is no reason that anyone should pressure him to change that, but if someone is uncomfortable with a part of their body and that discomfort is affecting their mental health, then they also have the right to change that.

I digress a little, but I think a topic that often gets left out of the body positivity movement is the right to body modification. So, if someone (cis or trans) has small breasts and they feel insecure and that insecurity is affecting their clothing choices, relationships, etc, then they have every right to get breast implants if they feel that is the best way to remedy that discomfort. They shouldn’t be shamed or told that they should learn to love their small chest because if they are resorting to surgery, because they’ve probably tried. Surgery is expensive and painful, so it’s generally not something people decide on overnight.

Many trans people experience dysphoria about their bodies and have experienced that for awhile before they make the decision to pursue physical transition. It’s impossible to know what’s best for a person unless you are that person, so trans people shouldn’t be discouraged from transitioning if that’s what they want, as long as they’re making informed decisions.

Lee says:

I think people tend to overlook the fact that a lot of trans people don’t medically transition in every way possible, and there are a lot of trans men who have vaginas and choose not to get lower surgery. In fact, I think the majority of trans men don’t get lower surgery.

There are many reasons why trans people might not to transition:

Medical transitioning can be expensive and time-consuming

They may have health issues or disabilities that make it physically unsafe to medically transition with hormones or surgery

They may feel comfortable with how their bodies are currently and just don’t feel the need to change it

They may not want all the changes that come with starting hormones, or the scarring or potential sensation loss or complications that come with surgery

Some trans people don’t have dysphoria so they don’t feel the need to medically transition

Other trans people do have dysphoria, but try to manage it in other ways than pursuing medical transition wearing masculine/feminine clothing, binding/wearing breast forms, packing/tucking, etc.

They may be genderfluid or have a changing gender expression/presentation and not want to change their bodies in a permanent way

Some non-binary people may feel dysphoric no matter what genitals or hormones they have, so they figure it’s not worth it because none of the options are what they want

Some people may not be able to access medical transitioning due to medical gatekeeping

They may be mentally ill and can’t get a letter in support of them and their mental health (hello ableism) and their local medical teams may not do informed consent

They could be larger and a surgeon refuses to operate on them because they aren’t skinny enough (hello fatphobia)

Some people may not be satisfied with the current surgical options available and feel that they aren’t a good choice for them

Younger trans people may not be able to transition medically without their guardian’s permission and many parents/guardians say no

If someone is financially reliant on a transphobic or abusive relative they may not be able to safely medically transition

They may be able to pass without a medical transition so don’t feel the need to bother with it or they may not care about passing or not want to pass

They may be waiting to medically transition until they’re ready emotionally and when they’re in a stable situation

Some people would rather not go through the whole process of getting surgery and going through the recovery

It can be hard to afford to take time off from work to get surgery or keep up with school while recovering from surgery

Trans people who are comfortable with their bodies because their bodies are their bodies even if most people of their gender have a different body are valid

Relevant links:

Here’s What Trans People Who Aren’t Medically Transitioning Want You To Know- Buzzfeed

Transgender people: 10 common myths

On Choosing Not to Medically Transition: what transition has and has not meant for me

How I’m Transitioning Without Transitioning

Are you still transgender if you don’t want, or are scared, to have surgery or hormone therapy?

Debunking the ‘Surgery Is a Top Priority For Trans People’ Myth

So yes, there are some trans people who do embrace their body instead of changing it, and people who can’t ever quite embrace their body but still choose to stick with it.

But that doesn’t mean that path works for all trans people. There are trans people who just aren’t comfortable in their bodies, and medically transitioning is the path that will make them the happiest in life. There’s nothing wrong with choosing not to medically transition, and there’s nothing wrong with getting surgery and hormones.

I’m a trans person who has been under the knife more than once. I’ve been through major surgeries, a double mastectomy to give me a flat chest, and a hysterectomy to remove my uterus and cervix and fallopian tubes. That was about 8 hours of surgery and I’ll be going through a much bigger surgery when I get phalloplasty. In total, I’ll be going through at least 4 transitioning surgeries, maybe more (there are multiple stages of phalloplasty). And surgery has risks, it’s expensive, and it’s disrupted my life. I really wish that I didn’t need this surgery because it would make my life easier, but I do.

Trans people sometimes have to take drastic steps to reduce our dysphoria, but we do it because it’s necessary. I had debilitating depression that I had been hospitalized for despite taking antidepressants and being in months of intensive outpatient. Once I got top surgery, I no longer had to spend hours fighting off dysphoria about my chest and my depression decreased and my mental health improved.

Maybe I could live with this body I was born with- but I shouldn’t have to. If I could be happier after surgery, then getting surgery is the right choice for me.

And multiple mental health professionals have agreed with me on this- I’ve actually needed to get multiple official letters from licenced medical professionals according to the WPATH guidelines saying they think surgery is the right choice for me before I could get surgery.

Some statistics:

Suicide rates dropped from 29.3 percent to 5.1 percent when there was access to transition-related treatment. (De Cuypere, et al., 2006)

A meta-analysis of transgender people who transitioned medically demonstrated that the average reduction in suicidality went from 30% pre-treatment to 8% post-treatment, and that 78 percent of transgender people had improved psychological functioning after treatment. (Murad, et al., 2010)

86% of patients who accessed transition were assessed by clinicians at follow-up as stable or improved in global functioning. (Johansson, et al., 2010)

In a cross-sectional study of 141 transgender patients who accessed medical transition, suicide fell from 19 percent to zero percent in transgender men and from 24 percent to 6 percent in transgender women. (Kuiper, Cohen-Kettenis, 1988)

“Although more evidence would be welcome, adequately treated gender dysphoria is likely to be safer than the untreated condition, which is associated with an enhanced risk of depression and suicide. Reassuringly, few transsexuals regret undergoing treatment.” (Levy, et al., 2003)

“Second to social support, persons who endorsed having had some form of gender affirmative surgery were significantly more likely to present with lower symptoms of depression.” (Boza, et al., 2014)

“Studies show that there is less than 1% of regrets, and a little more than 1% of suicides among operated subjects. The empirical research does not confirm the opinion that suicide is strongly associated with surgical transformation.” (Michel, et al., 2002)

Testimony for HRT, by TransActive

WPATH’s statement on the medical necessity for transgender healthcare

AMA Resolution 122, which determined the American Medical Association’s stance on the medical necessity of transgender healthcare

The APA’s statement on the medical necessity of transgender healthcare

TranScience Project’s Hormone Therapy and Safety, which offers several citations that talk about the medical risks (and overall importance) for HRT

The Endocrine Society’s Clinical Practice Guidelines for transgender patients, which details their recommendations in full favor of HRT beginning on page 4

More info: What does the scholarly research say about the effect of gender transition on transgender well-being?

So back to the question. “Why aren’t trans people taught to embrace their body instead of changing it?”

Well, as I stated before, plenty of trans people choose not to medically transition. And those people aren’t visible enough. There’s a lot of pressure to medically transition and look cis-passing from both cis people and misinformed/misguided trans people (truscum/transmedicalists) because trans people who choose not to transition are often invalidated and misgendered. So yes, your gender is what it is no matter your outward appearance, and not medically transitioning is valid and it needs to become part of the mainstream narrative too.

But the trans people who do medically transition have probably tried to embrace their bodies, but that doesn’t always work. It just isn’t the way our brains work, for whatever reason. People who do choose to medically transition do it because it’s what will make our lives the happiest moving forward.

And there are many studies and experts who will attest to the necessity of medical transitioning for the people who need it, as you can see from the sources above.

#kii says #Lee says #breasts /#genitals /#medical /#surgery /#dysphoria #physical transition #Anonymous #transgenderteensurvivalguide

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deforrestdraper · 7 years

Text

Remember when I said all my faves are alcoholics?

(Takes place before Mirror, Mirror.)

Drowning

Leonard McCoy knew he was functioning about as well as could be expected for someone who had absolutely no business being in space in the first place. He knew, logically, that the only form of transportation statistically safer than space travel was beaming from one location to the next—and wasn’t that a laugh. There simply wasn’t anything in space to collide with, no vehicles that weren’t operated by highly trained personnel. He had a better chance killing himself walking the halls of the corridors tripping over his own two feet than he was to die in some horrific accident out in the vacuum of space. And yet—

And yet, he knew what the vacuum of space could do to a body, what kind of radiation was out there, what kind of disasters could result from a little bit of trouble with the warp core. He had to know about them, because he was the one expected to undo the damage and save lives should they ever happen to anyone on the ship.

So he managed about as well as anyone else who had gotten this far out before realizing that space probably wasn’t the best line of work for them. At his age—and anyone else on the ship with a similar problem, but he kept those safely and confidently in his own medical files—there wasn’t much option by the way of career choice. He’d worked too long and too hard to be a doctor, and he was in the service now whether he liked it or not.

Sometimes, he needed a mild tranquilizer to push back the dread, or a light stimulant to force his mind to focus on the work, but never more than he prescribed anyone else, never more than strictly necessary, never enough to qualify as a problem when he tallied and submitted the monthly inventory report. Never enough that it couldn’t be chalked up to the regular needs of any surgeon who was technically on-call 24/7.

Which is how it came to be that when he needed to relax on his off-duty hours, he poured himself a glass. One was usually enough, two if his mind wouldn’t let it go that they were in the macro equivalent of a tin can screaming through space—don’t think about it, Len, don’t think about it. Sometimes, though, something would just set him off, like the ensign today who had come in with a minor exposure injury after “forgetting” to wear a pressure suit beneath his walk suit—and Leonard would be tearing Scotty a new one later about enforcing basic safety procedures—when he’d set out in a space walk to repair some minor damage that had caused a bit of buckling in one of the bulkheads.

Leonard had been fine, at first, safe in his Med Bay far from any of the outer layers of the ship, but later, alone in his cabin, with a view straight to the stars through a porthole he really wished hadn’t been put there, not knowing what section the damaged bulkhead had been in, not knowing when the last time his may have been inspected, not knowing if any moment now, a fissure that had been invisible to the naked eye would rupture and he’d be blown out into space like so much debris and Leonard caught himself pacing his cabin like he was trying to put off weight, that he set aside a hypospray charged with a chemical that would counteract the alcohol’s effects should something happen and his services were required, and knowing that he had been scheduled the next two days off, he drank.

It should have been fine. They were sitting in a starless expanse, even by the massive scales set by space itself, studying what existed in vast swathes of nothing. They were deep in Federation space, lightyears away from anyone or anything else. It was the kind of mission where you expected more injuries from boredom idleness than anything else.

4 hours and one Romulan encounter later, Leonard was swaying in his quarters, administering a second dose of the antihol because one wasn’t working well enough this time, and waiting for the effects to fully register in his system before, without changing back into his uniform, he was back in the business of saving lives. His hands were steady, his decisions correct and competent, his reaction times superb, and his breath smelling of moonshine from the amount that was still trying to digest in his gut.

It wasn’t the first time, and Leonard knew it probably wouldn’t be the last, but it was obvious enough that after everything was secure again and no one was fighting back the dark curtain of death, that Jim came down to speak with him. At least he had the grace to see him in Leonard’s office with the door shut.

“Bones,” Jim began, tentatively, struggling in and out of captain-mode in such a way that Leonard wasn’t sure if he was here in an official capacity or not.

Leonard kept his back to his “medicinal” liquor cabinet and decided to give the conversation a small push. “Jim, is this about what I was doing before I came back to sick bay?”

A kind of relief pushed at the corners of Jim’s face, perhaps at knowing they were both on the same page without having to say it, without having to push the damning question. “I’m told this wasn’t the first time.”

“Need I remind you that I was also off duty?” Leonard asked easily, always feeling lighter after a successful shift, scheduled or not. “A man’s entitled to a little drink now and then.” The words felt like a misstep before they’d even left his tongue.

“A little drink? Christine said you were smashed.” Christine, not Nurse Chapel—the talk was off the record, and Leonard intended to keep it that way.

“And I was also supposed to be off for two days! If it were anyone else—”

“It wasn’t anyone else, Bones!” Jim proceeded with the argument Leonard had started. “It was my Chief Medical Officer, who I might need in an emergency at any time—”

“Exactly!” It was the point he’d hoped Jim would make. “No one else on this ship is expected to be fit for duty at any given moment, just the Chief Surgeon. Everyone else has someone in the chain of command who can take over in an emergency, but medical personnel are expected to be ready to go at the drop of a hat.” Jim looked like he hadn’t considered so much, and Leonard made a show of rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, Jim, I’ll admit I had two days off and I had no reason to believe I’d need to be called in, so I let myself get a little drunk. But I was also ready to come in when you needed me. I did do my job and I can do my job, but you can’t expect me not to relax once in a while if you’re not going to hold the rest of the ship to the same standards. Does that sound fair?”

Leonard thought it was nothing short of a miracle that Jim had let him get it all out like that without challenging him on any point, but the bigger miracle yet, was the understanding smile. “That sounds fair,” Jim conceded. “I’m sorry, Bones.”

Relief spread through Leonard’s body almost as quickly as the impending hangover was. “And I’m sorry, Jim, for putting you in this position in the first place.”

“It happens to the best of us.” Jim took two steps toward the door, stopped, pivoted. “Just to be sure, I want to hear you say it. Do you have a problem?”

The look on Jim’s face was so gentle, so kind, that Leonard felt the regret deep in the pit of his stomach even as he kept every hint of deception clear from his face. “I don’t have a problem.”

A couple hours of paperwork and a looming headache the size of Jupiter later, Leonard made it back to his cabin, exhausted and hoping to be unconscious before the last of the moonshine finished metabolizing in his system and his hangover could begin in earnest. He could always counteract the effects medicinally, but he felt that would be taking it one step too far. Negating the effects of the liquor to save lives was one thing, canceling out the resulting hangover for his own comfort was something else entirely. He’d made his bed, and he was determined to lie in it—face-down this time, apparently.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d laid like that—not long enough to drift off to sleep, that was for sure—before a chime rang through his quarters. He ignored it; it came again, and a minute or so later, again.

Leonard groaned and pulled himself into a sitting position. “Enter.” The door slid open to reveal Spock, who stepped through immediately and allowed the door to shut behind him. Of course it was Spock. No one else would just stand there for who knows how long ringing the bell without backing down but Spock. Leonard scrounged up the last of his patience. “Listen, Spock, I’m exhausted, and I’m off duty. Whatever it is, it can wait for tomorrow.”

If Spock got the hint, he ignored it. “Doctor, I have received some disturbing reports about your health as of late.”

Leonard let out a slow breath, forcing his brain to kick back up into a gear that could handle this conversation. If Jim had been aware of his problem, then of course Spock would be. As First Officer, in charge of all crew and command issues, and being Spock of all people, Spock would be aware more than Jim should have been. “Is this on the record?”

“No, not as of yet.”

“Alright, sit down, Spock” Leonard pressed a hand against a temple and rubbed briefly. Off the record was something at least. His official reputation remained in tact, no matter what rumors circulated about him. “Then about those disturbing reports?”

Acknowledging the invitation and the fact that Leonard had no intention of leaving his bed entirely, Spock sat next to him on the bed, and both of them stared forward, determined not to look at each other. “Doctor, it has come to my attention that you may be suffering from an illness.”

Leonard could never tell if sticking to titles without names meant anything when it came to Spock, but he didn’t intend on making things easy for the Vulcan. “And what illness would that be?”

“Substance abuse disorder, specifically alcoholism.” Hearing it stated so plainly when Leonard had been lying to himself about it so far, gave him enough pause that Spock was able to press on unchallenged. “While this disease has not affected your medical ability to any measurable degree at this time, it has impacted your interpersonal relationships with both friends and shipmates. I have observed that not only have you have become increasingly reticent as of late, but that your temper has become shorter as well. It is my intention to address this problem before it becomes a matter of record.”

There was that magic word again: problem. It was a problem, and Leonard knew it no matter how much he tried to sweep it under the rug. In the beginning, it had been manageable, most likely. Thinking back on recent months, he had been hanging back from the rec room in favor of his own quarters, he had been taking a sip when nerves had started getting to him, he had let slip a xenophobic insult or two Spock’s way when he hadn’t been totally up to snuff. As usual, Spock’s logic was damn near bullet-proof.

Spock continued: “Judging from the apparent cycle I have observed, it would seem that your urge to imbibe is in response to a trigger. I have correlated these instances and they seem to most align with high-stress incidents, specifically those that affect the ship as a whole. Would I be correct in assuming that this is in response to feeling overwhelmed in the medical bay? If so, I may be able to request the addition of another surgeon to the staff in order to decrease your workload.”

It dawned on Leonard that Spock was trying to be considerate in his own way. Instead of seeking a replacement, he was offering additional support. Instead of condemning him for a drinking problem, he was offering assistance in understanding and correcting it. “No, Spock, I’m not feeling overwhelmed in sick bay. If I had my way, I’d be spending more time there than here in my quarters.”

Spock folded his hands in his lap. “If work is not the stressor, may I inquire as to what is?”

Leonard took a deep breath, held it, released it. “It’s space.”

“Space?” Spock parroted.

“Yes. I’m terrified of it, Spock. I keep thinking one of these days, something’s going to happen, and I’m going to just die blown out into space—that my body’s going to be drifting lost in that damn vacuum for the rest of eternity.”

“Doctor,” Spock’s voice sounded very patient, “Surely you are aware that space travel is safer than any form of ground travel available on earth at this time.”

“I know that, Spock,” Leonard caught his temper rising and cut it off, “But knowing that and getting over my astrophobia are two entirely different things.”

There was a pause as Spock considered Leonard’s words. “If you are indeed suffering from astrophobia, why did you pursue a career as a doctor in Starfleet?”

“It wasn’t this intense at first,” he admitted with a little defeat. “I feel like every time we have an incident—a battle or an accident—it gets worse.” It sounded logical to Leonard at least.

Spock adjusted his hands so they were laced together in front of him. “Doctor, if you are experiencing a fear of space to this degree, then perhaps—”

“No, Spock,” Leonard cut him off before he could finish the thought. “I want to be here. I can do the most good here. I’m just not adjusting well, that’s all.” Adjusting well was probably not the word for it, considering they had been out in space for over a year now, but if Spock took issue with his wording, he didn’t say as much.

“Then you are determined to stay here on the Enterprise?”

Leonard nodded. “I am.”

Spock sat still—thinking, considering—long enough to make Leonard more than nervous. Then without warning, Spock straightened even more than before. “I may be able to provide assistance for the psychological aspect of your disorder, and I am willing, so long as you address the physical aspects accordingly.”

Leonard frowned a bit. “If you mean talk therapy, I’ve already—”

“No, not talk therapy, Doctor. You have already admitted that your aversion to space goes beyond your rational processes, and that despite that, you are determined to remain here on this ship. This leads me to believe you would have already attempted to encourage your mind to accept the logic of the facts, to no avail. As you are a skilled physician and it would take considerable time to arrange a replacement and acquaint them with a new ship and new patients, I am averse to recommending your discharge at this time if it can so be avoided. When putting these things into consideration, it is of my opinion that a mind meld may be the most appropriate course of action.”

“A mind meld?” Leonard said with a start. “You really think you’re going to be able to solve this mess by poking around in my head?”

Spock brought his hands in front of his face. “No. I am aware that this will be an ongoing struggle for you. I do not expect you to achieve sobriety overnight, nor am I dismissing the possibility of experiencing setbacks.” Spock pulled his hands back down and turned, facing Leonard for the first time since the difficult conversation began. “However, I do believe the best results will be achieved by first correcting the underlying aberrant thought processes, and that continuing success depends strongly on building on a strong foundation of logical thought. I would also prefer to avoid watching you become increasingly ill or facing the prospect of losing your services on this ship. A mind meld is the most logical solution at this time.”

It was about as emotional a confession as he was going to get. Leonard brought a knuckle to his chin and turned over all this new information in his head. He couldn’t argue that the idea had merit, and he didn’t relish the thought of possibly facing a discharge or having his problem turn into a more permanent issue. Everything Spock said sounded right, and if Leonard was being honest with himself, the proposal felt like the saving grace he’d been looking for all these months. Mind made up, Leonard addressed Spock again. “And this will all stay off the record?”

If Leonard didn’t know better, he would have thought Spock looked relieved. “So long as progress is being made, I am reasonably certain your treatment can remain confidential.”

“Even from Jim?”

“The Captain need not be informed.”

Leonard propped his foot on a knee and considered once more, giving himself one last chance to back out. He could trust Spock to be discrete. He believed him when he implied that this would be between just them so long as some progress was being made. He knew for a fact that Spock could handle the job with all the tact the situation deserved. All that was left for Leonard was to decide if he was really ready.

Leonard turned and faced Spock cross-legged on the bed. “Alright, Spock, let’s do this.”

Leonard closed his eyes and felt fingers press lightly against his face. “My mind to your mind. Your thoughts to my thoughts….” Then Leonard’s mind was both one and two and space suddenly was not so very vast.

#star trek #mccoy #kirk #spock #tos #oc #t #n #starTrek #km #sm #ksm #me #work:drowning

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socialattractionuk · 5 years

Text

Boy has to plan out what he says to his girlfriend – because getting nervous could kill him

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A 17-year-old boy has a rare condition – if his heart races, he might die, meaning he could even be killed by playing football or chatting up women.

Liam Spare has ‘sudden death syndrome’, an illness where if his heart rate goes above 80 beats per minute, he is at serious risk of cardiac arrest.

The teen can’t dance at a disco or play football with his mates and riding on a roller coaster is strictly forbidden.

Liam can’t do anything that will gets his heart racing, so when he meets up with his now girlfriend, he has to plan what he was going to say in advance – so nerves don’t trigger his illness.

The college student has already suffered three cardiac arrests and was in a coma earlier this year, after his heart stopped when he lifted too many weights. A gym worker gave him CPR before paramedics shocked his heart back into action, and now he has a mini-defibrillator inside his body, in case his heart stops again.

If I get too excited, like a sudden rush of adrenaline, it could kill me,’ said Liam, who is from Swadlincote in Derbyshire.

‘If someone made me jump it could shock me and I could collapse.

‘For me, a raised heart rate is quite serious. I could just drop dead if I get too excited. It’s really scary to think about.’

(Picture: SWNS.COM)

Liam said: ‘Roller coasters are out of the equation and I can’t run fast. A very light jog is just about all I can manage.

‘Obviously I can’t do any sports. As a kid I couldn’t really go out with friends to socialise until my brother was able to look after me. I stayed at home a lot.

‘I’ve never really done P.E. I’ve always been limited to what I can do at school. I missed out on a lot of my childhood.

‘It is upsetting because all of my mates used to ask me out and I had to say no. I feel like I have missed out on so much.’

Liam was only four when he had his first cardiac arrest, after he ran ahead of his mum on a trip to the shops.

An ambulance was called, but Liam’s heart miraculously restarted on its own and doctors explained it as ‘collapse on exertion’.

Four years later, when he was eight years old, Liam collapsed in his mum’s arms when his heart stopped again after he ran to pick up his scarf that had blown away in the wind.

Luckily, his heart started beating again and he was taken to Burton Hospital’s intensive treatment unit for further tests.

Liam’s mum, Claire, 38, said she pushed doctors to investigate and he was given an electrocardiogram for 24 hours, to test the function of his heart.

(Picture: SWNS.COM)

Experts at Birmingham Hospital’s heart clinic finally diagnosed him with two deadly heart conditions.

He has catecholaminergic polymorphic ventricular tachycardia (CPVT) – where an increase in heart rate due to activity or stress can trigger an abnormally fast and irregular heartbeat.

He was also diagnosed with long QT – an inherited heart rhythm issue where the muscle takes longer than normal to recharge between beats.

Liam remembers how he would watch on from the sidelines while his mates played sports at school.

He had to settle for picking up the cones at the end of the session and always felt jealous of his classmates.

Liam said: ‘It was a big shock when we found out. Thinking back now I feel very lucky that nothing serious happened.

‘The doctors told me I couldn’t do anything too strenuous or take part in competitive sports. I have to try to stay calm as best as I can.

‘I do my best and I have the support of my family. If I feel like my heart rate is increasing I do start to panic. I have to start breathing slowly to control it.’

(Picture: Liam Spare/SWNS)

When he was diagnosed, Liam was told a heart rate of 80bpm or above would be ‘dangerous’ and leave him at risk of cardiac arrest.

He was advised to keep his heart rate around 60bpm where possible – the lowest normal resting heart rate.

Liam must take regular breaks when walking up a steep hill or several flights of stairs, and has been warned to stay away from alcohol.

And when it comes to dating, he worries about getting flustered and had to plan for days in advance what he wanted to say to girls, before he met his girlfriend.

He took the same precautions during the interview for his first job, at a village pub.

And before he makes important phone calls, Liam reminds himself to talk slowly, take deep breathes and have a ready-made script in his head when under pressure.

Liam said: ‘I do anything I can to stay calm. I’ve just learnt to take life very easy.

‘Whatever I do, I have to take deep breaths and if I feel my heart beating faster I just have to stop.

‘Talking slowly works well for me. It’s one of the ways I’ve learnt to manage it.’

(Picture: Liam Spare/SWNS)

‘What I really want is freedom. I do feel very restricted a lot of the time. I always have my phone on me and can’t really go out on my own.’

All physical activity was banned until December last year, when he was given the all-clear to start lifting weights at the gym.

He joined with his brother Joshua, 19, and had been going two or three times a week for six weeks when he suffered a cardiac arrest midway through a session, in January.

‘I was told I could do weights and I was enjoying it. It’s the first time I’ve been allowed to do exercise,’ he said.

‘We were doing deadlifts.

‘I had done two reps of 70kg and on the third I collapsed.

‘My brother put me in the recovery position. He knew exactly what to do but was panicking. It must have been really scary for him.

‘A guy at the gym came over to help. He gave me CPR while the ambulance was on its way.

‘Without him I wouldn’t be here. He saved my life.It was a brave thing to do and I’m really grateful to him.’

More: Health

Woman was called the 'Elephant Girl' but went on to win beauty pageants

Woman in wheelchair is sick of strangers telling her she's 'too pretty to be disabled'

17-year-old's allergic reactions leave her looking like she's been beaten up

Liam was kept alive for long enough for paramedics to arrive in time to shock his heart back into action.

Despite ‘struggling’ to get his heart beating again, medics managed to save Liam’s life and rushed him to the hospital for emergency treatment.

He was placed in an induced coma for three days and then cared for by specialist cardiac experts.

Following his near-death experience, his heart was fitted with a mini-defibrillator in February, which will shock it back into rhythm if it slips into an irregular beat.

He said: ‘I feel like I can live my life more independently now. I feel much safer.

‘It has given me the freedom to feel like I can go out and not be worried about what might happen.

‘I can go out with friends and am not confined to the house. I feel much happier.

‘It has given me a sense of security that I haven’t had before.’

He plans to go back to the gym to thank the gym worker who saved his life – but has no intention of working out.

Liam said: ‘I’m going to choose the safe option from now on. I’m just going to have to not work out anymore. It’s just too risky for me.

‘I don’t have any regrets about making the decision. I just don’t feel as though my heart would be strong enough to do it.

‘It’s not worth the risk.’

MORE: Woman was called the ‘Elephant Girl’ but went on to win beauty pageants

MORE: Woman in wheelchair is sick of strangers telling her she’s ‘too pretty to be disabled’

MORE: 17-year-old’s allergic reactions leave her looking like she’s been beaten up

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timestamp-renegade-universe-blog · 6 years

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Follow Through

Or, “If I had the money, I would put it where my mouth is.”

In my last post, I described the difficult set of circumstances that led me to the necessary time-out on Timestamp for a few weeks, as well as my difficult decision to throw in the towel and search for a stable income in tandem with my art efforts. In a nutshell, there is a lot of stress in this household between unstable finances, unsorted mental illness, unfounded child custody cases, and all the other normal stuff that 20-somethings deal with these days. And, as usual, I have done a poor job finding the time for self-care in order to handle it. That’s why I’ve vowed to make it a bigger priority to write on a daily basis, largely using my Timestamp blog to keep myself accountable, though I will not realistically be able to create a full post every single day. For me this will be an exercise in acknowledging and discussing mental health issues that I have previously avoided for fear of social stigma. For you, this may just be the inner dialogue of a traumatized introvert, but I hope that it would one day find community. While I am nervous to work through these issues in a public forum on my business page, I also have to stand by the fact that I am Timestamp, and my mentality/ mental health is a huge part of what and how I create.

So here’s my start.

Took time to reduce my anxiety before getting out of bed? Check. Been in contact with my therapist this morning? Check. Working on processing my situation through writing? The time has come.

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

Two posts ago I was talking a big game about the methods that I use to reduce some of my anxiety and increase mindfulness when I’m continually working from home like an isolated loser for 14 hour days. Although I have a lot more to deal with than anxiety, I’ve recently found out, these have been instrumental tools in keeping my head on straight when there’s no one around to lean on.

As much as I love my alone time and find energy in working in my own environment without interruption, I also have to say that it can be really demoralizing and lonely to be manically working at home all day every day. With all of my best friends and family still residing in Illinois, the only human I have around here is my significant other, who has a very demanding schedule outside of the house (thank god, because having another party in my space 24/7 is also not the solution for me).

Without social support when I’m starting to feel the tickles of anxiety growing, I realized early on in my small business adventure that I needed to find other instruments to lean on when I’m losing my grip. These are the ways I’ve reliably used to contend with my loneliness and generalized anxiety:

Podcasts - You know how when you haven’t seen or spoken to another human being in about two days, and you start to talk to yourself, your dog, and your guinea pig instead? Yeah, right, me either… but if I did, I would recommend that you switch to hearing other people talk on these podcasts. I spend most of my days continually streaming podcasts in the background, whether I’m writing for my day job or hand painting a new piece of furniture. They are amazingly comforting, not only for reducing the uncomfortable silence in an empty house and stimulating your brain with subtle conversation, but also for addressing mental health and philosophical life issues if you tune into the right programs. Here are my favorites:

On Being – Good god, I wish I could have Krista Tippett in my life, calmly narrating my existence and bringing up the most thoughtful, perspective-changing questions known to man. This program is life-changing. My only regret is that it took me so long to find On Being, when I have been individually questioning the meaning of it all for 20 years at this point. Every episode is 53 minutes long edited, and about 120 minutes long unedited, if you want to hear both versions of the conversation like some people do… cough. The premise is simple, ex-journalist, theologian, and author Krista Tippett has long, organic conversations with the most interesting humans you never knew you needed to have in your life. The conversations tackle issues of mindfulness, psychology, individual spirituality, and philosophy, with a dabbling of current science for good measure. The interviewees come from hugely diverse backgrounds, some of which you might expect, including a prevalence of poets and social change leaders. However, you won’t get off that easy; often the guests are quite unexpected for a left-wing public radio show, and can be challenging to approach with an open mind such as the episodes with Glenn Beck or a panel of pro-life pastors. No matter the topic, every episode is thoroughly surprising and grounding. I gain such a sense of peace and perspective from the wisdom of these enormously influential people. I can’t say enough about the grace and depth of the conversations, or the appreciation I’ve developed for thoughtful pauses before profound answers. I want to be Krista Tippett when I grow up.

The Mindset Zone – This one is fairly self-explanatory, although the host’s voice is anything but. Ana Melikian, a Psychologist and business coach with the most unique “generally European” accent I’ve ever heard, leads these short episodes that tackle the issue of mental health in small business. Finding this podcast felt like a message from the heavens, and it came during a time when I was fully losing my battle with business anxiety earlier this year. Each episode tackles a specific issue or guest relating to the mental health management that must take place to open a new business. I’ll be honest when I say that the programs are a bit hit or miss for me. Occasionally they can be redundant or feel like advertisements for her business coaching techniques, but often they are full of the exact insight I need to hear. Is it normal to be completely overwhelmed and disgruntled about the vast number of hats you must wear in small business? Yes. Does everyone doubt what they’re doing and feel the drive to retreat to a safer option? Sure do. Is failure a necessary event to be accepted and learned from, rather than feared? Yep. The messages of the episodes are simple, eye opening, and unifying. As is always the case with mental health, just hearing that what I’ve been experiencing is normal was a huge relief; in fact, this podcast is what inspired me to begin writing more openly about the issue of mental health management in my own small business. It is a topical and useful journey, with plenty of unintended laughs at Ana’s pronunciations. Sorry Ana.

Sex and Other Human Activities – Oh man, do I love the Cave Comedy Radio/Last Podcast Network. These guys are meant to be my best friends and my best friends’ best friends; they just don’t know it yet. We’re mildly obsessed, and diligently plotting ways to prove our worth as the next generation of SOHA hosts, since these two have taken a break from the program to work on other projects. Anyways, this particular show features two of my favorite CCR/LPN hosts, Jackie Zebrowski and Marcus Parks, who openly and honestly discuss their battles with mental illness, as well as answering listener questions on the same topics. Both hosts are fantastically hilarious in my exact style of humor, and very transparent when it comes to the relationship, work, and general life difficulties that come hand in hand with attempting to better understand and control your own psychology. They are incredibly relational, and speak honestly about their successes as well as failures in sorting out depression, anxiety, bi-polar disorder, self-doubt, and anger. Though there are plenty of laughs, it’s also clear that Jackie and Marcus care a great deal about the topics, and there are many difficult episodes that took considerable courage to record. Again, there is enormous power in this program simply from hearing that you aren’t alone in your battles. Listening to the accounts from two people of similar age and mentality, working through their issues and preaching the importance of self-kindness and professional care feels like receiving guiding support from my best friends, on-demand. I could talk endlessly about my love for all the CCR/LPN guys, but I’ll hold off for an inevitable road trip entry.

Walks – An oldie but a goodie, exercise is a crucial way to work through my emotions and ground myself when my stomach starts to tighten up in a knot. A huge part of mindfulness is observing the breath and bodily sensations, and for me the best free version of this is going on a brisk hike. There’s nothing like getting out into uninterrupted nature and connecting with my feet in order to let go of the rushing thoughts in my head. I gain so much peace from a long solo walk, where I can connect with my worries and allow myself the space to process them. This is a tool I’ve used for many years, though back in Illinois it was fulfilled through walking to and from work each day, long walks around campus on every break, and usually ending with a late evening walk either alone or with my sidekick Jacq. When my dog Jake came into my life, he became a huge motivator to keep up the practice even during dark times when I had trouble executing this style of self-care. Nowadays, the truly amazing part is our proximity to beautiful and dynamic hiking trails in Stone Mountain, which far outweigh the residential streets I used to stomp down in Urbana, Illinois when it comes to peace-bringing. The difficult part, however, is managing my anxiety long enough just to get to the park. Any deviation or distraction from my work each day carries an enormous stress load with it, so the act of going out and reducing my anxiety actually inspires a mountain of distress in the hours leading up to my departure. I do my best to remind myself that this is a critical tool for mindfulness and I need to address my issues rather than working as a means of distraction, but it’s always difficult to permit myself time for self-care. Acknowledging these difficulties in my personality, I’ve come up with three strategies to reduce the likelihood of ditching my park plans;

Arrange with a friend to chat during the walk. When there is a sense of duty, i.e. a promise I made to someone else, I have no problem following through with my plans. I’ve found it helpful, and socially positive, to talk on the phone with my friend during her lunch break as I get my exercise in. This gives me a set time to take a break from my work, prepare, and get to the park on time with a party holding me accountable. I can disappoint myself, but I can’t disappoint other people.

Leverage “shitty work days” to promote breaks at the park. There are days when I work exclusively on Timestamp projects, and I’m happy as a clam from sunup to sundown. Then there are days when I have to write and edit endless articles to pay the bills. These are the days that my brain struggles the most. Without working towards something I’m passionate about, my mind tends to get restless and wander. I have a hard time keeping my head in the game, and instead it can begin to slide into some hefty doom and gloom thinking. Sometimes, there are so many external thoughts flying around in there that I can’t concentrate on my arduous and boring task at hand any longer. I begin to lose my focus, become exhausted, and slip into a depressive state. That’s when it’s time to allow myself the luxury of a walk, in order to reset and reapproach the rest of the work day with newfound productivity.

Set a nighttime walk intention. I’ve found that there is far less anxiety and guilt associated with taking my walk at night, rather than in the middle of my day. This allows me to get all the work done that simply can’t wait before I attempt to pull myself away from the project. If, for whatever reason, I haven’t made as much progress as I wanted to by the time evening falls, I still have less guilt giving myself some space when it’s already 8pm. Of course, I’ve considered switching this to morning walks so I could calm down before my work day even started, but have yet to make this attempt, as I currently use my early mornings to get unwanted writing jobs out of the way.

Social support – We all know, your support network is the most important tool in living with mental illness. That being said, for someone with a tendency to avoid and isolate when they need help the most, it can be a huge challenge to even go and seek social support. As a verified introvert, masochist, and devotee to the idea that my existence is a burden to everyone I know, I generally do the wrong thing in these situations. In the past two or three months, I’ve made a big push to get over my fear of bothering people, and attempt to contact folks when I’m having a hard time. It can be my best friend, my therapist, or even my mother if I’m feeling desperate enough. 9 times out of 10, it results in an honest and caring conversation that helps me greatly in working through whatever problem is at hand, and I have a lasting boost of self-esteem from the interaction. Even if we can’t resolve the issue, just having the reassurance that my friends and family haven’t forgotten about me and still care about my well-being from hundreds of miles away relieves many of my greatest fears. As a bonafied one-man island in bad times, my saving graces for forcing social support on myself are:

My outgoing and extroverted boyfriend. Even though he may not always understand why I’m so crippled by imaginary worries, he’ll always listen to them. At times he can do the unthinkable and convince me to do better with his own social and optimistic nature. He always wants to spend time together and to get out of the house, and this social insistence can be a gift.

My best friends who have their own battles and insights on mental health. Not only do I have a best friend who works professionally as a clinical therapist, but most of the people I surround myself with have similar struggles. We understand one another and feel less judgement talking about the things we deal with, besides the fact that their own needs for support often keep me accountable for their sake, if not my own.

My group messages with friends back home. Reaching out and talking is hard when you feel like your life is empty and depressing. If there’s no news to share, it’s hard to call someone up just to chat. That’s why these stupid facebook messenger groups are such a helpful tool for feeling social without the pressure of actually being social. The continual chatter amongst friends helps me to feel connected to my old crew on a daily basis, even when I personally don’t feel like I have anything to talk about.

Creativity - Clearly, this one rings true for me. As I’ve stated earlier, I can work on my artistic projects from dawn til dusk without feeling an inkling of anxiety or mental duress. I realize that not everyone is as enthusiastic about making things as I am, but I believe there is some real power in accessing this part of the brain. Maybe doodling, instagramming, or zen coloring is more your style - there are plenty of options. Something about the process of thinking creatively seems to be incompatible with the pathways that cause my stress and anxiety, so one can’t happen in tandem with the other. This is great when I’m in a creative mindset and naturally fend off looming anxiety; conversely it’s very difficult when I’m in a negative mindset and battling to reach a place of creativity. Here are the ways I’ve found to get past the mental gymnastics, and get into the artistic zone:

Having some sort of a schedule. As I mentioned a bit earlier, I’ve realized that it makes sense for me to get my writing assignments completed in the morning. This allows me to set aside the stress of looming busy work, earn myself a sense of achievement, and open my mind to other tasks I want to complete. Now, I don’t rigidly schedule my writing work because just as there are times I feel creative and times I do not, there are also times I feel like writing and times I simply can’t. Maybe my head hurts too badly to look at the computer screen, or maybe I’m not feeling the creative juices flowing that particular time of that particular day. That’s when flexibility is important, so I can find fulfillment in accomplishing the tasks that best mesh with my mental state, and I can achieve the most productive day possible.

Setting my intentions for the day one on the night before. Sometimes, it’s anxiety inducing just to wake up in the morning and look at my long list of business to-do’s. Should I be wrapping up this big desk, working on my newest set of prints, posting to Instagram, writing a blog, fixing my website bugs, posting new items to Etsy, checking on my sales around town, etc, etc, etc. It never ends. If I can just work through these options in the evening beforehand, coming up with a general list of priorities to focus on, I can hit the ground running the next day. Sounds simple, but usually it’s easier to finish up a long day of work and push the topic to the backburner for the rest of the night, than to begin planning the next busy day.

Writing. I huge problem I must overcome regularly is my brain’s penchant for repetitive thinking. If something is on my mind, I have a difficult time pushing it aside to focus on new tasks. My mind cycles through what’s bothering me again and again, bringing up the same physical reactions each time the sentiment goes passing through. This is why writing has so much power for me. Putting these concerns down on paper or keyboard is an excellent release from the merry-go-round of worry. It allows me to process exactly what I’m feeling about the issue, to solidify the issue as something that I am acknowledging, and to form a plan on how to deal with it. After that, I can move on from the problem with greater ease, and apply all that brain energy to another item.

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All I’m meaning to say here is, it can be difficult to allow yourself the “luxury” of caring for yourself and your mental health, especially when your focus is always on taking care of business. There’s nothing to stop you from putting your own physical and emotional needs aside when things are stressful, at the times when you need self-care the most. I’m no expert in the field of personal kindness, but I increasingly recognize that it’s important to improve these skills as necessary tools for a functional life. It’s certainly something that takes practice and a mindful outlook to make some of these changes reality, but the continued exercise only cements the positive effects further each time. I’ll be working on and expanding these practices for the rest of my life. I can only hope that my self-compassion continues to grow, and I can help another restless soul or two just by sharing how difficult it can feel to tackle these small measures, but how relieving it feels afterwards.

And remember, you’re alright kid, I don’t care what other people say.

#anxiety #depression #mental health management #PTSD #trauma #mental health in small business #anxiety in small business #mindful #mindfulness #mindfulness in small business #mindfulness techniques

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trishgibsontx · 7 years

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you have permission to break the rules/social “norms”/social conformity and your peers’ “benchmarks”

photo by Nelson N. Castillo

where do you live? what part of the city do you live in? do you rent? do you own? what do you do? blah blah blah?

recently I was on the beach at an upscale resort. all day sitting next to me was a woman and her husband, and occasionally their 2 children came by their cabana. I had decided to travel alone. significant other or not, I love to travel alone. I need that space to think. to feel. to think and feel what is genuinely only my thinking and feeling. this makes me a better person for those close to me and for my work. anyhow, after blatantly gazing (studying) at me on and off for a few hours as I took conference calls and lay in the sun with full buns out, I was hit with a series of non-stop questions by the woman. at first I was caught off guard, and rested enough to engage with another human, so I just began to answer them. one of the reasons I had chosen this resort in the first place was to not be bothered by anyone the way I often feel bothered in New York City. by “bother” I mean mostly crowds and unsolicited conversation, but also measured, analyzed, compared against someone else’s personal insecurity or measure of what is acceptable or successful or whatever people measure other people by. I also assumed I would be free from all of that because perhaps the people on holiday at this location had absolutely nothing to prove because…I don’t even know.

where do you live? what part of the city do you live in? do you rent? do you own? what do you do? as I began to answer these questions, I realized that the woman asking them was not engaging me — she was like filling out a form and checking boxes that didn’t even make sense to me until hours later when I thought retroactively about the odd interaction. as I gave her simple answers, she began to immediately explain why she lived in New Jersey. I found it odd, at the time of her talking away, that anyone would start to tell a stranger where they lived and why. I had not asked why. nor would I. but I was relaxed, with a fabulous bourbon drink in my hand, and I wasn’t interested in analyzing anything. she asked me if I owned and started to explain why they never bought in New York City and how it was a big regret. she said that like 3 times actually. I wasn’t even sure what she was talking about, where she was going with it or why. she then went on to ask me how I knew of such a resort, because it usually only attracts celebrities and rich people from outside the US. she told me about the yachts resort guests and how they would compete with one another on holidays and how people would try to do business with others on the beach and often used it as a connection-making holiday. she talked about how ridiculous she found it. I had been at the resort for about 3 days and I hadn’t seen any of that. in fact, I saw nothing but people like me (and only one celebrity): unconcerned with those around them, burned out from work, catatonic stares at the ocean, nothing to prove, drinks and buns out. did I mention buns out? some of the middle aged and senior folks were vaping away with their sativa pens all day long, doing business deals on the beach, drinking cocktails, and playing with their children or nieces or nephews in the water. when the woman felt like she had enough information from me, she let me know that I was “still young” as she passed me off, and it occurred to me that, after her assessment, she, with relief, believed I was in my 20s (I can guarantee that we are only about 5 years apart).

I might be wrong, but I’m pretty certain that this woman, although she loves her children (who are beautiful and seem awesome) and her husband, feels unfulfilled and was looking to know whether I had decided or not to play by my own rules in life. had I told her that I’m actually well into my 30s, that my parents or sugar daddy did not pay for my time at that beach, that I am self-made, that I sold the only thing that I ever owned, that I don’t care about buying anything ever but if I do then “fine”, that I haven’t married yet simply because I chose to focus on work and self first and I can get married any dang day I like, that I will also have children any dang day I like (yes – this is my attitude for real, happily discarding norms there as well), I’m curious as to how she would have reacted. I was much “safer” – for her own peace of mind with her lot in life – being seen as a young lucky 20-something who would undoubtedly follow the herd and suffer the same fate of lack of fulfillment and obsessive comparison to others. the fact is, my reality shatters a lot of ego when it comes to women or people in general who have made life decisions from a mostly conforming point of view. because I haven’t. and I reek of freedom. and it pisses people off. but that doesn’t mean I didn’t suffer along the way dag-nag-it. like it was some kind of cake walk for me and I just woke up like this? no. the fact also is, I look younger than my chronological year because I haven’t made decisions that make me unhappy on the inside but conform on the outside. anyway, once the woman had it in her mind that I wasn’t a threat in some way, or whatever, she acted like she didn’t see me and had never spoken to me before. I sat next to her the next day and I might as well have been a ghost as she turned her back to me — direct opposition to her state of fake friendliness and grand inquisition just 24 hours prior. but, she had collected her data, entered it into her spreadsheet of false confidence, and quickly moved onto the next situation that she could size up against her life. I couldn’t believe it! are people really like that? do they know that it is obvious?

that next day, I also had a call scheduled with my therapist. vacations and holidays can tend to be a trigger for me due to some serious early life trauma that seemed to land, without fail, on every single vacation or holiday. as my therapist and I spoke about my week and generally what was happening in my life, I briefly mentioned the woman on the beach — because honestly, the experience was just so ODD. my therapist is at least twice my age. she married super young. she had kids by 21. she has lived and she has experienced the after affects of many decisions in her life, for better and for worse. she immediately jumped to fill in the blanks for me regarding the woman at the beach, and echoed this feeling I had about people and their general desperation to fit in, but then be ok with their decision to fit in by creatively rationalizing the lives of strangers. initially what came up for me during the conversation with my therapist was the thought that maybe I’m like a societal pariah with some kind of scarlet letter, somehow wrong for staying true to myself and not selling out — that maybe this whole honoring myself thing is actually like a punishable crime! I mean, people act like it is. like the woman on the beach. the perceived threat many people feel when faced with someone else’s thinking and doing based on their internal barometer versus some manual of “social acceptance” is like the wrath of hell that they experience and then spit out at you in projection. if I had a dime for each time that has happened to me…

at the end of our conversation, my therapist told me that if she were to do it again, she never would have had children. she did it because, well, that is what you did in the 50s when you wanted to have sex with a man. you got married and then you had children. I don’t believe she regrets anything at all — there is no such thing as a mistake in life. there is only the threat of resistance to the soul once we realize that we are, in fact, not living in personal alignment. that realization is pure opportunity to shift gears at any time.

this little resort experience that I describe here is everywhere! in fact, the woman on the beach reminded me of a relative of mine — this relative of mine, every gathering that was had, would pummel me with these superficially-measured questions (how much do you charge for your sessions? how many do you do per week? — instead of what happens in a session? how do you feel? what’s that like for you?). she married super young, she was very competitive, and unfortunately given her competitiveness created for herself no purpose other than to raise two children and appear full on the outside with help from her husband’s wealth. I knew better. and she was faking a happy life, withering away in her soul, and simultaneously trying to rationalize it by eliminating me as a threat to her reality with analysis and passive aggressive comments any time she had the opportunity. her end game, each time, was to get me to question my life based on my decisions, and based on her “norms”. happy people do not do that. they don’t have to. happy people care about your heart and they talk about things that reflect that. not money or achievement by way of timely relationships.

it’s unhappy or fractured humans who impose these very “norms” that have fractured and dismantled their happiness upon others. when we listen to that radio station, or any station other than our own, we then fall prey to the same fate as those who live in fear and repeat that cycle. then we find it in magazines, movies, advertising and in most social circles (except the art world — God bless the art world! — and generally speaking, New York City — NYC is the one city in which I do not feel any social pressure to do any one thing. and maybe LA too, because Hollyweird). I am here to tell you that if you are falling prey to the above — aka SETTLING — you do not have to. why do you not have to?

first of all, no one cares. seriously. they act like they care, because they care about what people think of THEM. so they pretend to care about you so that they can feel better about their own life. I can’t tell you how many people I have seen marry each other out of “well I guess it’s time” or “we’ve been together this long, so…” or “she’s pregnant!! how did that happen?” (it happens when a woman wants it to happen) or “my family expects me to settle down by such and such age, it’s kind of protocol” or “all of my friends are doing xyz I don’t want to be the outlier” and they are so miserable years later. because they didn’t choose themself. they chose an idea. they chose to “fit in”. and there is a cost when we make a choice that is not actually ours. guess what happens when we make decisions out of conformity aka FEAR? we suffer. when we do this, a piece of our soul dies. we secretly begin to hate ourselves. we look for others who also hate themselves. so what do we do, if we have done this? what do we do if we have sold out?

it is never too late to live the life you have always dreamed of. so, what we do is we act upon our highest integrity at that moment. we get a divorce if that will liberate our soul (I have admittedly bypassed at least one wedding that I knew was not honest, one of a former friend that I knew was a sham and would end in destruction in 2 years flat due to cheating and dishonesty, but their desperation to fit a mold of “wedding” for family and friends was too overwhelming than to simply honor their soul). forgetting about the stupid “financial” consequences associated with separation. we choose our self instead. if we have children, we set the example of personal integrity, not a facade. we leave a job if that will liberate our soul. we leap and the net will appear. we end a friendship if that will liberate our soul. we spend time alone, wondering where our tribe is, and we deal with it. we take any action that we can in the direction of personal alignment (thoughts=words=feelings=actions). “it’s not that easy” — oh really? so living an entire life of lies and resentment is easier? it’s actually much harder. yes, living a life of lies and resentment is surely an epidemic afflicting many. but just because it afflicts many, does not mean that it is easier to join them. on a soul level, where there is intrinsically unlawful conformity, we suffer even when we “fit in”. so if we have decided out of fear to “fit in” and now we regret it, we can do something about it.

when I was leaving corporate America in 2006, I felt like I was dying inside. I was programmed to get a “regular” job and use my degree. which I didn’t even want or care about. I cried on my graduation day from University because I felt like a fraud to myself. this was my soul crying, alerting me to consciousness around my personal truth. I had been urged and persuaded to live a life that other people felt made them look good. so when I finally admitted to myself who and what I was, I knew that I had to do something about that. it was not easy. I turned down a major job opportunity ($$$, travel, fun, “accomplishment”) in finance to wait tables. at first, every table that I waited on, I wanted to tell them that I was smart and I had a degree and I had just turned down this major job. my ego was taking a hit, and I judged myself for that. I didn’t know who I was, at that time, without another title. I quickly decided that I would murder that ego, and simply exist as an energy, not a piece of paper. I decided that those who “saw” me would already see all that I was, no matter the on paper facts. I felt insecure at this table waiting job, I wasn’t very good at waiting tables, I felt old, and people said obnoxious things to me all of the time (like “hey! you look like this famous actress! her face is crooked too!). all of that said, I went through the crushing fear that encompasses taking the alternative road in life. most of us are just never willing to go through that death of self. which, by the way, only lasts in suffering for like a month or two! it’s not worth obliging conformity to end up spending a lifetime wondering “what if?” or “who am I really?”.

throughout my 20s, there were several significant relationships and the men wanted to get married. I felt that to do so would ruin my life. not because the men were bad, but because I knew I was still settling. I couldn’t understand how I, personally, could continue to grow and flourish in my career AND “settle” down at a pretty young age with someone who had a ceiling that I didn’t have in life. so, though I was becoming an old maid by southern standards, I knew that I was about to step into the best time of my life if I went my own way. like leaving corporate, this was also a very hard decision to make, when it would have been so “easy” to marry a nice guy who just wanted to support me and have children. I knew that, once again, my ego would take a hit as I ventured into my 30s as a single woman. but that my soul would rejoice. and oh, did it ever.

it’s not like making these decisions for one’s own soul and well-being are EASY. if they were easy, everyone would make them. but I will tell you what IS easy: the long-term. the short-term, the ego-breaking period associated with dismantling your peers’ “benchmarks” sucks. because we naturally gage differences between our lives and the lives of others. but the way I see it, is why would I decide to live an entire life of lies just to avoid the inevitable short-term ego break, when I could just break that bone from the beginning and then spend the rest of my life healing it? the bone is going to break no matter what, when we are not making decisions for our highest joy.

the same notion can be said for stupid material benchmarks that we find important or “on par” with our contemporaries (or society at large). at what cost do we constantly need to fit in? when the lady on the beach asked me if I owned (who the flock asks these questions to a complete stranger on the beach?), it reminded me of a young woman who had seen me for a session who had noted that I lived “simply” compared to what I was capable of living material-wise. I remember being taken aback at first by her perception or perceptivity, but I also realized that yes: material items and benchmarks do not matter to me. when I began making real grownup money a few years ago, I recall recognizing the fact that I could go buy a house somewhere or stress myself just to own some fancy apartment in the city. but it wasn’t important to my personal sense of luxury or comfort. I, rather, felt more comfortable donating money to animal rescue groups and other charities and projects that build opportunities for humans. I preferred to spend my money on very expensive stones to use in my healing work. I preferred also to boomerang my profits nearly 80% back into my business and hired staff to support me as I moved toward additional goals in the healing arena. I didn’t care about living in the fanciest apartment or buying something that frankly even a fraction of my healing stones and jewelry (which helped to build a sustainable business overseas) could support.

now, regarding all of the above, I would like to say that some of the best couples I know got married in their 20s and have beautiful children and they are also totally in their purpose and happiness! just because someone has fallen into the zone of majority in terms of partnership, family or material staples does not mean they are conforming. I am not, for one moment, suggesting that. it’s just that the percentage of those people, who chose themselves and also falls into the majority, is very small. and you can see it in their faces and in the way they engage. they don’t pummel others with questions to measure their personal situations, and they don’t need to compare or compensate with on paper facts. it’s obvious when someone has not conformed, yet happens to fall into a certain demographic that many people share. the percentage of these non-comformer people is small because it is inherent in the human condition to be like other people. we perceivably suffer when stand like the lone ranger. it’s not a naturally comfortable feeling. but we have a choice: short or long-term discomfort?

I am here to tell you that no matter your placement and timeline associated with partnership, family, career, material wealth or other societal suggested “success” and “norms”, you always have the choice to be true to you. I am here to tell you that absolutely no one cares what you decide to do: they care what they have decided to do. perhaps you can be the one to set the new tone by honoring yourself and breaking the rules. perhaps doing this will give many, many other people permission to do the same. and they will smile with gratitude. perhaps it is your liberation from your own conformity, no matter where you are at as a result from past decisions, that is needed to inspire others. and they will smile with gratitude. what if you are the pioneer that others will thank for lighting the way? you have permission to break the rules. I hope that my share adds to that permission. it wasn’t easy for me. it’s not easy for anyone. but it’s worth it, no matter what. I broke all of the rules that were laid out for me and now things are SO EASY. you can go your own way too — no matter what it looks like on paper, past or present. it’s easier to feel flawed versus bitter.

The post you have permission to break the rules/social “norms”/social conformity and your peers’ “benchmarks” appeared first on The Medical Intuitive Blog: Energy Medicine & Reiki Therapy By Elaine™.

from Trisha Gibson http://www.themedicalintuitiveblog.com/2017/07/23/permission-break-rulessocial-normssocial-conformity-peers-benchmarks/

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workreveal-blog · 7 years

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How to save your online privacy in social media

New Post has been published on https://workreveal.biz/how-to-save-your-online-privacy-in-social-media/

How to save your online privacy in social media

A few people say the most efficient manner to stop online harassment is to forestall going online. Well, we aren’t going anywhere. Reclaim Your Area is Refinery29’s campaign to make the net (and the world of out of doors it) a more secure area for everybody — in particular women.

If Kim Kardashian’s theft taught us whatever remaining fall, it is that what you publish in the virtual could have far-reaching, real-life consequences. And despite the fact that maximum of us don’t have Kardashian’s ninety-four million Instagram fans — if you do, discover yourself an influencer deal, stat — we do not usually spend time thinking about our posts, beyond which clear out and hashtags to use. “We forget approximately the sheer extent of information that we’ve published over the years,” says Kenneth Geers, a senior research scientist at international cyber security organisation Comodo. “mainly when correlated across different platforms, others, consisting of malicious eavesdroppers, can use all of this statistics to paint an correct photograph of the whole lot approximately you.” Even if you only have debts on Facebook and Instagram, that’s nonetheless quite a piece of facts you’re placing out into the sector. As tempting as it can be to tag a niche on Instagram and display absolutely everyone that you’re lounging on the seashore in Punta Cana, it may not be the exceptional choice. “Social media is truly problematic, due to the fact most customers are looking for interest and reputation,” Geers says. “However, they must also be aware that if a person can become aware of you in our on-line world, they can also find you inside the ‘actual world.’ Many of line studies tools, which include Google Earth, can geo-find an array of virtual communications, from pictures and films to net Protocol (IP) addresses, MAC addresses, and different, greater obscure technical records.” The high-quality manner to make certain which you’re taking element inside the crazy community this is social media at the same time as also protective yourself? Replace your privateness settings. Under, the key things to understand about the privateness controls to be had to you on Fb, Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat.

social media

Some people say the simplest manner to forestall online harassment is to stop going on-line. Well, we aren’t going anywhere. Reclaim Your Area is Refinery29’s campaign to make the internet (and the world of out of doors it) a safer space for absolutely everyone — especially girls.

If Kim Kardashian’s robbery taught us something last fall, it is that what you publish in the virtual may have very extreme, actual-existence effects. And even though most people do not have Kardashian’s ninety-four million Instagram followers — if you do, find yourself an influencer deal, stat — we don’t continually spend time thinking about our posts, beyond which clear out and hashtags to use. “We forget about approximately the sheer volume of facts that we’ve got posted over the years,” says Kenneth Geers, a senior studies scientist at worldwide cyber security agency Comodo. “in particular while correlated across extraordinary structures, others, which includes malicious eavesdroppers, can use all of this information to paint an correct picture of everything approximately you.” Even in case you handiest have accounts on Facebook and Instagram, that is nonetheless pretty a piece of records you are placing out into the arena. As tempting as it can be to tag a spot on Instagram and display everyone which you’re lounging on the seaside in Punta Cana, it could now not be the satisfactory decision. “Social media is complicated, due to the fact most customers are seeking out attention and reputation,” Geers says. “But, they need to additionally be conscious that if a person can perceive you in cyberspace, they could likely also find you inside the ‘real world.’ Many on-line research tools, such as Google Earth, can geo-discover an array of virtual communications, from pix and videos to Internet Protocol (IP) addresses, MAC addresses, and other, extra difficult to understand technical statistics.” The quality manner to ensure which you’re taking element inside the crazy network that is social media while also protective yourself? Update your privateness settings. Below, the key things to recognise approximately the privateness controls available to you on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat.

social media

Facebook

Out of all the social networks, you’re on; Facebook has the biggest privacy controls. This makes experience when you reflect consideration on what number of debts hyperlink in your Facebook profile for faster login and the amount of information tied to your account, from the college you attended to the people you are listing as a circle of relatives individuals. This also method that it was particularly important to ensure that the records you need to be kept non-public are virtually non-public. The perfect manner to get an experience of your account’s privacy is to apply the “view as” tool. On a laptop, go to your profile web page, click the ellipsis positioned to the proper of “view interest log” (for your cowl image), and pick “view as.” From here, you can see what a particular individual or the public sees after they visit your profile page. To modify those settings, go to your menu tab (located on the lowest proper toolbar of your Fb app), choose “privacy shortcuts,” and take the “privateness checkup,” or adjust your settings within the listed options (“who can see my stuff?,” “who can touch me?”, and “how do I stop someone from bothering me?”). If you choose “greater settings,” you’ll locate “timeline and tagging” which permits you to study each submits a pal writes or tags you earlier than it appears in your feed. For account authentification functions, you provide Facebook with your electronic mail cope with and contact variety. If you need to ensure that people can’t search for your profile the usage of either piece of facts (i.E. if you do not want a piece to contact the use of your email to locate your account), go to your settings, pick privacy, and alter the controls underneath “who can look me up?”

In case you have regrets approximately photographs you published in university, there is a smooth manner to trade who can see the ones. Go to “privacy” inside your settings, pick “Restriction the target market for posts I have shared with buddies of buddies or Public?” below “who can see my stuff,” and select “Restrict antique posts.” Instagram Like Fb, the most basic privacy manage on Instagram is the one that absolutely units your account to non-public, which means that best the human beings you’ve got authorised as fans can see your posts. This could be located inside your Instagram profile settings. Be aware that other customers will nonetheless be able to search for your non-public account on Instagram; they just won’t see your posts till you approve them as a follower. In case your account was public, and you decide to take it personally, it is well worth going thru your fans and blocking any that you don’t do not forget pals. But, remember the fact that if you share your Insta photograph to Fb, Twitter, or someplace else, anybody who can see those bills can nevertheless see the picture, although they aren’t a permitted follower on Instagram. If you do pick out to keep your account public, understand that your pics may be visible through Google search. To Restrict this (while nevertheless preserving your account public), revoke get admission to third-birthday party websites that you’ve legal and e-mail others, consisting of Gramfeed and Flipboard, in which your pictures would possibly display up to ask that they are eliminated.

Snapchat Snapchat has fewer capabilities than Instagram and Fb, so its controls are, understandably, smaller in scope. Your primary privateness controls may be located inside Settings, underneath the “who can…” phase. Here, you may have Restriction who can contact you (with Snaps, chats, and calls) and who can view your tale. You may additionally flip off the “show me in Brief Add” default function; this means that people you proportion mutual buddies or connections with may not see your name there. Geofilters are much less precise than geotags within Instagram. However, it is still wise to suppose two times before adding one, in particular In case your stories are visible to the general public. You can’t see your Snap stories after 24 hours and neither can the crew at Snapchat. After a Snap has been regarded by using its supposed recipient or those 24 hours are up, your photos are wiped from Snapchat’s servers. The equal is going to any messages sent via chat. So unlike Fb, where old posts might come lower back to haunt you, the equal cannot be stated of Snapchat. However, a screenshot is for all time. Twitter

A few people say the only way to forestall on-line harassment is to prevent going on-line. Nicely, we are not going everywhere. Reclaim Your Domain is Refinery29’s campaign to make the internet (and the world of outside it) a safer area for all people — mainly girls.

now you choose

If Kim Kardashian’s theft taught us anything ultimate fall, it is that what you publish within the virtual could have very extreme, actual-lifestyles consequences. And despite the fact that maximum of us do not have Kardashian’s 94 million Instagram followers — in case you do, find yourself an influencer deal, stat — we do not continually spend time thinking about our posts, beyond which filter out and hashtags to use. “We overlook about the sheer volume of records that we’ve published over the years,” says Kenneth Geers, a senior studies scientist at international cyber security corporation Comodo. “mainly while correlated across specific systems, others, such as malicious eavesdroppers, can use all of this facts to color an accurate photo of the whole lot approximately you.”

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