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ask-art-student-prussia · 6 years

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Creativity and Dreams: An Essay by Leon Rekjavik

A few things ticked me off with what the “professional-writer” anon wrote, namely the undermining of artists, the act of crushing dreams and just the fact ‘you can’t do this anymore because I’m saying your not talented/ qualified enough’. Whilst this mean writer-rant was directed at Mun, I feel that a lot of the things this person said has generally offended and angered a lot of people. The way this person went around the subject was hardly professional, and if I had to be honest, unhelpful. Whilst Mun has shown no interest in taking writing professionally, say if she had. This ask would completely crush her, and leave her with no advice that could’ve pointed her in the right direction.

So I’m going to do something I’ve not done… for over a year now. An essay-like piece, that covers; why writing and art are hardly that different, why such an interest is allowed to be taken up by anyone at any level, the idea of creativity, what a dream is and why it isn’t necessarily as impossible as it looks, and why you can do anything.

Writing is not something talent based, it’s an art form and a way of expression- something that comes straight from the soul. Writing a description about a setting is no different from painting it, and creating a character in your written piece is no different from sketching one. Both writer and artist are two sides of the same coin, and practically go hand in hand with one another- so for an anon to differentiate the two, to create a border, a thick black line, with “you writing folk” is quite shocking and unbelievable.

Writing is a difficult profession to have, understandably. The market is competitive, and everyone wants their fantasy universe out on a shelf for someone to read. Sure, some of these pieces are good, others not so good, but everyone has the right to try, to improve, and to learn.

And that’s not just with having writing as a profession! Believe it or not, this can be a very lovely hobby to have, dear anon. You can have private little works, some you share with friends, or on a social media platform entirely for free. You don’t need to make writing a career just do it.

No one should take away the right to creativity- it has no bounds, no rules, no restrictions… and that’s what makes it so brilliant. Why do people love sandbox games? Because you can do anything in them, and the same principles apply with creativity- writing, drawing, composing, designing, flowers arranging, embroidery, cooking… the list really goes on.

I appreciate warning younger teens and kids that perhaps some dreams and desires can sometimes transport into a crazy utopia where everything is always right, nothing is ever wrong, what we pursued was great and we’re doing fantastic because of it… but that’s why it is called a dream. Dreams are our fantasies, what we wish a thousand times over to happen, to get. But weirdly enough, fantasies do sometimes become realities.

Quick story.

When my Grandfather was just a boy, he came from a family where no one had gone into higher education like university even once in their lives. Most had done a little bit of school, incomplete often, and that was pretty much it. They quickly went and joined the farming business, and that’s it, never trying to do anything different.

Then comes my Grandfather.

He went to school, and he didn’t want to become a farmer like everyone else. So, he tried, he worked hard, and did his best. He had a dream, to become someone, to be somebody.

His family discouraged him from thinking big, he never listened. He’d read his textbooks late into the night, from the moonlight. There were blackouts frequently at the time period he lived, so they didn’t always have electricity to rely on.

A few decades later, he became a renowned physician, a loving and respectful husband, a good father and an inspiration to many. He became somebody, like he always wanted to, and he was able to help provide for his family, and ensure all of his children had the opportunity to do something with their lives.

He did die, unfortunately very young, but not really. Everyone in my household knows for a fact he’s not really dead. Decades after his death, people still remembered him, for his kindness, his achievements, his hardworking nature. With how often people talked so much about him, you’d think he was still here, beaming brightly, telling great jokes, still having that loving look in his russet eyes.

With the amount of lives he saved, he didn’t just leave as somebody, but as a hero.

Sorry if that was a bit long, but this is living proof, that if you have a dream, it can still become a reality. If you put enough effort in it, anything is possible, and I don’t care about the amount of cheese that statement has, because it’s true.

You can become an amazing artist, a praised author, a masterful cook, a wicked mathematician, a brave fireman, ANYONE.

You don’t need anyone’s stamp of approval to do it. Everyone starts small, not everyone’s perfect, but with a little polish and hard work, you can reach those dreams.

Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t do something!

-leonrekjavik

P.S

I can’t believe I just spent nearly an hour writing this… But dreams and creativity are really important, so I guess it was an hour well spent!

Sorry if there were any mistakes, I didn’t really proofread it very well, haha.

mun starts speaking here:

hhHoly shit dude im literally speechless. okay i look up to leon so much everyone please read this!! also ive grown up my entire life in this field, i know what ive signed up for and im willing to take the risk. and yeah, hobbies are important to have, and writing and art isnt an exclusive club for people who “do it right”. youll just be that asshole standing in front of a painting looking at it and telling other people staring at it that theyre not doing it right.

fuckin enjoy yourselves.

#leonrekjavik #submission

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heroes-hq-blog1 · 5 years

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CREED IS OFFICIALLY READY TO JOIN THE ACADEMY!

› GOO BYUNGJAE › 23 YEARS OLD › CONCEPTUAL ITEMS › 3 YEARS IN THE ACADEMY

POWER

The ability to connect an item to a concept as long as people believed in it. The stronger and more people believed in the concept, the stronger and more likely its impact would be. If someone is injured from a deep gash, he could take a bottle of water and announce that it was capable of healing the one who drank it no matter the wound. And said bottle of water would become capable of doing such an act. He could also state things such as how his sword can cut through anything, and it will be even capable of cutting through the thick walls of a building. As long as he explained ( through written or spoken words ) the concept before hand and had someone to believe in it, it shall do its job.

STRENGTHS

A versatile ability capable of creating any concept as long as people believed in it. He was capable of creating deadly weapons or unbelievable healing devices and more.

One way or the other, Byungjae will always believe in the concept. Due to that, the concept would always work because there was a believer.

The thing is, he was very much capable of performing any sort of concept. There wasn’t an actual limit onto what he could not do ( he could make a sword into Excalibur, water to have the same powers as the Fountain of Youth, end a life with a paper cut, heal someone by shooting them ). As long as he had an idea, it could happen. The potent of the concept was what mattered, though.

A sub category to his abilities was the fact he had a very strong mental fortitude, enough to have his mind be unable to be taken control over or to be read. This was due to the entity known as Enigma, who would prevent any interference to mess with its research on living.

WEAKNESSES

It is an ability that relied on others. His own belief in his conceptual items could not power it to insane proportions. If he instilled the concept in a marble that made it capable of exploding like a bomb with the snap of his fingers, then it would do so. However, whether the bomb would be as weak as a single, mini firecracker or a nuke was dependent on how many and how strong their beliefs were..

There’s no element of surprise. Not with how he had to announce the concept for people to know so that they understood what his weapon would be capable of doing. If you keep him silent and away from any device that could help him convey the message of the decided concept, he is unable to do a thing.

He could only put a concept to an inanimate object, not living beings. He also must touch the object as he granted it the concept he decided to gift it with.

He could only activate a single concept at a time. Meaning if he had a sword that could cut through anything or a hammer that ignored any ‘buffs’, he had to choose one and use that only.

The more outlandish and complex a concept is, the harder it is to bring it into fruition. Mainly because it’s harder to believe and required more energy. That’s why his concepts tend to be quite grounded overall.

This was a power that excelled better when in the presence of many people. If he wanted to produce an item that could reach its peak potential, he must have as many as people know that, right in that moment, of what concept was instilled in his weapon. And, if majority believed in him, he was pretty much good to go. However, a one-on-one fight without any audience was pretty much considered his loss, more so if he didn’t prepare anything beforehand.

He constantly had a powerful being in his head asking him questions that deterred him from his current task. And always had a habit of being too insensitive. Whilst not completely bad, it could be quite the distraction.

ORIGINS

Chapter I. The scent of saltwater flowing withing the wind, the yellow grains under his feet, sea splashing against him, and a hunt for seashells. Fish, squid, prawns, and more fill his stomach. This was home, close by the ocean that which shined under the rising sun, the only reason he woke up early so that he could watch the changing palettes of nature. A melodious voice would call him back, and he’d see his mother berate him from getting too far from her once again. She hid something behind her arm, but the child was oblivious. It’s only when she got close that she presented a figurine, one of the latest ones of his favorite hero that which she and her husband saved up. He would squawk with elation, chubby hands reaching out for the merchandise, giving the woman a kiss to the cheek. His father would then take a picture of the scene, cooing at how precious they were and how they inspired him so. In the city of Busan, this family of three rejoiced in their times of peace. Holding each others hands, they continued to talk about the little boy’s favorite topic. Of heroes and powers, and his strive to be on in the future. It’s only a pity that this bright soul didn’t have anything special to him. Chapter II. He was shy around new faces, wary of them and oh how he’d act with them. Even as a child, he was meek and more often than not, he ended up as a wallflower. He saw some classmates with cool powers or talents, and he quite envied them to be so blessed. He stumbled when he wanted to become something more, often drawing back in the end as he feared doing something wrong. Even with his heart wanting to do more, his thoughts ended with the idea of ‘even then, there’s someone else to do it anyway’. He wasn’t sure if he could ever be so amazing as the Avengers, or even those around him that aspired to be one and didn’t give up to do so. Looking down at his feet, the young boy wondered if he could ever shine as much as others. But oh, that’s a fool’s dream was it not? Chapter III. He’s in high school when he dropped the idea of being a hero. Instead, he decided to follow his father’s footsteps. A webtoon artist that could make stories that would attract the masses, he thought that would be nice to do. Plus, it was fun to draw, and even if his drawing was more simple, it did enough to convey most that he wanted to say. As he matured, he often found himself catching the eye of his peers. But even then, just because he had looks didn’t mean he captured anyone’s attention too long. There were others around him that were better, and showed more potential than he ever would. That was fine with him, though. He lived his life peacefully and contentedly. With loving parents, the world calm, this mundane life could be accepted. He respected the heroes to have keep this peace as long as they could, and that was enough for him to kindly accept that gift they gave to them even if no one told them to. Chapter IV. He had resigned himself to his fate with a smile. He didn’t expect much of anything to happen to him. After all, Goo Byungjae was just another civilian who dreams but was realistic. That was why, when he had strange dreams enter his mind at age 18, he thought nothing of it. No matter how his dreams never failed to connect to each other, of stardust and a cosmic being that which traveled around an odd world to help out others, he only opted to translate it into drawings. Admittedly, he never published those ones, and he didn’t think he ever wanted to. It was like a personal lifestory, but he didn’t care. It took two years for this series to end. At age twenty, Byungjae found himself waking up with cold sweat drenching him and everything in his mind clicking together. For there once was a being of great power, one that brought forth objects beyond anyone’s comprehension. It that saved many as well as condemned as much, centuries as a wanderer throughout the universe and having left its mark. But it grew empty as the years passed by, and the being could not even mourn for its own state. Its travels have brought it far and wide, and it had discovered the heart of living beings. What was it like to live? It had wondered. And with its powers, it decided to take a part of its essence, randomly sending it off to a being that which would inherit a piece of its power and life as long as they could. To teach it of a world intimately than just a director watching from afar. And with its job done, it proceeded to head to the core of the sun, hibernating until the being connected to it had its life end. In truth, Goo Byungjae was a small piece, just a bit, of something great. A neutral entity that had wished to learn to live and merged with the baby of his mother and father. Suddenly, he wasn’t just a somebody. And he wondered why it took so long for him to even recall any of this. “(*&#@*#@)$(@)(!)&W!@*#” Indescribable words rumbled in his mind, startling him greatly, and yet at the same time he could understand it clearly. “It’s because I wanted you to live, as much as we are connected and a merge of souls, I wanted to see you grow.” He gulped, wondering when things had suddenly become odd instead of normal. And understanding as well as hearing an enigmatic being in his mind did not help. However, he was patient and listened to it. “I understand of your wishes. It is such an odd thing you have, these dreams of your’s. Even now I could not properly comprehend this admiration you have and yet I feel it.” It continued on, and Byungjae just knew things were never going to be as peaceful as it used to be. Chapter V. The being, which he just dubbed as Enigma, had become quite the strange presence in his mind to get used to. Clinical and neutral, it was capable of watching him and completely tapping into his core to understand him as he continued on with his daily life. Strangely enough, he did like to call Enigma a friend. Its objective way of thinking had assisted him many times when he was indecisive or required advise. Obviously, it didn’t really work out sometimes as he had to explain the nature of humans in the end to it as something like “Just punch him in the face then.” wasn’t the right thing to do in this society. However, even with Enigma around, his life remained relatively mundane. He was fine with that, of course. Just because he had some powers from Enigma didn’t mean he could use it so carelessly. And it wasn’t even that necessary either. But then came the day where a villain came and fought a hero. The world around him was in chaos, and he could barely remember what’s going on but— He saw a child falling down a tall building, and no one around to save her. He remembered Enigma giving him instructions to save the child, and adrenaline in his veins. He remembered screaming “These were shoes that could help me jump high!” He remembered catching the girl and landing safely, and by then the hero had won. And finally, he remembered his insides burning and passing out. Chapter VI. When he woke up, he found that his life had changed. He was sent to a hospital to be healed, and it turns out his insides were somehow wounded greatly without any signs of physical wounds. Enigma explained that it gave him a boost, but his human body could not handle such power and ended up breaking down. Enigma told him he was only capable of using a certain branch of its ability which dealt with granting objects with a concept. Moreover, he was found out by a scout of Avengers Academy who noted his ability and what seemed to be a lack of control for it. Due to this, he was offered to join the school. And Goo Byungjae was a dreamer, he was someone who hoped and prayed for everything to go his way. Now, suddenly his dreams of becoming a hero and something more were becoming reality after years of accepting that it just never would be. But it had. And now he wondered whether he should— “Take it, it’s been your dream after all.” Enigma chimed in, and he had to try and not chuckle at the bluntness of the being. Byungjae spent a lot of time being a coward and thinking of others doing the job as hero instead of him. But with Enigma backing him up….perhaps it was possible. Too bad he had to drop out his current college, oh well. His parents would be proud at least. Oh shit, he hadn’t even told his parents anything. Chapter VII. Avengers Academy, honestly even with Enigma around, and him getting used to his own newfound powers, he found himself still unable to break out of his own shell. Also, starting a school with a class that seemed to know each other long ago wasn’t fun for him, who had always been socially awkward. Alas, he could only move on an try his best to improve. Enigma was also always pushing him to interact more considering his powers apparently required others believing in him lest he wanted a repeat of nearly dying thanks to Enigma giving him too much power. Overall, he thought that he’s doing pretty okay. His new goal this semester was to get out of that wallflower state ( hopefully… ).

#hq:accepted #seo kangjoon

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dani-ellie03 · 7 years

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Fic: Night Watch (1/1)

Title: Night Watch Summary: Snow returned her attention to Emma then. Oh, her stubborn, stubborn baby girl. Maybe if she had gone to the doctor at the first signs of illness, she wouldn't be lying in the emergency room right now. Spoilers: If you're current, we're good. Rating/Warning: PG, for mild language. Family angst/fluff, as per usual. Word Count: 3088, so sayeth OpenOffice. Characters: Snow, Charming, Killian, and Emma. Disclaimer: Once Upon a Time and its characters were created by Eddy Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. I'm just playing in someone else's toy box. Author's Note: This story was inspired by, of all things, the ER reruns PopTV has been showing every Saturday. I'm a little rusty so feedback is very, very welcome! Enjoy. :)

-----

Unable to resist the motherly urge any longer, Snow White brushed her hand across her daughter's forehead. The sheer amount of heat radiating from Emma's skin made Snow wince. Oh, her poor sweet baby.

"No change?" Killian Jones murmured, his voice catching. Hints of his earlier panic still remained in his tone.

A slight shake of her head was all Snow could manage. No, there was no change to the feel over baby's fever. There hadn't been a change in the hour and a half they'd been sitting in this small room in the emergency department of Storybrooke General. Hell, there hadn't been a change since the frantic phone call from Killian that had shattered everyone's until-then-peaceful night.

"How long had she had the low-grade fever again?" Charming asked. Sitting in the chair at the foot of the right side of the hospital bed, he was the furthest away from Emma and even that bit of distance was clearly killing him. Snow sat by her head on the right side while Killian had taken up residence on her left.

Charming's query was mainly to fill the tense silence. The three of them had been over the hows and the whys of the situation a few times already in the last ninety minutes.

"A couple of days," Killian replied almost absentmindedly. His gaze remained locked on his wife, who was sound asleep but squirming uncomfortably against the fire of her fever. "She was complaining of a sore throat as well but wouldn't hear of letting anyone examine her."

Snow returned her attention to Emma then. Oh, her stubborn, stubborn baby girl. Maybe if she had gone to the doctor at the first signs of illness, she wouldn't be lying in the emergency room right now. Maybe this entire midnight adventure would have been avoided.

Getting a phone call in the middle of the night that her daughter had spiked a dangerously high fever was not something Snow cared to repeat anytime soon. (Or, really, ever again.) During that frantic phone call, Killian had explained that he'd been watching Emma the past couple of days in an effort to stay on top of her illness and that when they went to bed, she was fine. Tired and sluggish but fine. Two hours later, Killian had awakened to find Emma burning up and, aside from a few moans and groans, unresponsive to his attempts to wake her.

Snow thanked her lucky stars that her own family was law enforcement in Storybrooke because she must have broken the land speed record driving from the farmhouse to Emma's Victorian. In the time it took her to arrive, Killian had managed to lift Emma out of bed and carry her down the stairs.

He'd emerged through the front door just as Snow shifted her car into park outside the house. And now one thing was perfectly clear: Snow never again wanted to witness her poor baby limp in her son-in-law's arms. Her heart had leaped into her throat at the sight of her poor little girl, so sick and so uncomfortable from the fever wreaking havoc on her body.

Together, she and Killian had gently settled her in the backseat of the station wagon and then had taken off like a shot for the hospital. Charming had dropped Neal off with Granny and a panicked Henry off with Regina before joining his wife, son-in-law, and sick baby girl in the emergency room.

"What's her temperature now?" Charming asked, drawing Snow from her reverie.

She squinted up at the monitor above her daughter's bed. "104.3," she replied with another wince. The sad thing was, that temperature reading was an improvement. Emma's temp been 104.6 upon arrival.

Charming nodded somewhat grimly. "When did Whale say we'd get the test results back?"

"Any minute now," Killian replied. Once again, he did not look away from Emma. Snow glanced up at him and her heart leaped into her throat again at the sheer desperation written across his face.

With Emma still unresponsive, the fever and the sore throat were the only symptoms her parents and husband had been able to inform Dr. Whale of before his initial exam. Thankfully, that short list had been enough to give him a direction. By some miracle, he'd managed to get Emma to respond enough to open her mouth so he could take a look at her throat. The second he shined the light on her tonsils, he cursed under his breath and muttered, "How she's even able to swallow is beyond me."

He'd ordered a rapid strep test, the results of which they were waiting on now. Part of Snow felt silly for not thinking of strep – her little Neal was just getting over a case of it himself – and part of her felt massively guilty.

Emma must have caught her baby brother's illness and then not mentioned a word to anyone when she started feeling sick herself, even though she knew Neal had strep. Oh, her stubborn, stubborn baby girl.

"Is what he thinks she has dangerous?"

Snow finally drew her gaze from her poor sick daughter and turned her motherly eye on Killian. The poor pirate still looked so worried, so frightened. She couldn't imagine how terrifying it must have been for him to wake and find Emma so sick. Plus, after his centuries in the Enchanted Forest and Neverland without the benefit of the modern medicine of the Land Without Magic, he had a tendency to view every illness as if it were life-threatening. "No," Snow assured him, her tone gentle. "Neal was diagnosed with the same thing a few days ago."

As a matter of fact, little Neal was still on his course of antibiotics. Out of the corner of her eye, Snow saw Charming close his eyes against the realization that baby brother had passed his illness onto his big sister. "If she has strep throat," Snow continued, "Dr. Whale will give her the same kind of medicine Neal is on and she'll be perfectly fine."

The explanation elicited a small nod from her son-in-law, though the desperation refused to budge from his face. It would probably stay there, Snow figured, until Emma opened her eyes. Killian took a deep breath and held it a moment before saying, "So not being able to wake her ..."

"A result of the fever's hold on her," Charming said.

"Was Neal's fever this high?"

"No." Snow shared a soft sigh with her husband. "He'd been fussy and wasn't eating much so we took him to the doctor before the fever had a chance to spike."

Left unsaid, of course, was that if Emma hadn't refused to see a doctor when she began feeling unwell, her fever probably wouldn't have climbed this high, either. Killian clearly connected the dots himself because he muttered, "Bloody obstinate ..." before trailing off and letting the subject drop.

Mother and father exchanged a slightly amused glance. Yes, their Emma was indeed obstinate but they all loved her for it, occasional middle-of-the-night trips to the emergency room and all.

After a couple silent minutes, Killian slid his hand under Emma's limp one. Mindful of the IV inserted into the vein in the back of her hand, he tightened his grip to give her what comfort he could. "Bloody hell, even her hand is on fire."

It did not at all escape Snow's notice that Emma stopped squirming the second Killian took her hand. The touch of True Love, comforting enough to cut through even the highest of fevers. It must not have escaped Charming's notice, either, because he whispered, "Her hand may be hot but hold onto it. You're calming her down."

For the first time that night, the hint of a smile curled onto their son-in-law's lips.

A few minutes later, Dr. Whale entered the room to deliver the inevitable verdict. "It is strep," he told the worried family, who let out relieved breaths in unison at the news. "We'll get her started on a course of antibiotics that she can continue at home. I'm sure it goes without saying, though, that we want to keep her here until her fever comes down to a more manageable temperature."

It certainly did. "Thank you, Dr. Whale," Snow said.

He gave her a nod and then left the little room to put in Emma's orders. Charming stood up from his chair, stretching slightly. "I'm going to call Regina and let her know what's going on. Henry was out of his mind with worry when I dropped him off."

Snow could only imagine. When she arrived to take Emma to the hospital, poor Henry had followed his stepfather outside and insisted he go too. Killian had managed the impossible and talked him into staying with Regina.

Now that they knew for certain that Emma had strep, Snow was even more thankful that Killian had made him go with his other mom. He'd clearly already been exposed but sitting in this small room with Emma wouldn't have helped matters. "Make sure Regina knows to keep her eye on him, too," she softly instructed her husband. "He's been around both Emma and Neal and they're contagious."

Charming nodded and, after sparing one more glance at his sick baby girl, ducked out of the room to make his phone call in private.

"That goes for you, too, you know," Snow said to Killian, who finally tore his gaze from Emma to look up at her with a somewhat confused frown. "She's been contagious for days. If your throat starts feeling sore, let someone know."

A touched look crossed her son-in-law's face. "Aye, milady. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Snow reached for her daughter's other hand and held on tight, briefly shutting her eyes when she felt the heat still radiating from Emma's skin. A glance across her daughter's bed proved that poor Killian was still worried and so, so scared for his wife. "Killian, she's going to be fine."

He nodded but did not appear to relax at all. And he wouldn't, not until Emma was awake and talking.

The deep love Killian had for Emma was shining in his eyes, sending tears to Snow's own. It was obvious that this man loved her little girl with the depths of his soul. So obvious, in fact, that Snow knew what his response would be to her next suggestion before the words even left her mouth. "Why don't you try to get some rest? I can watch her for a little while."

"Thank you but no. I want to be awake when she wakes."

Snow smiled and gave him an understand nod. Just as she'd thought.

-----

Throughout the night, mother, father, and husband watched over Emma. They all took turns holding her hand or murmuring gently to her when her sleep grew restless or treating her fever with cool compresses. Modern medicine may have been working to get Emma's core temperature down below the danger level but all three of them felt like they needed to be doing something.

Their treatments seemed to be working, at least. They'd managed to get her fever down to 103.6, a full degree lower than her arrival temp.

The sun was just peeking through the gauzy curtains on the wide windows behind Emma's bed when their ministrations began to bear even bigger fruit. Killian gasped softly, the sound drawing Snow's and Charming's attention away from their sick little girl. "She just squeezed my hand," he said somewhat sheepishly. Clearly, he hadn't meant to startle them.

Snow looked back at Emma. At first Snow thought she was still squirming against the fever but after a moment, she realized her movements were different. This wasn't Emma fidgeting uncomfortably against the fire in her body; this was Emma beginning to stir. "Emma, sweetie, can you hear me?"

A wrinkle of Emma's nose and a soft whimper were the only outward responses Snow got. When she glanced across the bed at Killian, however, he nodded. Emma had once again squeezed his hand, answering Snow's question in the only way she could manage at the moment. "It's all right, baby," Snow murmured, a smile tugging at her lips, "take your time."

It took another few minutes of stirring but Emma finally managed to drag her eyes open. "There you are, kiddo," Charming said, a gentle smile on his lips.

Though Emma's eyes were open, the cloudiness in them that told Snow that she wasn't a hundred percent awake. Still, after the hours of being unable to get her to respond at all, they'd take what they could get.

Emma opened her mouth, presumably to ask what was going on, but winced in pain moments later. Everyone else winced along with her; she'd just taxed her poor raw throat. "Don't try to talk, love," Killian said, releasing her hand to brush his thumb along her forehead.

"You're in the hospital, Emma," Snow explained, her voice gentle as she grasped her daughter's other hand. It was a testament to how far Emma had come from the woman who'd first arrived in Storybrooke that she squeezed Snow's hand as tightly as she could. "You spiked a high fever in the middle of the night and we brought you here. Looks like you picked up a case of strep throat from your little brother."

Emma let the information sink in for a moment, then nodded. She opened her mouth again and this time managed to rasp, "At least you guys are teaching him to share."

After the long hours everyone spent watching the monitors as Emma squirmed in her fevered sleep, her joke was the perfect release. A chorus of chuckles went up around the little room. Snow even felt tears pricking her eyes, tears of relief that her baby was going to be all right.

Her baby was, however, still very sick and feverish and just the few moments she'd spent awake had already taken their toll on her. Her eyes started to flutter again as the descending exhaustion threatened to pull her back under.

"Go back to sleep, kiddo," Charming said, his voice soft. "We'll be right here when you wake up."

"You promise?"

Snow looked up at both Killian and Charming in surprise. Poor Emma sounded so young right then, so afraid that she would wake up and her family would be gone. She sounded so much like the little girl she'd once been, the one who'd had nobody to comfort her or even sit with her when she was sick. It was the fever, Snow knew, but her baby's question still made her heart clench in her chest. "We promise," she assured her, giving her hand a comforting squeeze. "We'll always be with you."

A sleepy smile tugged Emma's lips. "Good," she mumbled as she slipped back into slumber.

With a mother's gentle touch, Snow brushed her hand down Emma's fiery cheek. "Sleep well, baby."

Once again, there was nothing for the now slightly less worried family members to do but wait and watch both Emma and the monitors above her bed. It took a good couple of hours for Emma's temperature to dip below a hundred and three, and her sleep turned peaceful for the first time all night. Finally, a sense of calm settled over the room.

And it was that sense of calm that led the mostly sleepless night to start catching up with everyone. When Snow felt herself drifting, she ran her hand over her face. A glance around the room told her she must have been out longer than she thought. Charming had finally nodded off leaning forward in the chair, his arms pillowing his head on the mattress. Across from her, Killian sat lightly dozing, his hand still gripping Emma's. The contact between husband and wife had no doubt contributed to Emma's peaceful slumber.

Eventually Emma began to stir, causing Killian and Charming to blink awake. And this time when Emma dragged her eyes open, Snow could see clarity. The cloudiness of her gaze the last time she woke was completely gone. "Hey, sweetheart," she whispered, capturing her daughter's attention. "You're in the hospital."

A still somewhat disoriented Emma frowned at her. "Wait, did we already do this once?"

Her voice still came out raspy, no doubt owing to her sore throat, but Snow smiled at her anyway. "Yeah, we did. Sorry. You were really out of when we we last talked and I didn't think you'd remember that conversation."

"I don't. Not really. Just remember you saying I was in the hospital and …" She trailed off, swallowed, hard, and then winced in pain. Realization lit her eyes a moment later. Whether it was a vague memory of their previous conversation or she'd just connected the dots from her symptoms, Snow would never know. "I have strep throat?"

Charming gave her an apologetic nod. "Courtesy of your baby brother, unfortunately."

She nodded as well before turning her head to find her husband. "If you had to take me here in the middle of the night, I bet I scared the shit out of you."

Snow hid a smile – her Emma had such a way with words – as Killian chuckled, squeezing her hand. "None of that, now, love. I'm just thankful you're all right."

She smiled lovingly at him as she pulled her hand from his and reached out to cup his cheek in her palm. Then she looked from him to her father to her mother in turn. "Don't tell me you all stayed here last night. You didn't have to, you know."

The three of them exchanged a surprised glance. Clearly she didn't remember asking them – in not so many words – to stay. Not that it mattered; they would have stayed anyway because they loved her and she was sick and they wanted to be with her. "Of course we did, kiddo. We're your family."

Despite the sore throat and the fever, a touched smile lit Emma's face. In that smile was the little girl Emma once had been, now basking in the love surrounding her. "Well then, at the risk of sounding mushy, I'm glad you're my family."

Tears leaped into Snow's eyes as she caressed her little girl's cheek. As far as she was concerned, Emma could sound mushy any time she wanted. "And we're glad you're ours."

#ouat ff #charming family ff #cs ff #mama snow #killian jones #daddy charming #emma swan #my fic

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wildfireornot · 7 years

Text

tagged by @pastel-rainbow-galaxy (aka the only person who tags me in cool stuff on here lmao bless you <3)

rules: tag followers that you want to know better

name: W

nicknames: -

gender: this question again? *sigh* psa: label me as cis-female if you wish but don’t assume that means anything about me or how i feel about myself bc plot twist: it fucking does not. (edit: by “label me as” ofc i meant shut up you don’t rlly get to label me ykno? -not adressed to anyone in particular dw-)

star sign: leo (i don’t relate to it tho so eh whatever)

height: 1m71 / 5′6 (the last time i checked was probably like one or two years ago but i guess im still the same height)

sexual orientation: queer/gay/polysexual are terms i use to describe it. don’t call me a lesbian, i don’t like that term, thanks

favorite color: purple, violet

favorite animal: felines/cats/wolves

average hours of sleep: these days i can sleep 9 or 10 hours (usually from approximately 2am to 12 or 1pm), i usually sleep wayyy less on week days when im not on holidays

cat or dog person: CATS

favorite fictional characters: gonna copy/paste my previous answer to this question: ellana (from pierre bottero’s books) - salim (same books) - stiles stilinski – spencer reid - wolverine

favorite bands/singers: papa roach

dream trip: road trip somewhere i can encounter different kinds of landscapes, especially forests

dream job: storyteller

when was this blog created: may 2013

current number of followers: 719

when did your blog reach its peak: do u mean papa roach peak or mika peak? o/ but yeah my blog is kinda lame but idc

time right now: 6:10pm

song stuck in my head: -

last movie i watched: War Dogs (my dad chose it lol) and before that Gallows, which made me extremely paranoid last night lmao bad decision

last tv show i watched: orphan black (watched it a month ago and now i kinda wanna catch up on spn but idrk...)

what i am wearing right now: red shorts with moose on it (i bought them in Canada and i love them lol / edit: hahaha i googled it and that’s the ones), and a “parental advisory consent” shirt lmao remind me why i bought this?? (in my defence i was 15 or 16)

what kind of stuff do i post: (i know this should be a short answer but i feel like going into details oops) - what i reblog: cats, movies, harry potter, dylan o’brien, comics (Marvel, Wolverine...), quotes, words/vocabulary/languages, books, art, TV shows (spn, got, orphan black, teen wolf, carmilla, quotidien -french tv program), cute and motivational stuff, pictures i find aesthetically pleasing, nature/landscapes/forests, posts about historical facts/history/interesting things in general/culture, feminism, queer stuff, nonsense/funny stuff, aaron taylor-johnson, depression and anxiety etc (nothing too triggering -i think?)... i used to post a lot about mika but atm it’s on hold lmao. - what i post myself (not regularly): posts about tv shows/movies, pieces of writing/stuff from my notebook, sometimes art/drawings, personal posts, links to my concert reviews, sometimes pictures ive taken, travel/concert pics... - people/movies/shows I have posted about: Papa Roach, Mika, Fantastic Beasts, Dylan O'Brien, Teen Wolf, The Maze Runner, Matthew Gray Gubler, Criminal Minds, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, Marvel, Skins, Game of Thrones.

do i have any other blogs: 2 active side blogs (one is gubleroach, the other i keep for myself), and 4 inactive ones (i use 2 of them as “redirection” pages)

do i get asks regularly: no :(

why did i choose my url: “wildfire” bc of someone whose (old, they no longer use it) username inspired me in a way (this is only one of the 5 explanations I could give for my username), “ornot” for obscure reasons

lucky number: 3

following: 1299 (wow wtf that much??)

tagging: @wosslbird @chillyls @ookaminoki @dolphindewott @this-is-not-an-inspirational-url @sleepylunas @o-misfits @catbvtt and anyone wanting to do this, really :)

#wildfiretalks #tag #pastel rainbow galaxy

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rheasunshine · 7 years

Text

As I delve a little into what happened yesterday during my second half infusion of Ocrevus, I want to be very clear that “weakness” is not at all meant to be a taken as derogatory, or a stand-in for failure. I do not intend “weakness” to bring up feelings of inadequacy or defeat.

Weakness, in this piece, means vulnerability, means softness, means disarmed – and the context of these words are meant to evoke in us the power of our humanness and to speak to the testament that though we are all fragile, that fragility bonds us together and opens up the pathways for empathy.

As I wrote about in my last piece, my decision to start Ocrevus was not an easy one and the long-term side effects were scary and the short-term ones turned out to be terrible. This all comes with the territory of long-term disease management and medications. So I won’t re-hash that and I’ll start with yesterday morning.

(Full disclosure, as I’m writing this, I’m currently basking in the warmth of 7.5 mg of Vicodin, 50 mgs of Benadryl, plus the haziness of sheer exhaustion. Also, my skin is burning at a level best described as “infuriatingly distracting” and I have no feeling in either of my legs, so every once in awhile I’m taken out of writing mode to try to figure out how my laptop is floating in front of me because I can’t see the lump of legs beneath the blanket and so the whole “out of sight, out of mind” comes in to play.)

Knowing that we would have to leave for Duke at 5:30 am on Tuesday morning, I went to bed at 7 pm Monday night; not surprisingly, I woke up at 1:45 am, anxious and pissed. But I got dressed, combed my hair and took a “Let’s Do This” selfie in an attempt to get myself pumped up. I was thinking I looked pretty good for 2:30 am, especially since I was fighting a panic attack and couldn’t take anything for it (so there would be no interactions with the pre-medication they give you at the infusion center).

We headed out right on time, and despite the Tropical Cyclone warnings, there was only a light rain falling. Thommy and I took the obligatory “WE’RE ON A ROAD TRIP!” photo at the first red light we came to, and then he took an adorable shot of the two of us once I inevitably passed out in the passenger’s seat.

Durham rush hour traffic was reliably crazy, so we rolled up to Duke Hospital with 15 minutes to park and check-in. While I nervously waited for them to call my name I couldn’t help but notice the obnoxiously optimistic vending machine taunting me. Similarly to adding the words “in bed” to the ending of fortune cookies, I sometimes like to add the words “my ass” to the end of inspirational quotes. In case the image is too small for you to read, let me assist you in recreating what I read in my head yesterday morning as I waited for the IV toxicity:

“The human spirit is stronger than anything that can happen to it … my ass.”

Despite my obsession with quotes and my belief in their ability to empower and embolden us, sometimes the only thing that pulls me along in life is sardonic humor. Apologies to C.C. Scott.

Anyway, the appointment started out great – especially the first three things. For starters, the scale was broken!! After just getting weighed in at a doctor’s appointment on Monday (yes, I truly do spend most of my life at doctor’s appointments), I was really not looking forward to it on Tuesday. Most people dislike getting weighed in on those hideous contraptions anyway, but for someone with anorexia it’s an even harder proposition. Sometimes I do the weigh-in backwards, but most times my sadistic side takes over and I can’t avert my eyes. I’m going to be writing a special post about my upcoming 10 year anniversary from Renfrew and one of the things I’ll be talking about is some ways people with eating disorders engage differently than regular folks with seemingly benign tasks. For example, on the day before a scheduled weigh-in, I usually dehydrate myself and often times use a diuretic or laxative (despite the fact that I am chronically dehydrated and have diarrhea anywhere between 5-15 times a day). I also wear as few items of clothing as possible. This is much easier to accomplish in the South, but regardless of the fact that I am always cold, I usually wear shorts and flip flops to appointments so I can take them off before stepping on the scale. At the infusion center, none of these preemptive steps are possible because those places are kept at what seems to be “just-below-freezing”, so I’m forced to wear jeans and shoes. I digress: I didn’t have to get weighed in.

The second good thing was finding out that they try to keep you with the same infusion nurse for sake of continuity of care. I loved my nurse the first time and I was ecstatic to be back under her care. The last positive to happen in quick succession was the fact that she was able to get the IV in on the first try. Last time, it took 3 pokes (plus the delay of waiting for the “IV Team” to show up). Then, things started to take a turn for the worse.

Despite assurances last time that were going to double ALL my meds to start (including the Benadryl, which is a god-send during these infusions because it either knocks you out or keeps you in a “I Don’t Give a Fuck” haze), I was informed that only the Pepcid and the steroids would be doubled. That was the first time I wanted to cry in the infusion chair. I held it in. I dug in hard, gritted my teeth, focused my energy and willed myself to stay ahead of the thundering rumble of disappointment I could hear building up in the background. Thommy must have taken a picture at this moment, which I didn’t see until later, but perfectly captured the internal pep-talk.

And then he asked for a picture, grinning. I tried to smile back.

Then, as my nurse administered the normal dose of Benadryl, none of the twilight-like sedation that had blissfully overcome me during the first infusion took hold. It might as well have been saline. Again, the tears swelled up from my gut to the edges of my eyes – but I blinked them back down and just let the crashing wave of disappointment and frustration wash over me. All my senses and emotions were so heightened that it felt more like drowning than washing, but I didn’t want to give up on the day so early in the process.

The day marched on. Thommy did some work and I mostly stared ahead at the wall, or occasionally at my phone, but mostly I just looked at the IV. A little blood had started to flow back into the tubing, a hazy mixture of red blood and opaque medicine creating a pink swirl in the line. I don’t know why it was mesmerizing. Something about blood leaving my body was calming; it was just the smallest amount, really, but it was beautiful. It didn’t even scare me that I wished it was coming faster, or that the tubing wasn’t there, or that the earlier moments of “washing disappointment” turned to a wistful hope that the droplets of blood would turn to tiny streams, then currents. Visions of crimson liquid on pale skin lulled me. It wasn’t the meds but this vision that acted like the Klonopin I hadn’t been able to take earlier, and my eyes closed. Thommy must have looked up from his laptop shortly after this and captured with his phone what must have seemed to him like a momentary respite from the struggle and a rare moment of calm. It was. But for all the wrong reasons.

***

As we hit the mark in time where I had experienced a reaction during the first infusion, I was ecstatic to realize I wasn’t having one this time. I stubbornly decided (as one does when they think they can control everything around them) that I was NOT going to have a reaction this time and we were going to get out of there on time, beat the Durham rush hour and be back home after “only” 12 hours. It was not to be. 30 minutes later when they once again bumped up the infusion rate, I started to get the faintest tingle around my ears and the outline of my face. Then a little on my neck. I tried not to think about it; I certainly tried not to touch it. I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself while surrounded my hawk-eye nurses and an even more attentive husband, who for reasons that entirely escape me, seems to actually like looking at my face. I again tried to convince myself the increasingly hard to ignore burning was simply a matter of psychosomatic manifestation. No allergic reaction to see here. Maybe if I pretend to sleep, no one will look at me.

Then I coughed. Just once. But Thommy looked up. I shook my head nonchalantly: “I’m fine, just a tickle, it’s fine.”

Then another cough, deeper this time: “I’m fine,” I laughed, “seriously, go back to work.” Then 3 more in quick succession, harder and rumbling, ones that forced my body upwards in the chair.

Fuck. Me.

After 2 minutes of “Should We Get the Nurse” ping-pong, he poked is head above the nursing station. I could hear the mumbling and I shot Thommy the coldest death stare I could muster and like a mother scolding an insubordinate child, I mouthed “SIT. DOWN.”

“Never mind, she’s ok.” Thommy said with a sheepish chuckle. It was his turn to try to laugh it off. But it was too late and here she came, arms crossed, smiling. It wasn’t my nurse (she was on lunch), but one that had remembered me from last time and had come over to say hi when we first got there. “Good to see you again,” she had said. She was young and very pretty. It’s strange, but even after just two visits, they seem like a family to me.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I laughed, waving my hand in an attempt to shoo off the inevitable. I try to act like the smartest person in the room when in medical settings, like it simultaneously makes everyone up their own game and also allows me the upper-hand. I do it because pretending I’m in control is the only way I’ve found to survive all this shit.

I don’t remember exactly who said what, but among the three of us, words like “itching”, “just a little irritation”, “cough”, and “I really am fine,” got tossed around. No dice. In quick succession, 3 nurses and the PA who oversees the floor and is probably the sweetest person I’ve ever met in a medical office were standing and sitting around me. Then I started to fucking cry. Not sobbing, not hysterically, but a stifled stream of tears finally made their way out of my eyes and down my already red and itching face. The nurses and Thommy tried to console me, thinking what, I’m not sure. The darker part of my nature thought maybe they believed I was weak – easily rattled – being a brat.

I doubt anyone actually thought that but those were the assumptions pounding against my skull as I tried to explain that I was only crying because I didn’t want to stop the infusion, I just wanted to get through it like (seemingly) everyone else did and go HOME. I wanted them to understand that my body does not know any other mode than “self-sabotage.” It is a betrayer. It lies and it breaks and it defies logic. I wanted them to ignore what they were seeing, go against all ethical and practical guides of medicine and just let me have my reaction in peace and get the fuck out of there. As I explained that, minus the expletives, the PA sat down next to me and placed her hand on my knee that was huddled up next to me as I did my best to place myself in the fetal position in the chair. Her eyes were the warmest shade of brown, and empathy and sympathy shot out of them like laser beams set to a better frequency than mine. Excitedly she said, “we won’t stop like last time!! No, no…” she comforted, “we will just stop the drip while we give you more Benadryl, more Pepcid and some Allegra, and then I promise you we’ll start right back up.” There were some hesitant, doubting looks on the faces of the nurses surrounding her. The PA must have noticed that too because she added – “I’ll start it back up myself if I have too.” I agreed, but kept crying.

They all started shuffling around doing what had to be done and within a few minutes, my own nurse was back. They explained to her what had happened. They tried to explain why I was upset. I started to defend myself, but she stopped me.

“Of course you’re crying. You’re tough and happy for as long as you can and you do what you have to do and then all it ever takes is one final thing, the straw that breaks the camels back, to put you over. It’s not pain, you can handle that; it’s just frustration at one more thing not working out the way it should and you just have enough. You’re ok.”

I cried harder. She actually fucking got it. I’ve known her for a total of maybe 18 hours in my life and she completely understood the secret language of my tears in that moment.

They infused more meds and I watched the clock tick. And then, when my time was up, and every nurse was with another patient, the PA (who works in administration and oversees the floor, and who was wearing high heels, a skirt and a blouse, but who had promised me that this little setback wouldn’t get me off track to go home on time), found gloves and started my drip back up herself.

The state of medical care of this country is currently broken. I know this because I am a professional patient. But the level of care I’ve received at my infusion center, and especially at the hands of this PA at that moment, healed so many fractures for me.

I still had well over an hour to go when my nurse left for the day. She came over to say goodbye and that she’d see me in 6 months. She said a few things, all so genuinely sweet that I wanted to cry again. Then she said “it was truly a pleasure being with you today.” I could only nod. When she left, Thommy turned and said, “she loves you.”

“Yeah,” I said, thinking about all the times doctors and nurses would fawn over Memere, even as she experienced the worst that hospitals have to offer. “I learned that from Memere.”

***

In my ongoing commitment to showing how “real” complicated and ongoing illness and disability can be, I allowed Thommy to post a picture he took of me crying to Facebook. We try to document as much of our lives as possible, and while most people who know me know that I’m incredibly open and honest about what all the colors of life look like, there are lines I try to draw. I’m struggling with that right now as I’m drafting my Renfrew piece, because despite the trigger warnings and the explicit language I’ll use to shy away people who shouldn’t be looking at it, I know if they’re anything like me they’ll be compelled to do so anyway, and so I haven’t decided if I’ll use pictures to help illustrate what my personal weight and health struggles have looked like over the last 18 or so years.

When we finally got home last night, I kept looking at that picture. I really had to fight the urge to take it down. I still think displaying vulnerability, depression, anxiety and self-harm are ways that help me fight against them. I know not everybody feels that way and I do worry maybe it’s too triggering for people. And maybe I’m delusional, but I do feel that if someone is battling their own demons in secrecy, and maybe feels like no one else understands, that they might see one of my pictures or posts and realize that weakness does not have to equal defeat or inadequacy or failure. Sometimes – hell, most times – weakness is permission to feel vulnerable, hurt or broken while simultaneously seeing the strength that all those feelings require. It is permission to be human, and to let others know that not everything they see or read from people they consider “strong” is the whole story. Strength requires too much energy sometimes; it needs its’ counterparts to be whole. When someone tells me I’m strong, I want them to know that, while it’s often misquoted and not used in accordance with the original source material from “A Farewell to Arms”: we are all broken, that’s how the light get’s in.

So today, as I sit here, I am bloated from the steroids and terrified about how much worse it’s going to get in the coming weeks. I am in incredible amounts of pain radiating from all over, and both legs are numb. I am starving, but I won’t eat. My face is broken out in hives (as are my neck, chest and shoulders), and I am dizzy and nauseous from all the medicines. I am worried about money because our car just needed $1,100 worth of repairs. I am feeling like a horrible friend and daughter because there are things I’m supposed to be doing for my friends and family that I just can’t. I feel like the “World’s Worst Wife” (a title I bestow on myself often) because Thommy is stressed and anxious and I can’t be as attentive or patient as I should be.

I am feeling my humanness today: hard. I am still crying. But I’m urged to remind you that while it’s not necessarily fair to feel this way, we are okay. And if you need to reach out, reach out. And if you want to share your struggles with social media but worry people might think you’re being “dramatic,” tell that voice to shut up and share what you want. You have no idea who it might help. Or how it might help you.

What’s the point of being strong if you can’t define strength on your own terms?

What’s the point of struggling in silence because you’re worried about what other’s might think? People who would turn their backs on you deserve to be walking away.

What do you need today? Ask yourself – then ask for help if you need it.

If you’re doing OK today – ask someone else what you can do to help them.

Results may vary. You may make someone’s day.

Or you may save it.

In strength and solidarity,

Rhea

In Defense of Weakness As I delve a little into what happened yesterday during my second half infusion of Ocrevus, I want to be very clear that "weakness" is not at all meant to be a taken as derogatory, or a stand-in for failure.

#Anxiety #crying #Duke #Human #ms #Ocrevus #pain #quotes #steroids #strength

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alltheworldsrpg-blog · 7 years

Photo

WELCOME TO ROSWELL, BEATRICE RIGEL!!

ADMIN CAMERON: I don’t know why, but I never envisioned the Pulsar as a lawyer, but Beatrice has me believing in it. Her disposition is so open and honest, so hardworking and diligent, they’ll be a welcome addition to the cast of characters. I can’t wait to see what kind of work she ends up doing here.

You’ve been accepted as THE PULSAR with the faceclaim of CANDICE PATTON. Please follow all rules and regulations as laid out by the Roswell Town Council, especially concerning any non pre-approved biologic. All UFO’s outside of city limits must be stickered or will be towed. Enjoy your stay in the first city of extraterrestrials.

OUT OF CHARACTER.

NAME/ALIAS + PRONOUNS:

Alyssa she/her

AGE:

TIMEZONE + ACTIVITY:

Gmt -7 i can be on about three to four days out of the week, ranging from a couple of times throughout the day to only once a day.

TRIGGERS:

Removed for privacy.

ANYTHING ELSE?:

nope

IN CHARACTER.

SKELETON TITLE:

The pulsar

FULL NAME:

Beatrice Rigel

GENDER + PRONOUNS:

Agender she/her

SEXUAL + ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:

lesbian

DATE OF BIRTH + AGE:

May 03 1987 + 30

OCCUPATION:

Civil Rights Attorney

FACECLAIM:

Candice Patton

BIOGRAPHY:

Among the first settlers on Earth, Beatrice’s memories of her home are limited. The youngest of her three siblings, she was around eight years old when she arrived on Earth. With parents who had ties to political families in their country, Beatrice was used to going with her family on humanitarian events, whether it was a fundraiser or taking the time to volunteer themselves. Moving to earth was seen as a humanitarian effort, helping out the poor people on Earth. Beatrice didn’t exactly see things this way. Her siblings were already in their teenage years and older by the time they arrived and weren’t so easily influenced by Earth culture. While she enjoyed her people, she believed there was more Earth could offer them and if this were to be their new home, she would help make it the best it could be.

School with humans was difficult, especially when people learned of what she and her family was. Despite being met with suspicion and at times hostility, Beatrice still held strong. Her family tolerated humans more than accepted them, pitied them mostly, Beatrice was the only one who saw them as equals and treated them with genuine kindness. She was also the only one among her family to rename herself a human name, something that created trouble among her family. Beatrice was more than happy to allow humans in, to show them just how well they could co-exist. Sometimes, it worked out well, other times, Beatrice learned that not everyone respected her kindness. Many took advantage of it.

When she went off to university and got roomed with someone who was clearly anti-alien, she took it as a challenge. Every aggression, while not physical, was always met with kindness, gentleness. Given her family’s accumulated wealth, it wasn’t entirely difficult to get her a good education, however it meant some of the wealthier humans (which had a potential to be ignorant) had to deal with her. However, the more time she spent with her roommate, the more they started to give in, to understand and accept what Beatrice was trying to teach. It brought them closer, they became friends.

After undergrad, they found a place together, Beatrice was always independent from her family, in fact, encouraged to find her own path. Throughout the following years, Beatrice wasn’t a stranger to people taking advantage of her kindness. However, this has yet to sour her, choosing to believe in the good of people instead. She continued onto law, believing she could help a lot of people, especially when she didn’t agree with a lot of the laws that existed on Earth, still she respected them, but also admired those who stood up against inequality as well, but not everyone was welcoming of bringing aliens into the mix.

MUSING + HEAD-CANONS.

HEAD-CANONS:

i. Beatrice chose the name for herself, after coming across it and finding the meaning beautiful. It means ‘bringing joy’ and ultimately, that’s what she wants to bring, joy, peace, love…

ii. She’s not unaware of what people can be like, being an alien she has first hand seen how cruel people could be, but she chooses to believe that just as easily people can be mean and unjust, they can be the opposite.

iii. While she is set on being a lawyer, it’s not the only way she goes about to make the world better. She volunteers her time in various organizations and donates whenever she can, not to mention always helping people. As the saying goes, she’d give you the shirt off her back if you needed it.

iv. Beatrice has been taken advantage of before, especially by those she entered a relationship with. One especially lasted for a while and while she believes people can change and choose to be nice, she doesn’t want to be the one to change them or devote time to do it while she’s in a relationship.

v. She has chosen not to lead her human friend on, afraid that they might just be interested in Beatrice just because she has been nice to them, afraid they might be more into the idea of chasing goodness and seeming like they’ve changed rather than actively continuing to change and be better.

vi. With all her kindness, it’s not to say she has never had a mean thought or even done something that wasn’t kind. Beatrice prefers kindness over rudeness but she been known to get snarky if someone is especially rude to someone she admires, with herself she has more patience.

vii. She manages to keep a really cool head for the most part, rarely raising her voice in an argument and almost never coming off as aggressive. Still, she is direct and believes strongly and is not one to just sit down and listen.

PLOTS + CONNECTIONS:

I love angst, so i’d love to see more connections of Beatrice being led astray and just being manipulated by someone she thinks is being true. I don’t see her becoming cynical, but I do see her finding strength and just being more experienced in dealing with people.

I wouldn’t mind having an ex in game too, because unless it was particularly bad ex, most have been mutual/she’s on good terms with them. however, any kind of ex would be great.

I’d also like to have a plot where she does show that the kindness and generosity of others can prevail or at least not everything is as bad as people make it out to be.

Maybe she tries to do something peaceful, like a protest and gets reminded to the ugliness of the world, she won’t let that get her down but i do think it’s important she gets exposed to the ugly side and show people that she’s not in denial or hasn’t seen reality.

WRITING SAMPLE:

Removed for privacy.

ETC:

im drawing inspiration from wonder woman for her. she’s definitely not the fighting type, but she believes in peace, justice and truth just like her.

#the pulsar.#accepted.

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