#when in reality I was punished for not being feminine *enough*.

[satanfemme]

being both gnc and trans is so hard sometimes. it's like, I'll face adversity for being gnc/trans/whatever-strangers-read-me-as, and in addition to the normal base-level difficultly and pain and fear of these experiences, I'll also feel on some level like it's "my own fault" too because this is what I purposefully decided to be.

I often dress/act like a girl but have a deep voice/facial hair/flat chest -- and I opted in for all of those. I spent more money than I can conceptualize in order to medically transition in those ways. while, in theory, I could've saved the money, not transitioned, continued dressing/acting the same way as I do now, and the problem would no longer exist... in theory. ofc logically I know that's not at all how it works. if I hadn't transitioned I would feel even worse. and the way I'd experience & express gender would still be intrinsically different from "cis girl" -- that's true regardless of how my body looks or sounds. which should all go without saying, because I very obviously don't conform to my CAGAB either. if I did I wouldn't be in this mess!! u know?

...but the self-blame is still there, because for better or for worse I did go out of my way to become myself. <- feels like a truism.

#the other big self doubt-y issue I've been experiencing lately re: being gnc and trans #is feeling like I'm ''faking'' something. to sooo many people I've just come out as a femme/nonbinary man #with no mentions of my cagab cause that's not something I like to share around irl lol #and then I complain ofc about how I'm treated for being feminine. and everyone gives me sympathy which is nice #but it's hard to fully accept cause I wonder how many of them are assuming I was shunned the same way growing up. #when in reality I was punished for not being feminine *enough*. #and ik it shouldn't/doesn't matter in this context. I still struggled then and I still struggle now; they don't cancel out #but it almost feels like I ''tricked'' my way into a marginalization that I don't ''actually'' belong in. idk #like as if I'm ''secretly'' a girl and just pretending my normal girlhood is subversive for attention #or like I should have just been content with the relative safety of my assigned social role #(hm... where have I heard ''why can't you just be ok with being a girl?'' and ''they're just doing it for attention'' before 🤔) #it's def leaps of logic & self-directed transphobia all around but it's hard to shake #and there's a real fear somewhere mixed into it all too of ''what if someone finds out my cagab and decides I'm not actually trans/a man - #- by *their* transphobic logic. even if they previous supported me''. #anyway I hope no one minds the long vent-y post. I needed to sort out my emotions here lol #I have an old ''omg I love being confusing and ambiguous XD'' post gaining notes rn for some reason and #seeing it again while mentally working thru the above just made me feel ill and confused and guilty. feeling better now <3 #and I do love being trans & I love being a femme & I love being a man with a broad and fluid gender #it's just hard too sometimes

[canonmisogynyvictimstournament]

PROPAGANDA

CHARLIE BRADBURY (SUPERNATURAL)

1.) Charlie was a surprisingly good character considering she was a lesbian in a famously misogynistic & homophobic show (any woman from Supernatural could be a strong contender in this tournament). She was basically Dean’s bestie, made out with a fairy, had an adventure with a grown-up Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz, and saved the guys’ asses in every episode she appeared in. Even when she appeared as a corpse. Yeah, she got randomly killed off-screen for shock value and manpain, but she sent an email right before she died so at least her death wasn’t in vain, right? According to the wiki she later got replaced by an alternate reality version of herself but this was after I stopped watching Supernatural so idk how they treated her after that lmao

2.) She was a lesbian and a very beloved character and they murdered her brutally for no reason! Well, one reason, shock value. Boooooo!!!

3.) Literally she was such a strong supporting character and they just. Fucking killed her off for no goddamned reason. Like fuck you

SUSAN PEVENSIE (THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA)

1.) (Reusing my propaganda from a previous poll, I promise I wrote it, and I'm not typing all that again)

So what if she liked makeup, Clive. So what if she was interested in boys? Who cares if she wanted to keep her dress looking neat? You took every single protagonist to weird lion heaven, Clive, but suddenly Susan isn't good enough. Susan did nothing to deserve the sudden turn in characterization, she did nothing to deserve being the only character to be condemned. SOMEbody (lookin' at you, Clive Staples) was just a raging misogynist who wanted girls and women to be really clear on the fact the betraying your siblings nearly to death was forgivable, but being interested in feminine things and taking pride in your appearance was punishable by death. ""Lipsticks and nylons and invitations"", the fucking horror.

Because you were writing a fun fantasy story for us, right Clive? Magic and dragons and animals that talk. But you fucking weren't. You were writing an indoctrination story for us, weren't you? And you needed someone to represent those empty headed young people who turn away from the church's rules. And so you decided that Susan had become too grown up and you massacred her.

2.) Is deemed “no longer a friend” of Jesus’ fursona’s kingdom because she cares too much about “nylons, lipstick, and invitations”. Both of parents and all three of her siblings die in a train crash at the end and her feelings about this are never considered or acknowledged.

#polls #round 1 #week 2 #new

[msweebyness]

Class of Heroes AU: Worst Experiences w) Bustier

I know I said I might take a break, but my brain refuses to comply! This is based off an old post by @artzychic27, which they were nice enough to let me use the concept for! These are a lot of the kids’ worst experiences with the “amazing” teacher, Caline Bustier. She is Flora in this AU, the ‘kindest and wisest’ of the good fairies. She believes she is always right and lives in her perfect little bubble world, just like in canon. 🙃 She’s a sh*t teacher there, and being a high-ranking magical authority figure has only made her worse here. She’s a huge reason that around 70% of the royalty and aristocrats at this school believe they can do whatever they want to whoever they want without getting punished! She builds up their egos and gives them special treatment, punishing those who don’t go along with their whims. Feel free to leave thoughts and ideas, as always! (Still thinking of options for Lila and Felix) And credit to the aforementioned artzychic27 and @imsparky2002 as always!

Marinette: Outed the secret that she was never supposed to be at the school in front of everyone while berating her for her clumsiness and lack of social grace, humiliating her.

Adrien: Ridiculed to the point of tears in front of the entire class and forced to change when he came to school with a tiara on, his hair braided with flowers and in a violet flowing long shirt that could resemble a dress at first glance, told to stop acting so feminine.

Alya: Also Reduced to tears from a verbal attack in front if everyone when she came into class late and dissheveled because she had to leave work later and there was heavy traffic, and it was POURING RAIN. Despite the fact that she had called beforehand and gotten clearance.

Max: Yelled at and given two weeks of detention for ‘refusing to help’ his fellow students, which was the story she got from said (royal) students, when in reality they had been beating him up for refusing to do their homework, and the evidence of the violence was CLEARLY visible.

Kim: She’s had him suspended for a week on three different occasions, all originally meant to be expulsion, first for stepping in to defend Max in the aforementioned incident, the second was for damaging school property (He pulled a jammed door off its hinges when a fire broke out in the lab so the students could get out). The last was when he punched a prince who, with a few of his buddies, had cornered HIS princess for refusing his invitation to a ball, forcefully kissing and groping her. (Ondine was upset and crying for hours, but nothing was ever done to punish the boys responsible, despite her being a princess. Misogyny, folks, how ‘bout it?)

Alix: Taken out of class by police and accused of numerous counts of theft, got threatened with charges and jail time despite being a minor with diagnosed kleptomania, who RETURNED WHAT SHE TOOK.

Ivan: Insisted that he carry all the class’ luggage for a grade-level trip into the bus as punishment for ‘threatening’ his peers (He was defending some younger students from some older (royal) bullies.), when (as he and Mylene told her) his back pain was on the far more severe side due to his medication pending a refill, and he ended up collapsing outside the school. (No, she didn’t call for help. She also refused to let Denise or Kim help him despite both offering multiple times.)

Mylene: Forced her to sit through a ‘Parent’s Day’ event that included one-on-one time with her stepmother. Yes, THE WOMAN WHO TRIED TO KILL HER MULTIPLE TIMES IN THE PAST. Insisted that Mylene needed to ‘stop being petty’ and that ‘family means love and forgiveness’.

Juleka: SHE HAD A FREAKING MUZZLE PUT ON HER WHEN SHE WAS HAVING A PANIC ATTACK. She claimed it was ‘for the safety of the other students’ as Juleka was ‘behaving aggressively’.

Sabrina: Gaslighted and guilt-tripped her into singing the song from her old puppet show (the one she still has nightmares about when she was a part of) for a school event, and told her to stop being ‘dramatic’ when she had a nervous breakdown in the middle of the performance.

Nathaniel: Magically erased his entire sketchbook as punishment for him repeatedly falling asleep in class, despite it being a side effect of his curse, which she of all people should know.

Marc: Actively tries to keep him from using and improving his magic, always ‘gently’ reminding him of how dangerous ice magic is, just look at what happened to his poor little brother. We wouldn’t want that again, now would we? She’s also had him locked in a room alone as punishment for losing control. (She DOES NOT care about trauma.)

Zoe: Stood up to Chloe and told her to do her own chores in the main hall, taken aside and harshly scolded for not adhering to and ‘being kind’ to her sister.

Ondine: Refused to allow her to leave class when she was literally SUFFOCATING because a spell-gone-haywire (A spell that reversed any magic-induced physical changes. It also affected Sabrinocchio.) by a disgruntled student temporarily restored her gills and SHE COULDN’T BREATHE, stating that it was ‘improper’, because she couldn’t communicate what was wrong and Bustier wouldn’t listen when the class tried frantically to tell her.

Kagami: Refused to let her enroll in any of the battle or heroism courses due to her being a princess, and humiliated her in front of an entire courtyard of people by berating for not conducting herself ‘as a princess should.’

Reshma: Said and did nothing as her grandmother scolded and even STRUCK her for ‘shaming the family with her behavior’ and daring to defend her giftless younger sister from the woman’s verbal attacks.

Jean: Yelled at in front of the entire school for being a ‘spoiled brat’ and a ‘poor excuse for a ruler’ when he was focusing on a show he was putting together and forgot a small royal gathering.

Denise: Has been suspended multiple times for (accidental and inevitable, with their abilities and strength) destruction of school property, but the worst was when Bustier got them expelled for accidentally breaking Adrien’s arm and collarbone, in the process of SAVING him from a falling oak tree during a nature class outing for their grade level. She claimed they were far too destructive, violent, and dangerous to remain in the school. (*Cough*”Bad Guy” Bias*Cough*) (The decision was reversed due to Adrien insisting that they had saved him, proved though a memory display spell on multiple students, and the fact he was able to heal himself almost immediately after.)

Cosette: Publicly and harshly berated for ‘holding up the rest of the class’ when some fans wanted autographs and pictures during a school field trip. It was only a few people and Cosette had tried to make it as quick as possible without being rude.

Ismael: Had a pair of magical shackles placed on him when his power was flaring up rather badly**, completely ignoring the PTSD from previous finders of his lamp that this gave him. He had to wear them for a week.

* She forces Nino, Aurore and Lacey to fold their wings down so they don’t ‘Distract’ other students, despite it being IMMENSELY painful for younger fairies to do this as those joints aren’t developed yet.

*She actively talks down to any students who are not human or fae like herself, acting as if they are intellectually inferior and require extra guidance and redirection.

**Genie magic is incredibly strong, especially when it’s not restrained. Be careful not to say the word ‘wish’ within earshot of Ismael unless you’re a friend, directly speaking to him for that reason. It triggers his magic and if he didn’t hear you correctly, things could get…weird.

Basically…Bustier sucks.

#miraculous ladybug #class of heroes #disney au #caline bustier #bustier salt #bustier is a terrible teacher #miracuclass #science kids #mlb ocs

[opineonion]

Chae Yul: He had it coming... Or did he?

Warning: mild spoilers, disorganized thoughts, a bit of a rant-ish, flowery essay because I can only speak in metaphors, talks on who deserves redemption and who doesn’t.

--

Just finished Secret Alliance, and as someone who needs conversation after a satisfying, cathartic read, I decided to head to the manwha’s trailer to look at the comments, and, to no one’s surprise, saw a crowd of readers with divisive opinions (I always love this. It means the story was provoking enough to inspire different insights.) Of course, when you have a tragic, pretty boy with a murderous streak, you’d get an interesting crowd, and I found it quite easily. This crowd was divided between two factions— one that sympathized and exonerated Chae Yul from his actions, and the one who believed that he had everything coming to him. 

Personally, I’m part of the latter. 

Legally speaking, he committed criminal acts against Eun that deserved to be penalized. In fact, he was extremely lucky that she didn’t press any charges at all, that much I can agree with. The fate he received in the end was much more benign than what he was setting himself up for; but, at the same time, I’m happy that he was given that chance for redemption. To carry the burden of guilt, regret, and remorse is the punishment of those who sobered from delusion, as they will carry sins of their former selves with them for the rest of their lives.

Obviously, I sympathized a lot with Yul, but to sympathize doesn’t mean to exonerate one from their actions. As I read through the story, I wasn’t hoping for a happy ending. In fact, I felt dread each time he dug a deeper hole for himself. (You could even say that he was already deep inside it before the story even began.) I was half-expecting that he’d end up behind bars, or dead. It’s how a lot of yandere stories would end, as if stamping the message on our heads that people who are this far gone do not deserve to carry on as they are. How would you even hope to redeem a character like Chae Yul? Sad backstory aside, does his character deserve to be redeemed? 

I think that a chance for redemption comes when a character could have chosen the path that their circumstances molded them to be, but instead chose the one that allowed the first step to break away from that mold. (Arguably, Chae Yul was halfway down the first path, but sobered by Eun’s harsh reality check where he no longer had a place in her life, he was allowed a glimpse of the other path through the brambles, and he chose to tear his way through to get on the other side.) The more his past was divulged, the more I wished that he had a better “everything” before his nosedive in the story. Chae Yul was just a product of his circumstances. Mocked and objectified for his beauty (Why is conventional feminine beauty somehow always objectified... deserves another mini essay methinks), resented by his father who likely mistreated him because he lacked the masculinity he expected from a son he sired, he turned up bitter and resentful without a single ounce of faith in the world that had done nothing but consume what it desired of him only to spit him out right after.

It came as no surprise that he clung onto the first person who saw him as a human being, something other than an amalgamation. It also came as no surprise that without anyone to derive any form of healthy attachment from (My god, everyone either mocked him, or wanted to get rid of him or defile him), all he knew was that he’d be hard-pressed to release who he thought was the only person who could ever see him for who he could be behind his face. 

Cue the stalking, gaslighting, and blackmailing, and the terrible, no good, terrorizing of Eun. 

And yet, two years later, he was able to let go. Even though his heart “shattered to a million pieces, the sun still rose the next morning and he was still breathing.” When he realized that he no longer had a place in Eun’s life, the one person who his life revolved around, he pieced himself back together, perhaps alone, perhaps slightly cushioned by his tentative reconciliation with his sister. Drifting in space with nothing but the sobering pain of his heartbreak, he chose to honor Eun’s wishes and made himself scarce in her life, living the life she decided to spare instead of end in court trial that Yul would have lost. It’s true that he was a cruel, selfish, delusional egomaniac who terrorized Eun for most of her adolescent and young adult years with the sad hope of keeping her in his life. But, in time, he accepted the grave error of his ways—carrying with this the pain of knowing that he had hurt the only person he would ever love, the pain that he was a monster—and he would wear this truth around his neck as he presses forward. 

Did he deserve this ending? I believe he does. Does he deserve something worse? I believe he does so as well. What made the difference is that he chose to end it before it got worse. He chose to own up to his mistakes, and he so he lived by its consequences. He chose to carry his love for Eun as penance, afraid to ever forget her, and enacting it by leaving it unrealized. Perhaps without even knowing it, he’s performed his first pure act of love, a feat given that he was never spared some of it for even just a bit. 

#secret alliance #the secret alliance #chae yul #spoilers #cw spoilers #tw spoilers #if you disagree i'd love to hear your insights first before you call me names

[alltheselights]

I agree with you on everything and I love your clearsightedness, except one thing. I think youre right that LTHQ/Sony don't want Larries around as unconditional fans because we support Louis too hard, so we have to be taught in regular bursts not to trust him and hate him instead. I think HSHQ/Sony do want Larries around because we also support Harry hard and we're very handy to defend his queerness when he's playing all sides against the middle and getting shit for supposed queerbaiting from normals and other fanbases. We're gonna to be super useful for getting SM hype when MP drops and defending H from claims he shouldn't have taken the role because hes not gay. But Louis, they do need Louis to keep Larry going just enough (he is kind of necessary for that) and lets be real, make Harry's image more approachable and relatable for us, but they dont want him to come anywhere near reaching his potential as an artist as we've seen proved conclusively by now. This is just more of the same old bullshit they always pull to drag him back down and damage him again because the tour went far too well. Its the same shit. The same people. The same tactics. Damaging syndicated articles, and fandom sabotage 'from his own mouth' except it's always a version of Louis that doesnt exist when you actually see or hear him. It's about us , about Larries, and how easily we can be made to turn on him but only if we never turn on Harry. I really think thats what its all about now.

I actually do think you have a point here, so I’ll add this to what I said - maybe HSHQ do want Larries around, but they want us fully in the background while they continue to cater to his solo fanbase and especially to the locals, who they want listening to his music, buying his album, and attending his concerts. Hardcore fans are important, but those locals are the reason his streaming and overall sales numbers are so high and it’s hard to sustain that interest.

You know, I’ve noticed more and more lately how this side of the fandom's view of Harry strays further and further from the general public view every single day. For example, I constantly see people talking about how het Harries and locals only like “sexy” Harry and how they must HATE the rest of Harry’s stage behavior and clothing. In reality, people have known how Harry acts and dresses for a long time and it adds to their attraction to him. I don’t get how people haven’t picked up on this considering Harry has become MORE popular with the general public and expanded his mostly female fanbase since Vogue. I try to avoid Harry and Louis content on TikTok, but often when it pops up, I find people talking about how Harry was “written by a woman” because he’s masculine while still being in touch with his feminine side and he’s sexy without being threatening. These aspects of Harry’s image that many Larries claim het Harries or the general public hate are actually a huge part of peoples’ perfect boyfriend fantasy of him, and both Harry and HSHQ know that.

It’s just extremely frustrating to watch people come up with excuses and alternative meanings to very clear, unsubtle lyrics (e.g. I bring the pop to the cinema, if you’re getting yourself wet for me, choke her with a sea view), make excuses for certain types of behavior or ignore it entirely (so much of Harry’s stunt content never even makes it to Tumblr, I’ve noticed, while all of Louis’ does), or blame everyone around Harry and then turn around and spew vitriol toward Louis immediately when something happens. Especially considering what the consequences of all of this stuff are for Harry (his career is on the rise) and what the consequences are for Louis (nothing has improved for him in terms of promo or public image even after his sold out world tour).

It’s just hard to watch how Louis gets punished by his fans when he gets nothing out of this shit. This quote you said toward the end: “It’s about us, about Larries, and how easily we can be made to turn on him but only if we never turn on Harry.” You’re right. And it’s horrible.

#asks

[transmalewife]

I don't think I fully have a conclusion to this yet, but if I don't write this post while the experience is still somewhat fresh in my mind, I never will, so here goes.

I was never *very* fat, let's say. I didn't have the kind of body you probably imagine when you think of plus size afabs (in huge part because plus size models don't actually look like that either and wear padding to achieve the same unrealistic beauty standards just sized up, but that's a discussion for another day.) I've always had narrow hips and bony shoulders, and I put on muscle quite easily, so when I was a kid and still able to exercise, before all my chronic illnesses hit me like a pile of bricks in my late teens, I looked like this: Long, slender limbs sticking out of a rectangular torso with a fat belly and unreasonably massive tits. Even later, I only ever hovered somewhere around the "noticably bigger than average" mark.

I take the time to explain that not as some sort of weird flex or trying to distance myself from the "real" fatties, but to acknowledge that I only ever got a small taste of the fatphobia experience. But still, it was always a thing. I got bullied and mocked for it as a kid, by classmates and family. I was made to hate and feel ashamed of how my body looked, forced onto diets for as long as i can remember. developed at least disordered patterns of eating because of it. I had trouble finding clothing that fit me, especially bras. There was only one store I could find that carried my size and at times in my life i outgrew their sizing too. It ruined my posture, both mechanically, simply because the entire weight of my chest, unsupported by a properly fitting bra, hung from my neck, and indirectly, because I'd slouch to hide it. One time I literally got laughed out of a store by the staff after asking for something in my size.

So I grew up being constantly told, directly to my face by people I knew, and indirectly by media, that I was fat, and that it was a bad thing. and not just by itself, or because of health (though that was certainly often used as an excuse) but specifically because it made me ugly. and as we all know, a girl's greatest failure is to look ugly. I was lucky enough to stumble on body positivity very early, and I moved past that by myself, accepting my body how it was, understanding that beating myself up about how it looked would only lead to more suffering, that dieting doesn't work, and that the road to health cannot be paved by insecurities and shame. it took me half a decade after that to understand why the one part of my body I couldn't make peace with was my chest, despite accepting every other stretch mark and fold, because I simply had dysphoria.

It's a complicated place to live in, psychologically. Big tits are supposed to be hot, but in reality, if they make you look fat, if they don't sit on top of an hourglass figure and aren't pushed up to oblivion all the time, they're just more kilograms of fat you can be made to feel guilty about. You're punished for not being feminine, because you have to be pretty to be feminine, and to be fat is to be ugly. but big tits are supposed to be the compromise you get, feminine by default. you're supposed to appreciate that, but I didn't. I hated it because I don't want to be feminine in the first place because I am not a woman.

I got top surgery last year. Started wearing binders regularly two years before that (and coincidentally lost a lot of weight because I moved to a place where I could stop eating things I'm allergic to). And people's perception of me did change, but not how you'd expect. I wasn't seen as more masculine with a flat chest, at least not by everyone. I'm now seen as skinny, therefore pretty, therefore feminine. People who don't know I got top surgery, or before, didn't know I was binding, tell me how beautiful and feminine I look since I 'lost weight'. Even those who do know, and try to respect that I'm trans don't tell me "wow you look like a boy who's never been to the gym in his entire life", they tell me "you now have the figure of a supermodel" with the feminine suffix in our language.

I was at the thinnest I've been in a long time around my surgery, out of stress and exhaustion, and I've since gained enough weight to surpass what I weighed with my tits then, (because of a bunch of unrelated medical stuff) and yet no one has made a comment on it. Family members who used to point out and criticize every bit of extra fat i'd put on, supposedly because they worried for my health, now don't notice it at all, or even praise the way I look. (This isn't the same, but feels similar to when those same people praised how i look when I lost an unhealthy amount of weight in a short time because I was severely ill.) Strangers on the street look at me differently. Sometimes they call me slurs for gay men, but most often they adress me as ma'am and are nicer than they were when they saw me as fat. "Women's" clothing fits me better than it did before.

skinniness is so strongly weaved into our cultural vision of beauty and beauty is so inseparably tied to femininity, that literally getting masculinizing surgery can make you look more like a woman. Being fat in many ways excludes you from gendered society. Fat men and women both gravitate to neutral t shirts and pants because it's often all they can get that fits them. Fat women are seen as more masculine because society deems them ugly and fat men as more feminine because round, soft bodies are considered 'effeminate' (it's a bit more complicated here since skinny men, as in those that don't have much muscle, are also seen as more feminine, though women so skinny they look angular instead of curvy, as is expected of them, also get told they look like boys. there's many layers to all this.).

Performing any gender to society's satisfaction is harder when you're fat, because neither dresses nor suits are easy to find in those sizes, let alone binders that actually work or, I imagine, gaff underwear. the general image society has of a nonbinary person, while newer, is also usually 'thin to the point of androgyny'. The beauty standards that we are forced to conform to or be ostracised are so rigid, and weight is such a crucial component of them, and we need to talk more about the damaging and often unexpected ways they intersect with queer presentations and trans bodies.

#eating disorder tw #vomit tw #fatphobia #trans #mine. #this is absolutely not me saying i regret top surgery because my mean aunt told me i look thinner btw. I don't regret it for any reason #and if anything part of me likes those reactions too because I am not immune to internalized fatphobia #i need a queue tag

[patrioticshortbread]

the mirror is an imperfect reflection.

it does not tell enough, and speaks its mind too fervently. it has no mouth, yet punctuates each insult with exclamation points roaring.

the mirror lays flat, it has no mind to think. it cannot bring about images, memories, feelings. it has never been held, hit, kissed, caressed, or fucked. it has only ever hung upon that glass white wall.

so who is it to tremble with such vicious words? who is it to draw such painful sentiments? it is not even a "who", but a what, just a thing, a contraption stolen from still blue waters that once pulled Narcissist to his death. now we are all punished with his curse.

thats all it is, an imitation. so it has no right, no jurisdiction, no responsibility, to behave so cruelly.

or perhaps it is i, shaking with villainy, consumed with malice, that is the cruel one.

if i lift my shirt, the fabric pulls gently at the crease of my grip. it hugs my ribs, as though to confirm the shape they cut out in space. hair blooms across my gut. sporadic. accidental. the touch of hormones bringing life to patches of grass still riddled with dead spots.

the shape of myself. i dare not allow such an idea to transport me back to that hollow auditorium, equations and triangles scrawled forlornly in scratchy expo. perhaps i am one with the fruit bowl, a feminine concept, meant to soften the blow of being told you were too round, (apple), too flat, (pear), too thin, (banana), too this, too that, you are only to be consumed after all. swallowed.

the paler of my skin. why might my eyes be permanently scarred by lack of sleep? why does the color fade when i flip my wrist? why does red paint decorum past my shoulder blades? slashed. blushed. bruised. exposed canvas ripped and shredded by an artist who used his paint like knives on a cutting board.

when i roll my sleeves up, i cannot help but glare at the lines that wreck my flesh. i did that. i enjoyed it. i even enjoyed the reminder of doing it. i enjoyed every ounce of it. and now it mars my skin. it tatters it, taints it. it tells a story to every eye that lingers and every palm that dare feather across. raised bumps. jagged. uncoordinated, revealing gaps in time, switch in tools. that will always be a part of my body.

the mirror tells me. it has no mind to tell it not to say what should not be spoken, not to observe so honestly, unashamed and ruthless.

the mirror works against your eyes. you cannot twist and contort yourself enough to access every possible angle of your being. to make matters more dire, you cannot smile authentically, laugh vividly, cry realistically, or share any real emotion with it. all there can be is the blank emptiness you present forward. the way you never actually appear to others. the angles no one actually ever regards you in. a torturous reality.

hair on my legs. am i supposed to like that? what should i like about my body, and what should i hate? should i hate that? should i hate this? is it okay to be okay with that? will that earn me looks? laughs? judgement? however i might feel means nothing. there will be stranger's thoughts that outweigh my own.

i flick the light off, and the mirror shuts its mouth. after all, it is not anything, and cannot do much when banished to black.

#my writing #writers on tumblr

[cosmicangel888]

Where I Stand - if it was not clear the 100 time prior

You cannot cause someone so much pain, mental, emotional, spiritual pain, damage and then expect and feel entitled to be a part of the blessings that good karma will bring when you finally move through drama, loss, damage and abuse ~ there is no coming back and there is no returning -

Each are meant to move on and heal - the choices and decisions have already been made ~ When a partner says 'no' and when a partner places boundaries - then stand up and honour it -

Divine feminine speaks and should be honoured and valued and know that I am not the same person or lightworker I was before - I had to rebuild 100 times over due to the constant and relentless selfish dark magic, voodoo, black spell work - so that a toxic group of arrogant false prophets can feel as if they own, or are entitled to any of my work, my content or my light- my energy and my gifts - of which - create your own reality with your own gifts and skills- we all come with them -

There are deep wounds and I have given enough wisdoms and information - and all your choices were your own - you chose revenge and punishment when one abused chooses to reclaim their power and light and energy - which is our own divine birthright and I will be supported -

Your life is your creation - what choices and what negative dark and spell work, manipulation and thievery, deceit and stabbing me in the back again, again, again. stealing and taking - any and all spell work, the proof that is coming forth of how you have all taken and used my work - I will press charges for all and all ways -

Fraud, doppleganger, occult crime, and over the years of offering help and wisdoms and healing, you all kept stealing and taking and using me while blaming me for your life now sitting in a tower - however no accountability for any of the damages , and loss, PTSD that has been the result of all the gang stalking, mind-scraping, and spell work - I will stand in love and light and power of me and choose to simply continue moving farther and farther away -

None of you truly know me - you have lied and deceived about me and when it was all the underground cult of spell casters and masked businesses that choose to bring damage and pain to those that say 'they are helping' and yet only can 'copy' because you are not even aligned with your highest self -

I reclaim my power - my work is my work and none of you will be able to even discern or describe or understand any of my offerings and if you are able and choose to feel entitled and say anything I have done is your own - prove it and the Heavens and all councils of the legions of celestials will show all proof and the beings you all have lied to and schemes and games of spell work; you have all chosen the spells and what energy is now returning -

Spell work will back fire - and Spirit and Source warned all of you two years ago and you all stood in your ego and greed and continued to steal and take and harm me - and while fraudulently claiming my paperwork, mail, and monies in your possession that are rightfully mine and to me;

Pathological lies will fail and fall unto itself - for none can keep up with the lies told and the years of spell work that is affecting the energy fields and ability to discern what is balanced and harmony now backfiring from all the malicious intention you have impaled me with - do the inner work as I have done - to show you a mirror of possibilities - and you too shall be helped through darkness - I will not however allow the continue of all such deceit and defamation of character from those that are pure liars, black energy workers and selfish arrogant people that care not for anyone -

Masks and false people will be shown for light is light and truth is truth - I know my work and I know my experience - no one can speak for me, no one can say what my experience is -

I will stand and I will face you - I know who I am - I am a messenger and I have my rights to divorce and be held in safety and nourishment without being deceived and manipulated and deconstructed by mental and emotional abuse - if you can send years and years of spell work and yet expect no one to challenge you on your indecent behaviour then I will - I will not stand down -

I will place charges on all that have done and created and paid for spell work - occult crimes and fraudulent claims for those that have taken from me - and each will find their own inner guidance on how to correct and bring balance to years and years and years of taking, shameful blaspheme, deceit and abuse.

I am Joanna,

I know my work and I know spirit, and I know the dark and harmful work done against me by those that say they care and are clients and friends and family - ex's ~ I reclaim my power, voice and truth -

The children involved, the innocent offering and heart, time and energy and good will and light work and healing I have given, never ever deserved what occurred and I will stand in my power - all of the past is done and over and never to re-open -

I know my work and what is vibrational - truth is vibrational and I speak it - none have given and showed any loyalty to all that I have given and I will not give another penny - nor allow my energy to be used - I stand in my light -

All will be shown and all will come forth; that is just the way of deceit and schemes and truth - all will be shown. I know those that have deceived the innocent and I will not stand down;

I will call you out - for you have cross the divine.

I am Joanna

Blessings and light

Joanna

#ascension

#ascensionbooks

#enlightenment

#awareness

#Youtube

[gplewis]

April 7, 2021

wondering if I’d rather be punished or healed. Maybe I don’t want to be healthy and good; maybe I want to be a maniac, someone normal people quote, writing for the audience’s Twitter feed, being someone they wouldn’t dare to be — perhaps this is what it means to never come down off the pedestal of distance; maybe the true writer can’t belong with the normal; I can never be what I see, I cannot treat myself to the delicacy of belonging in the mainstream; the unknown is the magnet and it’ll never be acceptable or maybe understood, included; maybe I don’t want inclusion, I think inclusion and community are fake, ultimately another picture to be sold and consumed; I wonder if the only true reality is this bitter biting down into my own reluctance to surrender and bitter truth that I know this is where I have pledged to live, to wring out my feelings as I stand at this uncomfortable distance, separated from God and love...and maybe like the earth orbits and tilts from the sun, I too must do my annual, periodic separation from God and love and report from where I am; my reporting job can never be easier and the job necessarily grows in difficulty as time and life go on. There is no prize for endurance except more truth which is necessarily exhausting, forcing you to take a difficult, unprecedented pivot alone with no one to comfort you yet; comfort yourself later, freeing others from the task — of course this separation from someone who wants to love me is not tenable; of course the question is “who is the book club you’ll share this with?” or “what reader?” I think in my practice, I must keep these questions from being answered; it can never be easy or straightforward, it must need to be reinvented when you get there; you can’t know what the step to take will be two steps ahead: all one does in life is move through the dark with no prior knowledge; it was never otherwise; this moment here and now is the only one, the true start *and* continuation; nothing has changed but you. This used to be romantic and maybe could be; perhaps this is the black and white code (left brain, masculine) and welcomes the intrusion of fire, water, color, sound, uninhibited joy and playful exploration, sensuality, all the offerings of the pure divine feminine which frankly I have been in a standoff and reevaluation with ~ they’re machines for disappointment and complaint; maybe doing the work of living together (by which I mean, any two people next to each other...see, this book is right, the only problem is separation from others and thinking about it, making sense of it, justifying it | this may not be profound enough to publish but anything I write is perfect. This is anything but cliched self-love; is self-love art? I don’t think so but I’m also not concerned, I’ve had years of dalliance with thinking about art and human expression and human necessity, now I am in a middle period of loss of awestruckness and more the messy middle of figuring out what to do with banality, repetition and endurance...write a book called The Problem of Endurance which also would be the problem of Me? It used to be The Game of You; maybe I can make it less lonely by playing it too ~ playing not to win but playing to play with the others because being looked at as good isn’t actually any fun, it’s about playing well with players you look. My problem has always been getting out of Alone.

[maidenson88]

THE COMING GYNARCHY — PART I.

GYNARCHIC WORLD PART I.

BY THE FSU — THE INTERNATIONAL GYNARCHY MOVEMENT.

Introduction.

Most of society has lived under the failed patriarchy system, which exists in denial of the true superiority of the Female gender. The time has come for society to make the final shift and both acknowledge and embrace the truth that is Gynarchy and Female superiority. To truly make the world a better place, society doesn't need gender equality, only a total global Gynarchy can help. Gynarchy proclaims the natural and biological superiority of Woman over man, and to the benefit of the planet and to all people, male or Female, of the empowerment of Woman.

A Gynarchy is a society and government by and for Female interests, including any establishment of laws and bureaucracies that benefit Women. A Gynarchy is synonymous with what is also commonly referred to as “Feminist governance," a "Femocracy," or a "Petticoat government." Under a Gynarchy, Women are the superior gender with men being second-class subservient citizens. Under a Gynarchy, individual households would be run in a Matriarchy fashion where the Wife is not subject to, but superior to Her husband. The aim of Gynarchy is to reorganize society and government in such a way as to empower Women, prioritize the interests of Women, and to enable every male to develop and use all his capabilities and powers in subjugation to the Female will. This will be achieved by means of the permanent transfer of private property in the form of land and inheritance to exclusively Female hands, and by the indenture of males to individual or collective Feminine groups, within a new Gynarchic society. Ultimately, the end result is that Female domination of the family, politics, business, school, and society in general will solve or improve the social problems that currently plague the world.

There will be many stages to the rise of the Gynarchy, including developments in politics, economics, society, and culture. Many of these changes will occur naturally, but as Women and men become more aware of the benefits, and become more Gynarchy minded, these changes will come faster as society actively moves itself in the right direction. The beginning of the declared Gynarchy will come when Gynarchic parties have secured a clear mandate, Female supremacy ideology is publicly acknowledged and promoted. The Gynarchy will be declared with the passing of the marriage act. The marriage act will define the Wife as the head of the household in Female-male couples, and give the Wife full power of authority over Her husband. While exercise of the full extent of this power will be entirely up the each Wife to choose, at any time She will have the legal right to overrule Her husband, and will essentially own him in a legal sense for the duration of their union. This will give all Women a taste of the dominance they can enjoy in the new order, rapidly speeding up Women's participation in bringing about total Female supremacy. The changes brought on by this first act will make the Gynarchy a reality and begin the transformation of society in a totally Female dominated direction.

The new world under a Gynarchy will be very much the same as the world today, only much improved in many ways. As the Gynarchy develops, and culture changes to fit the interests and mentalities of the Women and men living in the society, there will be fundamental shifts in popular art, entertainment, sports, public life, home life, and interpersonal relationships. As total Female dominance becomes generational, younger generations will be so totally immersed in the culture that it would be hard to imagine what life was like before the Gynarchy. Ask young people of today if they had a choice would they prefer to live in medieval society, or in the society of the 1870s. Most with any knowledge of what life was like for most people in those time periods would find those societies to be fraught with social problems, injustice, and misery, and would not prefer to live in such a world. Those living in the realized Gynarchy will likely have a similar view of the late-20th and early 21st centuries, and few would see the "loss" of some "rights" for men as a worthy excuse for the barbarism, excesses, and miseries of the patriarchal world. True, men will be in some ways second-class citizens in the Gynarchy, but the world filled with the love, beauty, and compassion of Female leadership will not be something many men would be interested in giving up. Most men will be far too concerned with the happiness of the Women in their lives, whom they care for deeply, to worry themselves with such backwards notions anyway.

Politics & Law.

A Female dominant society is dependent upon transforming global governments into a Gynarchy. In a Gynarchy... politics, leadership, law and management will be the realm of Women. While the support of "enlightened" men will be important to the transition to Gynarchy, ultimately the ability of men to vote will be logically removed. Some laws will need to be enacted to ensure the total compliance of men to the new order.

Absolutely essential to bringing about the Gynarchy and all it's benefits are five laws:

1.-) A law banning men from voting:

In a Gynarchic society, only Women will be allowed to vote in government elections. Removing the ability of men to vote is important, not only for its symbolism, but also equally as vital for removing the male ego from ruining the world through greed and violence. This will also make bringing about other important changes to law much easier.

2.-) A law banning men from holding key positions in office:

Just like a law banning men from voting, removing the ability of men to hold office is equally as important for its symbolism, as well as removing the male ego from ruining the world through greed and violence. This will also make bringing about other important changes to law much easier.

3.-) An amendment redefining existing sexual harassment laws:

Existing laws defining sexual harassment would need to be amended to state that harassment or showing disrespectful behavior towards Women by a man will be forbidden and made legally punishable. Furthermore, the amended law would also have to state that harassment and speaking or showing disrespectful behavior towards a man by a Woman will be legally protected.

4.-) An amendment giving the right to each and every Woman to discipline men:

The right of Women to discipline men, within legally described limits of safety and situation, will need to be fully protected under law. On the other hand, violence or physical force of any kind against a Woman by a man will carry heavy punishments.

5.-) An amendment banning men from inherit land and wealth:

In a Gynarchic society, only Women must be allowed to inherit land and wealth. The right of Women to inherit land and wealth from their Female relatives must be given in the new compendium of Gynarchic laws, making inheritance an exclusive Women’s right, excluding males from any economic or financial system. It means that in a Gynarchic Family, the Daughter must be the only one who should take care of Her Family assets. It must be the Daughter the only one who must have the right to inherit all the land and wealth from Her Mother, even  overriding Her own father in hierarchy on this right. Being the only two exceptions for this rule:

1.-) When there is not a Female descendant;

In this case a financial Female-guardian must be appointed to both father and son or any other Female-relative, in case the Mother suddenly passes away, it will be their Female-guardian or Female-relative the one who must look for the good of father and son, only if the Mother passes away.

2.-) When a Mother decides to transfer some part of Her wealth directly and exclusively to Her Daughter in law, aka Her son’s Mistress Wife;

In this case a Mother can decide to inherit 80% of all Her wealth to Her biological Daughter, and 20% to Her Daughter in law, or whatever She decides fit better for Her Gynarchic Family.

While different places may have additional Gynarchy based laws, these simple changes will be all that is necessary to bring about the positive social effects a Gynarchy government can bring. Little else will change, but crime, poverty, war, and many other social problems will be drastically reduced or even eliminated all together. It seems a very small price to pay for an end to so much human suffering. Men will still be totally free to make life choices for themselves, and to come and go, within the limits of their own lives. As in any society, there will be some people who don't agree with the principles of the prime culture, and imagine that things would be better without the Gynarchy. Due to Female supremacy education, and the great benefits the society imparts towards Women, few Women will feel strongly enough this way to undermine the gains of the Gynarchy. Similarly, most men will realize the great virtue of Female leadership, and will be increasingly raised to find it normal and preferable.

Nonetheless, there will be ”male agitators” and an undercurrent of "male liberation" gender equality supporters. While any agitators will be given a stern response, peaceful male disagreement will be tolerated, albeit widely ridiculed in culture and public discourse. Due to the end of male suffrage, and the teaching of history showing the horrors of the patriarchy, these ideas will not be widespread or ever achieve any meaningful political traction.

Gender Roles.

In the Gynarchy, Female domination of men's personal lives will be omnipresent, institutionalized, culturally celebrated, and even enforced. Imagine a gender-reversed 1950's, with the sexual spirit of the late 1960's, the tolerance of all people arising in our present day, with the technology of the near future. Certainly Women will occupy all political offices, positions of authority, and all managerial or executive jobs, and certainly, many Women will prefer to keep their men at home in the role of "househusband."

Men will still be free to choose their own lives. Those that end up there will end up there because they will choose it willingly, and usually gladly. However men can be just as bright, creative, insightful, and inventive as Women, and humankind would not benefit from losing all those talents that men have to offer. Men can still learn and take a career in any field they choose, they will simply be barred from having authority over Women. There is no reason any administrative position can't simply be filled by a competent Woman instead. Men holding leadership positions is absolutely not necessary in any way, and serves only their vanity and petty competition for dominance over other men. If a man does not have a valuable contribution to make as an artist, designer, scientist, mechanic, engineer, or other intellectual occupation, there is no need for him to be involved in any job that could be filled by a Woman instead. The world is just as it is today, only if the job is to be the boss of anyone, that job will only be held by a Woman. Even with future advances in robotics and automation, there will still be plenty of jobs for men as laborers. In addition, instead of military service, men will be able to enter into service of society in the State Service run by prominent Female-led societies. Male fashion will be indicative of their gender's role, because Women will largely be controlling what their men wear, and more so as time goes on, but also because all the clothes for men will be designed and produced by companies run by Women.

As Women will have the general authority to overrule, control, and manage men, society wide attitudes and practices will shift accordingly. As Women will have direct and specific authority over the men subordinate to them in different areas of their lives, management of smaller and more day to day aspects of a man's life will eventually become a natural part of life.

Society.

Under a Gynarchy government, the world will be entirely run by Women, with the needs, interests, and preferences of Women made the focus of all social activity. Society will be geared around maximizing independence, recreation, and happiness for Women. Men's happiness will be the secondary goal, except in any way in which it interferes with maximum possible happiness of all Women involved. Men will be raised and encouraged to take pleasure in social events and arrangements that make Women happy and try always to satisfy even the smallest desires of a Woman.

Public Life.

Public life in the first years of the Gynarchy will see the beginning of changes in dress, behavior, and activities, but will not be drastically different from before. Within a decade or two, however, social life will have been totally transformed by the interests, behaviors, and priorities of the Women raised in the Gynarchy. The social taboos and repressed culture of the patriarchy will be totally replaced by the practical, enjoyable, and uninhibited environment of the Gynarchy.

Fashion.

Among the earliest signs of the Gynarchy will be the decline of men wearing pants. This will prove to be one of the Gynarchy's most important cultural developments, as it will speed along and solidify the rise of Female supremacy in society. The change will happen as Women in relationships stop allowing their men to wear pants, single men begin desiring their new clothing options, and over time as designers and clothing companies stop making pants for men. This will make the new world order highly visible, allowing Gynarchy prone men to embrace and promote the changes in society, and helping resistant men accept, embody, and internalize their new roles and positions.

While Women's fashion will still include a huge variety of clothing choices, there will naturally be some shifts to styles that reflect Women's power, domination, and authority. This will mean more business and professional looks, more pants in general, more boots, and more intimidating looks. However Women will still choose all the styles they enjoy, and as their sexuality is a huge part of their dominance and control of men, there may be an increase in sexy and revealing styles, with Women choosing options that highlight and celebrate the Female body. Despite shifts in popularity of styles, Women will choose any fashion styles they like, and Women will choose a wide range of choices just as they do today. The effect of Gynarchy fashion on other aspects of society will be manifold, as it visibly reiterates the primary basis of the new society - the enhancement of Women's privilege, and the removal of male privilege.

Culture.

Culture is a reflection of the interests and values of the society that produces it. Cultural products are dictated by the needs and wants of that society. Culture evolves when it's products influence members of society, imparting common beliefs, practices, and attitudes. The culture of the Gynarchy will initially be a Female dominated take on the culture of the patriarchy, but over time will build and reinforce itself until its products are uniquely Gynarchic in origin. This will mean new art, sculptures,  statues, paintings, parks, literature, social groups, media, music, fashion, film industry, theater, TV series, TV shows, TV Ads, TV nightly news, marketing, internet, architecture, furniture, clothing, machines, tools, sex toys, sports, games, public events, and any other aspect of society.

Relationships.

Relationships in the Gynarchy will come in all shapes, just as today. There will be a variety of heterosexual relationships, depending on the personalities involved, but generally speaking most could be described as 'Female lead', 'Female dominated', or 'totally Female controlled'. While homosexual couples of both sexes will experience little difference in the range of relationships they would find in the present day, heterosexual couples will be experiencing a total transformation and reversal of normalcy from back in the dark ages of the patriarchy.

In the early years of Gynarchy there will still be many men seeking out Women who exercise as little of their right to dominance as possible, and enough Women out there who don't want to be dominant towards men, that certain patriarchal forms will still persist. After the first generation fully raised in the Gynarchy, and even more so after the second, the majority of Women will have been raised with the confidence, attitude, and expectation of male submissiveness that will empower them to fully actualize the spirit of the Gynarchy.

Similarly, men raised by Gynarchic institutions such as in their public school, government, workplace, and social groups, will still become immersed in proper Female-led education, even if their Mothers still runs a backward boy-coddling home. This will mean that eventually it will be hard to find a Woman to date that is not at least moderately dominant towards men, and equally hard to find a man to date that isn't looking for Female leadership from his partner. Each gender will have been raised to expect and feel comfortable in those roles, and this will mean more often than not, will enjoy the completeness and deep satisfaction that Female dominated relationships bring. Sure, there will always be some Women who prefer the sub-culture of some male authority in private, and this is of course their preference and choice. An even greater percentage will probably have tried some role playing, or role reversal to change things up or for fun from time to time, but this kind of thing is always a word away from being back under Female control. It is a world where the Woman is free to be Herself, to dress in as much or as little as She wishes, in any style, to love Her interests and share them or keep them to Herself as She wishes, and to expect and demand that a relationship is all about impressing, pleasing, and obeying Her, no matter what Her life preferences are.

Men will have the right to choose as well, but their choices will be different. Not getting into a relationship with a dominant Woman will mean very little chance of any kind of regular release from their chastity devices, in other words less ejaculations. Instead finding a partner that is right for them will be still very much part of a man's life under Gynarchy, although the constancy of male chastity will be essential since a very early age in his life, the best way always will be to enforce male chastity on boys since they reach puberty, this way they will get  accustomed to it and will not have struggles later in life, this will certainly make most men far less picky, more passive and submissive towards Women and far more accommodating than they are today.

While breaking up with a man that is not working out, or isn't a good long-term fit will be easy for a Woman, relationships are a bit more of a commitment for a man. A man can date a Woman just as simply as today, even get sexual with his mouth, ass, and hands, but to get his chastity key into the hands of a Woman from the Department of Men or his own Mother, She has to agree to become into his Keyholder, referred to as his 'Mistress' or his 'Girlfriend.' Both terms have the same meaning in a legal and societal sense. This means She had to arrange to get his key from his Mother, Female-guardian, the Department of Men, his current Female Boss, or his previous Girlfriend or Mistress.

When a break-up occurs, the key either returns to the previous holder, or the ex-girlfriend can simply retain it. This means breaking up with a Girl that does not want to break up isn't always a simple proposition or a good idea for a male under Gynarchy. While a boy can certainly get a legal injunction to have his key returned to the Department of Men, or his Female Boss, or his Mother/Female-guardian, this requires a bit of effort and is not a quickly process, as it requires schedules. This should seriously improve the seriousness with which men enter into relationships in Gynarchy, and help to improve their behavior during a relationship, and if it comes to it, at the end of one. There is also the possibility that if a now ex-Girlfriend and/or Witnesses testify regarding the man's behavior that lead to the break-up, a judge might not even allow the key to be returned.

There are also legal provisions which allow the transfer of keys to other Women entirely at the Keyholder's consent. These are primarily used for situations where a Woman is travelling for work or other reasons and wishes to assign another temporary Authority. Due to this, a Woman can sign over a key legally to another Woman and break up with a man, leaving him to choose between convincing Her to return it somewhere else, allow him to have releases, or wait the four to six months waiting period before a temporary Keyholding permit expires. This is another freedom of choice that is a man's right, and he can choose which ever of those three options he wishes!

The male’s choices after a Keyholder Woman breaks up with him under Gynarchy, regarding his male chastity device:

1.-) Convincing Her to return his keys somewhere else. It could be another Woman/Mistress/ex-Girlfriend/current Female Boss/his Mother/his Aunt/any other Female-relative.

2.-) Convincing Her to allow releases for him. This option is very unlikely to happen, as it was the Woman the one who wanted to break up with him.

3.-) Waiting from four months for adolescents to six months for grown up males for the Department of Men until the temporary Keyholding permit expires. A waiting period that any male on Gynarchy must get used to when a break up with his Girlfriend/Mistress occurs.

Marriage.

Most heterosexual marriages in the patriarchy are Female dominated, although that domination is often subtle, unspoken, or otherwise framed to placate the male ego. In the Gynarchy, this very normal state will be institutionalized, openly acknowledged, and legally enshrined. Women in Female-male marriages are for the most part the full legal owners of their husbands, and enjoy a number of privileges in regards to their male property.

These ownership rights include a wide range of powers, such as power of attorney, full power over property and finances, medical procedures, body modification, dress and appearance, chastity belt key, right to orgasm control, right to discipline, right to use of body, right to unlimited sexual access, and right to enforce obedience.

Unlike options for breaking off a relationship with a Girlfriend, options for divorce instituted by a male are extremely limited if not null, though not entirely impossible. Essentially, marriage is a permanent ownership situation, unless one partner passes away, or the Woman institutes divorce. There is nothing in society requiring men or Women to get married, and thus marriage is simply a beautiful, total, and legal affirmation of the devotion of a man to a Woman, and of the dedicated mastery of a man by a Woman. Married men can expect to be as busy, controlled, and limited as their Wives choose, or don't choose, and obviously this is something they should have a good sense about what to expect before they enter into marriage.

Married Women can expect that they have full power to alter the nature of their life, relationship, and how time is spent, as they please, and in the state of marriage have even less concern about enforcing changes upon their male partners than they do when dating or in a committed relationship.

Every Woman is a Queen of Her relationship, and absolute Ruler in Her own home, and thus the vast majority of Women have a throne, a seat of any kind that is kept in the home as a symbol of their Rule. As Royalty, Wives can dictate as they please as much or as little rules of behavior in their presence and in their home upon their husbands. In essence a married man is an active extension of his Wife's life and person, and is expected to act as such accordingly to Her likes, personality, commands and wishes.

Yet another thing that would change under a Gynarchy is the patriarchal traditions of a man asking the father of his Girlfriend permission to marry Her and a father giving away the bride at the Wedding. These traditions harks back to the time when young Girls were considered the property and financial burden of their fathers and were handed off as such to their husbands. But even without those connotations, neither of these patriarchal traditions make sense in a in a Gynarchy society.

In the Gynarchy it will be the Mother/Female-guardian the one who will be asked by Her son’s Girlfriend/Mistress to marry Her son and the Mother/Female-guardian will be the one that will accept or deny a request of permission to marry him. The Gynarchic Weddings may vary but they will be the same from Gynarchy district to Gynarchy district, it will be Weddings where in most of the cases the Mother will pass Her son’s chastity keys to Her Daughter in law, aka Her son’s new Mistress Wife at some point during the Gynarchic Wedding ceremony.

Yet another patriarchal tradition that will end under a Gynarchy is the tradition of a Woman changing Her last name to the name of Her husband once they are married. Under Gynarchy, it would be common practice for both the Woman and the man to keep their given names, unless the Woman decides to change either Her last name or Her husband’s last name. Ultimately, it is the Woman’s decision whose name gets changed, if either name gets changed. Thus in the majority of cases, the Woman will require Her husband to take Her last name, because of the culture under Gynarchy. At some point in the coming Gynarchy, it will be totally normal for husbands to take upon their Wife’s names, as a part of the societal standards and it will be institutionalized and fully promoted by the Gynarchic State.

BLESSED BE THE GYNARCHIC GODDESS.

END OF PART I.

#Gynarchy #FemaleSupremacy #Gyneocracy #GynarchicLiterature #GynarchicWorld #FeministGovernance #Femocracy #PetticoatGovernment #GynarchicGoddess

[s-brant]

Pirates and Princesses (8/8)

(gif: @beccs) (PART SEVEN) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: JJ must confront his childhood trauma when returning home for the first time since his dad went to jail and prevent it from sabotaging his new relationship. Meanwhile, something sinister happens at the Chateau that brings Y/N face to face with her grief over John B’s death.

Word Count: 13.4k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, parent/child abuse, mental illness, post-traumatic stress disorder, grief, and fluff.

A/N: Welcome to the final chapter of Tokens! This one has a little bit of everything in it, but it also has detailed scenes about JJ and his dad, so proceed with caution if you’re easily triggered by that topic. The love you guys show this fic warms my heart so much, so thanks to anyone who stuck with this story until this chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

Now that she has been sentenced to both punishments, one as a consequence of the fight with Kacey and the other as a consequence of the stunt she pulled with JJ to break out of ISS, Y/N can confidently say that out of school suspension is superior to in-school suspension by a long shot. Instead of sitting in a humid room with Alec for the duration of multiple school days, she's allowed to stay home, go out surfing, and do whatever she wants in lieu of doing classwork.

She promised herself not to make it a habit, promising the invisible presence of John B that she likes to pretend follows her around that she will never get herself into trouble again, but she sees no problem in enjoying her suspension while it lasts.

For the first few days of her suspension, JJ skipped school to spend it with her. Their memories of the conversation they had at three in the morning on Sunday were fuzzy, but not missing entirely. She noticed a difference in his behavior for the first few hours after they woke up under the tree together for the second time in one week. It wasn't a difference in their relationship or how he treated her, it was a difference in him.

He was quieter than usual as they cleaned up cans of beer and tossed them into the recycling, sending pictures to Kie while she was in class after she made them promise not to throw them in the trash. Rather than cracking jokes or making casual conversation with her, JJ made his way around the yard with the recycling bin in his hands and his head in the clouds. It disappeared as the day progressed, but for a little while, he wasn't completely there.

Today, he went into school instead of ditching to spend extra time with her in between shifts at work and time spent with their friends. Since they can't exceed three consecutive absences without a doctor’s note and he doesn't own a printer or laptop to forage the header from a doctor's office, he had no choice but to part from her this morning.

He bites his lip to contain his smug facial expression at the recollection of her wake up call for him. The hand holding his locker door open for him to lean on in the midst of his not-so-wholesome thoughts of her squeezes the metal hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

The curtains weren't shut all the way when they fell asleep before midnight last night, allowing a shaft of sunlight to shine in and land on his face. But that wasn't what woke him up from the dream he was having. In fact, the reality he opened his eyes to was a hell of a lot better than any dream he remembered.

Most of his memory of those moments spent suspended between consciousness and unconsciousness consisted of feeling her pressing a kiss to his shoulder, then her hands rubbing up and down his waist to slip lower and lower until they settled on the waistband of his underwear. It was then that he woke to find her looking up at him for permission from where she peppered kisses along his chest.

Their eyes met right as she kissed the edge of his nipple with this pleading, needy look that he took pride in causing without actively attempting to. She woke up on the brink of coming undone from a pleasant—to put it tamely—dream about him. With a glimpse at the time displayed on the alarm clock, it didn't take much for her to roll over to wake him up.

It ended with her beneath the sheet, finishing what she started Friday afternoon until he was clutching the pillow beneath his head in the midst of his orgasm. It happened so fast, a fault of how hot he found it to wake up to her wanting him so badly, but it felt slower than it truly was in the early morning haze of exhaustion they felt.

The memory as he relives it is as heady as it felt the first time around. He sees it in fractions; her eyes looking up at his, warm palms finding the familiar planes of his muscular body with the exploratory touch of someone who's never traveled it before, and the intense sensations he felt at the end...It's easy for him to stand here and lose himself in it. Despite the class he has to go to, he bargains with himself for one more second spent in the paradise of his memories before he has to come back to reality.

Reality, as his shitty luck would have it, comes in the form of a familiar feminine voice chirping from behind his back as he replays his morning bliss.

"It's good to see you're alive and well, Maybank."

He decides, based on who he knows he'll see when he turns around, that he might invest in a sharpie to write "Bang head here" on the inside of his locker door for instances like these where he'd rather suffer brain damage than speak to someone he can't stomach the presence of.

When he turns to see Kacey with one arm still stretched to hold his locker open, he doesn't bother concealing the genuine reaction from his face for the sake of her feelings. Any care he had for her and her feelings was thrown to the wind as soon as she decided she could steal from and put her hands on his girl last week. However, after a second of thought, a condescending smirk finds its way to his face.

He says, jerking his chin to vaguely gesture at her bruised up face, "Purple really suits your complexion. It makes your eyes pop, don't you think?"

Though the swelling of her black eye has deflated in the days since the fight that’ll soon tally up to a week, the verbal jab hits right where it intended to if the light leaving her eyes tells him anything. She bounces back after a second, though, ever the relentless pest they've come to see her as.

She offers a sickeningly sweet, yet fake smile to mirror the one gracing his striking features and spins so her back meets the locker beside his, allowing herself to invade his space further.

A collection of Y/N's stickers decorates the inside of his locker door that he briefly entertained the idea of designating as a place to bang his head against. They range from girly, glittery ones to those he willingly picked when she gave him the choice. Whenever they're at his locker together, she sticks one on the inside, and the evidence of the habit catches Kacey's wandering eyes.

Her fingertips brush against the surface of the sticker-covered metal while she ignores his protest of, "Can you not touch my stuff?" to inspect them. Since one of the Pogues in particular is famous for her endless supply of stickers, her expression sours at the thought of the girl responsible for them.

She spares him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye as she continues to analyze the sticker collection against his instructions not to, asking, "Why weren't you at the bonfire?" A failed attempt at a seductive look in his direction makes him fight not to roll his eyes. "After how last year's ended, I thought you wouldn't miss it for the world."

JJ doesn't bother to take a second to think things through before he reaches to slam the door closed with her hand still outstretched inside of it. Watching her pull it away just in time to avoid jamming it in the locker probably pleases him more than it should, but he can't help it. His hand catches on the edge of the door, halting it in place right before it closes where her hand previously rested.

She doesn't look too happy with him when he opens the door with no harm done except for the drop of her stomach when he initially pretended to swing it shut on her bruised knuckles. She didn't get many shots in on Y/N when they fought, but apparently it was enough.

He doesn't bother with the fake niceties she's giving him after the disrespect she showed him, his friends, and, most importantly, his girlfriend. The fact that she thinks she has any right to breathe in his direction, let alone flirt with him, after she stole JB's bandana is criminal. 'Cause not only did she mess with Y/N, she messed with John B on multiple levels, and his loyalty to his best friend hasn't disappeared with death. Kie and Y/N told him everything she said about their departed friend in the locker room last Thursday.

But he's smart enough to know what'll hurt her more, so he doesn't go for the general scolding he imagined giving her in his head. Since he was told everything about the encounter in the locker room, he knows she's still holding their history together near and dear to her heart.

"We stayed home," he says, casual and cool as always, with added emphasis on the first word, "You know how it is, my girl doesn't like parties. Especially not ones with kooks."

Hook, line, and sinker.

She scoffs, "Your girl?"

Looking at her now, he wonders if she was always this stupid, or if this is a new development she's had in the year since he last spent more than a minute or two at a time with her. It’s easier to trick her than it was with Kie and Y/N a few days ago, and those poor girls flew into that trap like moths to a flame.

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

The ire is visible in the way her face tenses up in places, her lips pressing together a little more firmly and her forehead creasing between the brows.

"Doesn't your, um, history bother her?" she asks, and he's gotta give her credit for being a sneaky little shit when given the chance. The girl takes every possible opening she can to strike for a potential weakness. "No offense, but you kinda get around."

He shrugs this time, deciding to drop his casual act and aim straight for the jugular.

"She likes having someone who knows how to fuck her right, actually, but I really appreciate the concern."

Much like Kie's reaction to their matching tattoos in the hot tub the other night, her jaw is unhinged to meet the unswept hallway floor they stand on. It makes him wish Y/N weren't suspended in order for her to see the gobsmacked reaction Kacey has to the harsh dismissal. Though he wouldn't want to incite an extra round of the Kacey vs Y/N WWE showdown by having her watch another girl flirt with him and essentially call him a slut upon rejection, he knows she'd get a kick out of it.

This one's for you, baby, he thinks with a quiet laugh to himself and turns his focus to the sticker collection she so lovingly crafted.

There are plenty of summer themed ones left over from the same pack he gifted her for her birthday with the surfboard sticker she used to tease him, as well as a newer genre of Valentine's Day stickers she started using the closer they grew since first getting together. They're mostly different colored candy hearts with corny phrases ranging from "U SXY THING" to the classic "BE MINE" and one printed with "ANGEL" on it—his favorite by far.

However, others are random ones from her endless stash built up over the years from birthdays and holidays deemed worthy enough by her dad to stop by Dollar Tree for a new pack, so the one he sets his attention on is likely meant for teachers or coaches to give to their students. The opportunity appears too good to be true to him when it clicks, but it isn't.

He peels the sticker off of the locker door, careful not to disturb the ones around it, and leans in closer to her to place it on the front of her tank top.

"Leave us alone or I won't stop her next time," JJ says lowly, past the point of civility, then backs away to slam his locker shut for real this time as his voice raises back to a normal volume, "And keep John B's name out of your mouth, got it?"

All she can do is look down at the sticker placed on her shirt with squinted eyes to try and read it while he walks off in the direction of his next class. It tears away from the fabric with a soft noise, and when she finally reads it, she rolls her eyes.

“Good Try!”

​​Walking out of school to see the Twinkie parked in the usual spot Y/N takes when she isn't suspended is a delightful treat he didn't know to expect after a rough day in class and his run in with Kacey. His head was hung low on his way to Kie's car to hitch a ride to his house before going home to the Chateau, since he had some things to pick up with his dad out of the picture for the near future, but then he heard her greet them.

JJ's body melts into hers upon contact, and he nearly pushes her up against the closed passenger side door of the van with how hard he hugs her. Though he doesn't want to acknowledge it, his dad has been living in his thoughts more than usual today. Ever since he texted him goodbye, he's been withdrawn inside of his head more and more, and after today's inconveniences, the rising anxiety of his plan to visit home has him two seconds from losing his mind.

Her eyes widen at his zeal, meeting Kie's concerned gaze from over the shoulder she rests her chin on. She stands with her keys swinging around her finger as she watches the couple embrace one another. In an answer to the silent question Y/N asks her in their stare, her lips mouth the words, "His dad," to her.

Deep down, Y/N had a feeling.

It began with his impromptu request to run away with her a few days ago and extended into his uncharacteristically reserved attitude the next morning that receded somewhat, but has yet to fully disappear. There is a part of her that's upset that he hasn't come to her to talk about it, to communicate the way they swore they would, yet she also knows it isn't that simple.

She has to remind herself that she knew what she was getting herself into with him. That's not to say that dating her must be a walk in the park for him, it isn't.

She knows based on the amount of times he had to hold her as she cried, or the time he curtailed her panic attack in this very parking lot, that she hasn't made it easy for him in the aftermath of John B's death. But it's because she knows how it feels that she has such patience with his communication issues.

It's not a conscious choice most times, it's an involuntary blockage preventing the words from being spoken no matter how desperately they long to be. They may have made a promise, but she won't chastise him for succumbing to the same pitfalls as her. It’d be hypocritical.

"Bad day?" she asks.

Her voice is tender with him, prodding gently for a clue as to why he pounced on her on sight. He sinks further into her arms at the sound and lets the sanctity of her touch sway him into submission. Everything about her sets him at ease, if only for a second. Her hand lifts the beat-up red hat from his head to allow the other to brush through his hair.

There's a hum of agreement that she feels vibrating through the center of his chest into hers, and her arms pull tighter around his shoulders in response. This time, when she looks up to see Kie there, she's waving a quick goodbye and setting off toward her car, clearly giving JJ the space he needs.

"We can go to the beach," she says softly, "I have a towel in the back of the van, we can just lay there and talk about it if you want."

The idea of her kind offer to him should add to the comfort he finds in her embrace. It should make him nod and whisper his gratitude to her for being the one person that knows him better than anyone, but it brings him back to the gloomy headspace he was in before seeing her.

It started as a minor distraction when he first arrived at school after carpooling with Kie. It followed him in the quieter moments, only making appearances when he wasn't distracted with more pressing matters. It began as that and built the closer the day came to ending. The sooner his inevitable visit back to his childhood home came, the more he lost himself in his fear, reverting back to a state of helplessness he now occupies with no small amount of shame.

His bottom lip trembles with the urge to cry.

"Can we stop somewhere on the way home first?"

The last place she expected him to drive the Twinkie is here.

As they made their way down each street, taking each turn necessary to bring them closer to the house he seldom let her go to over the course of their lifelong friendship, she felt her heart begin to race. And now, as the van rolls to a stop in the yard in front of his house, she has swallow back the lump in her throat at the sight of it.

She has only been here a few times.

The first time, she was seven years old.

It was a sweltering summer morning in the Outer Banks for her and John B as they set off to retrieve their friend after he missed their plans to meet up at the Chateau for a day of having fun, riding bikes, and playing on the boat. Pirates and Princesses was her favorite game to play with them because JJ would switch roles with her halfway through when she grew tired of being the damsel John B had to rescue from the most cruel and vicious Captain Jesse James Maybank.

The HMS Pogue would rock beneath his feet as he marched across the deck of the boat and took her place as the kidnapped Princess Routledge. He handed off his "sword" to her, a stick he found in the yard, and stood at the edge of the boat with his hands behind his back as though he were a tied up damsel in distress for her to hold captive. The sun setting behind them laid a picturesque backdrop that made the scene all the more vivid to their imaginative young minds.

The boat floated in the afternoon current as John B approached the pair with his best pretend face of worry for the fair Princess Maybank, who had the sharp sword of the pirate queen pressing into his throat with the threat of death should he have tried to escape.

Sometimes, she'd let John B advance on them and tie make believe rope around her wrists and ankles while he and Princess Maybank claimed their victory. Other times, they'd get backed up until the heels of her sneakers hung off the edge of the slippery deck. One move from her brother would have her yell something along the lines of not taking either of them alive, then she'd let her and JJ fall back into the marsh together with gleeful laughs infiltrating the humid air upon their return to the surface.

On the day he didn't show up, none of that happened. She and John B rode their bikes together along sidewalks until they pulled into a driveway marked with the address number he remembered from the other time he sought him out to play before.

Y/N didn't understand what they were hearing when they pushed their kickstands down and called out for their friend, but John B's little face blanched at the sound flooding out of the opened windows of the dilapidated yellow house. It was a combination of banging against the walls, glass shattering, and childlike shouts of frustration and pain. Her big brother placed himself in front of her protectively when the front door opened and smacked against the side of the house, but it wasn't his dad storming out of the house, it was JJ.

His eyes widened at the sight of the siblings standing there, and his heart dropped to his stomach at the realization that they heard it. Maybe not all of it, but based on how the girl peeking out around John B's shoulder looked at him, they heard some.

The van is parked in the exact same place their bikes once were, the exact place she and John B stood years ago when they were first confronted with the harsh reality about their best friend's home life, and he looks like he has fully backpedaled into the state of mind his childhood self inhabited. Even when he turns the key in the ignition and lets the rumbling engine sputter down in silence, he sits in the driver's seat with his lip drawn between his teeth in thought.

Yet as soon as she summons the courage to say something, he takes a deep breath and opens the door without a warning or the typical instruction for her to stay in the car. He doesn't tell her to follow him in, nor does he order her to stay out as he used to when his dad still lived inside. He gives her the choice to make on her own, and, when faced with the opportunity to support him or stay outside like the confused little girl she once was, she chooses the first option.

Her swift steps kick dirt up from the earth onto her ankles as she follows him out of the van to the front steps of the house. She tries not to make her concern for him as evident as it'd be without her intervention on her way up the porch, but it's impossible to erase every sign of it from her face.

It isn't a particularly special or scary house. It's a normal home that'd likely look more inviting if JJ were still living here to mow the lawn and tend to the household upkeep his father saddled him with since he was old enough to be put to work. But she knows better than to trust the street appeal. As he takes her hand to lead them through the threshold of the haunted structure, she is overcome with a sense of creeping trepidation that she can't shake.

"You're sure he isn't here?" she asks.

The entryway is crowded with stacks of mail his father wasn’t bothered to open, as well as empty cardboard boxes that once held cans of beer that are scattered, empty, in various places around the house. Her question is answered by the state of the rooms they breeze past in the direction of his bedroom, but she needed something to say to fill the silence. With them, they usually don’t feel uncomfortable not speaking to each other, but this feels different.

The way he stares out in front of him with his hand squeezing hers hard enough to cut off circulation unnerves her more than the tainted energy of the house itself. He isn't himself. He's a shell of the JJ they know and love, the JJ who is most comfortable tucked away in the safe walls of the Chateau with their friends, not here. If anything, how he is while he's here is the antithesis of his behavior while living with her.

Ever since John B died, he's practically moved in with her. When they're hidden away in her house without the reminders of his home life in sight, he's usually the caretaker of the relationship. It comes naturally to their dynamic, both with him being slightly older and his promise to take care of her, but everything is flipped here. It's an alternate reality for him, or, perhaps, actual reality smacking him in the face after a carefully constructed two months in utopia with her.

They come to a stop in front of his closed bedroom door.

"He's gone," he says, not even sparing a glance at her for reasons she can't decipher, "He texted me a few days ago to say goodbye."

With that, he turns the doorknob and lets the door swing open to reveal the bedroom she only saw one other time.

The second time, she was thirteen years old.

It was a Friday.

Since his dad was supposed to be at work, they stopped at his house on their way home from school exactly like they did today so he could share with their friends what he got from his cousin the night before. Being the good girl she was, she didn't even know what he was showing her when he dug it out of the backpack in the bottom of his closet.

Her brows furrowed at the ziploc bag, more specifically the contents inside of it. She was knelt down on the floor in front of the opened closet door with her shoulder pressed up against his to inspect it. The dried green cluster of a plant didn't look like anything she'd seen before, and she couldn't help but ask him what the hell it was rather than react the way he knew the others would.

"What is it? It looks like dried up moss."

JJ laughed and pulled another bag with rolling papers and a grinder stowed inside.

"It's weed. My cousin Ricky gave me a discount since—"

He halted mid-sentence abruptly enough to startle her, his head turning in the direction of where he heard a trunk pulling up to the front of the house. Her stare was still set on where he was holding the plastic bags in his hands, and she noticed, after he stopped speaking in reaction to his dad coming home, that his hands began trembling. It was so minimal, she almost didn't catch it until she saw the bag wavering under the light coming in from his window.

Before she could open her mouth to say anything more, she felt his hands on her shoulders shoving her into the closet. He followed in closely behind her and crawled in until they were both crammed into the confined space together. With the closet doors shut in front of them, he clamped a hand over her mouth, whispering in her ear for her to be quiet.

She stands with her arms crossed over herself in the center of his room, and though nothing has yet to be said or done to convince her anything is wrong, that's the exact reason why she feels so unnerved by the entire experience of coming here.

He's silent.

The closet doors are wide open as he stuffs the rest of the clothes he had yet to bring to the Chateau into the biggest bag he could find. He rips through his belongings in a fit of melancholy driven anger. His thoughts are swirling with similar memories to the ones she conjures from being here again, but his are tinged with a darkness hers don't have, even with hearing him crying in pain as a child and hiding in the closet with his hand smothering her mouth to evade his dad.

JJ visibly grimaces at the memories he's forced to relive in flashes with every glimpse he gets of the room he spent so much time hiding in. It used to be more tolerable to be here, or at least easier to suffer through. At least he was used to it before, but he got so accustomed to life somewhere else that the second he was confronted with coming back, he started to fall apart.

Whatever he can't live without, he finds space for it in the bag and prepares to leave the rest behind. But every object he touches and step he takes around the room brings him back to the person who he spent his adolescence simultaneously fleeing and wanting more from. More notably, it brings him back to the train of thought that has been nagging him ever since he texted him over the weekend.

The third and final time she came here was over the summer.

It happened right before Hurricane Agatha waged war on the island, when none of the Pogues heard from JJ for two days after he said he had to go home to help his dad with something. She didn't want to track him down to his house after they went over twenty-four hours without a single message. She didn't want to have to go back to the house that gave her chills to think about, let alone go to again after they hid in his closet when they were younger, but he gave her no other choice.

What was she supposed to do except go check on him where he last said he'd be? After all, if she lived in the hazardous environment he did, he'd do the exact same for her. If their friends were involved in her thoughts at the time, they would've gone out on a limb to say he would've gone beyond what she did to protect her if the situation were flipped. If he knew someone was hurting her, he would've come in swinging first and asked questions later, but, in her defense, he strictly told her to never come back to his house. By walking over in the first place, she was breaking one of the fundamental rules of their friendship.

Nevertheless, she found herself crouching around the side of his house to find his bedroom window and check if he was in there. Kie and Pope weren't aware of what was happening with his dad yet, but she and John B accidentally found out years ago, so she wasn't wondering why he wasn't answering them, she was wondering if he was alive.

Part of her truly thought underneath it all that Luke might've killed him. He might've been too drunk or high and went too far when beating him, too far to the point where he didn't want to risk going to jail to take him to the hospital for help. She couldn't live with herself if she didn't check, and if he got pissed at her for showing up against his wishes and didn't want to speak to her ever again, she could live with that.

She knocked on his window in a cadenced beat loud enough for it to heard through the room but not any further. After the first series of knocks, no one came to the window. It ripped her heart to pieces to wonder if she'd see him again as she continued to knock and allowed the sound to increase in volume in hopes that maybe he was asleep, but it didn't bring anyone to the window.

It wasn't until she turned back around to go to the front of the house again that she bumped right into the solid wall of his chest and was pushed back up against the house. The question of what she was doing there was on the tip of his tongue, but she said something that stopped him from asking it.

Her arms were thrown around his shoulders in a desperate bear hug.

"Oh God, JJ, you scared me half to death!" she cried into the front of his shirt, "I thought he killed you!"

He can't help but think of it as he packs his belongings away for a final time to bid his hellish childhood home goodbye: What kind of life are they going to have together if they can't get off this island? Running away may have been an idealistic drunken fantasy for him to entertain after his conversation with Pope got him to admit his true feelings for her, but they both know his consistency can't be trusted.

One moment, he's planning to tell her. The next, a day like today comes along, sweeps his legs out from beneath his body, and he's questioning whether it's worth it to force her to put up with his fickle commitment to her. It isn't fair to her, is it?

Right now is just about when he'd normally start to hyperventilate with an oncoming wave of panic, and he does, but he can't let it fully sweep into him with her here. He fights the urge to smack his head with the heel of his palm, as if that'd forcibly remove the poisonous thoughts infiltrating his mind and ruining the careful work they've done together to remedy their issues with communicating their feelings.

Just like you ruin everything, a thought whispers in the corner of his mind. What made you think this would be any different?

His actions around the room have turned somewhat aimless and distracted, which she notices as soon as he starts to disintegrate into a mess of heavy breaths and self-sabotaging thoughts. She picks up on the shift in his energy as soon as the anxiety starts to wash over him, and she'll be damned if she continues to stand here quietly to let it happen.

It's one thing if he's being silent because being here upsets him, or if he simply doesn't know what to say, but she refuses to let him tailspin into a mental breakdown without doing something to stop it. Whether he knows it or not, after what they went through with him trying to push her away last week, she knows what's occurring within his mind right now.

He flinches at the feeling of her hand grabbing his shoulder to turn him to face her at first, and when she reaches again with her other hand to try to hold his hand as he cries, he shrugs off her touch.

"JJ..." she lets the solemn sound of her own voice murmuring his name trail off, "it's just me."

His head shakes at her consoling words. Everything else inside of his mind is so earth-shatteringly loud, he can't drown it out with logic or reason to bring himself away from the memories of his dad. Those intrusive thoughts keep attacking him with doubled, then tripled force the harder he tries to resist them, and he's so exhausted from it. All of it—the memories, his dad going to jail, and his inability to accept her love to its fullest extent without convincing himself she'll abandon him—is exhausting.

This time, when she rests her hand on his shoulder, he swats it away as the frustration of today crushing him with the force of an avalanche. Not to hurt or scare her, but to get her hands off of him before he bursts out of his skin with the sickness it stirs in his stomach. So detached from himself, he anticipates pain from every touch she gives him, and he knows it hurts her.

JJ hardly recognizes his own voice as he backs away from her a step and says, "Don't."

He can tell it hurts her based on how she looks at him immediately after, but he can't handle being touched right now. How did this happen so quickly? It was overwhelming when they first parked outside, but as soon as he stepped foot inside, it was as if a switch was flipped inside of him and all of the buried feelings he kept hidden over the past two weeks exploded into this.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"You need to leave. I just-I can't breathe and"—He still refuses to look up from the ground or see her face as he paces around the room with no real intent in mind—"You can't see me like this."

That is what breaks her out of her soft spoken, timid attitude to handle the situation the way it needs to be handled. Their natural dynamic worked best for him to take charge when she had her panic attack because JJ acts first and thinks later. He saw that she was in distress and jumped in to help her before things got worse rather than allowing her to keep him at an arms length where he couldn't do anything about it.

Taking a page from his rule book, she takes action.

The room surrounding them is in a state of disarray from him searching through it for the items of clothing and objects now stashed in his duffel bag. There are multiple obstacles in her way as she steps between them like navigating a minefield to reach him after he backed away in instinctual fear, but they don't stop her from reaching him. Nothing could.

Y/N walks right up to him and reaches to grasp his face between her hands, forcing him to stop pacing around and actually look at her for the first time since they arrived her so he hears what she says. To say the least, the way he looks right now is enough to make her cry. There are tears welled up to the brims of his blue eyes, his lips are downturned with his sobs, and he's staring at her like she's about to strike him.

She says it as slowly and clearly as she needs to get it through his head, "He's not here," and before he manages to squeeze out another word of doubt between his rapid inhalations, she cuts in, "Take deep breaths."

He isn't listening to her.

The movement of his chest that hits hers from how close they stand to each other has yet to settle into the familiar pace she remembers from nights of falling asleep with the rhythm of his breaths beneath her head.

Her eyes search his face frantically, from left to right and top to bottom, for any sign of the person she's known for years, but she doesn't see him. Instead, she sees the same panicked child her and John B saw the first time they visited this house. It's uncanny how similar the expression in his face is. It feels to her as if she's been hurled back in time to the moment itself, and when she tries to think about what would've worked with him back then, she doesn't know what else to do except help him escape.

So, with the helplessness of having to watch him turn into a sobbing, incoherent mess, she decides to step into the darkness with him and do what seven year old Y/N would've done. Just like their games of make believe, of pirates and princesses, she assumes the role John B would have and rescues him from what holds him captive. It’s his own mind in this case, but, in the physical sense, it's the house.

She drops her hands from his face and takes his hand in hers to drag him out of the room. The packed bag sits on the floor in their wake as she pulls him back through the bedroom door and into the living room, not caring about what they came here to do.

It doesn't matter anymore.

The various rooms of his dad's house pass by them in a blur as she leads him down the hallway to the front door with one sole objective in mind: get him out of here. If he wants his stuff to bring back to the Chateau, she'll go back inside and get whatever he needs her to, but she isn't letting him inside of this house again. Not under her watch.

Thankfully, since he is undeniably stronger than her and she wouldn't have stood a chance, he doesn't fight it. He stumbles after her guiding hand the same way he always has, just like how he followed her back to the Chateau after she and John B saw him that day when they were kids. She led the way as he sat on the handlebars of her brother's bike, and he watched her hair flutter in the wind with the momentum of their bicycle spokes until the tears dried up.

He watches her drag him out of the home until they've reached the safety of the yard at the bottom of the porch steps, and as soon as the soles of her shoes meet the dirt, she feels his hand slipping out of hers.

"JJ?"

She turns around to see him clutching his chest, rubbing his hand along the front of his shirt over his heart as though it'll loosen up the tightened muscles preventing him from catching his breath. His body weight is leaned onto the railing of the porch steps for support. He's partially slumped on it, looking at her desperately, like she somehow knows the answer to every question screamed inside of his head, and she has never felt as useless.

"You're gonna leave," JJ says through the gasps and cries that leave his cheeks stained with tears.

When she reaches out again to help him remain upright without leaning over the railing, he doesn't shove her hands away as he did inside of his bedroom. It's a small battle won, but she takes it as a win nonetheless.

"What are you saying? I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere—"

"You're gonna leave! Everybody does! My mom, John B, my dad, and you"—his head falls to look at the ground instead of her, and she watches him work through it in his head—"I mean, look at me. You don't want this."

"Don't tell me what I want," she says.

Her voice remains as steady and calm as she can force it to be amidst the turbulent situation, but the way he said it...It takes her right back to sitting in the back of the Twinkie with him at the Cherry Bowl, except it's ten times worse. That felt like a break up, but based on what he's saying, this is one. She hasn't prepared herself for the heartache she feels in response to it.

"You don't want me, you just think you do 'cause I was there after John B died, but you don't. You're gonna go off, find some perfect guy that isn't as fucked up as me, and have a great life somewhere else, but it ain't here," JJ says, his breathing evening out with the distraction of the argument to keep him tethered tor reality, "And it won't be with me."

He can see it every time he's looked at her and debated saying those three titular words that have been floating around in his head since he first met her.

How could she want someone who can't walk into his childhood bedroom without breaking down, or someone who still has years-old scars from cigarette burns on his skin when she touches him? Her bright future contrasted with his pre-designated fate on the Cut, her personality better matched with someone more similar to her, her life continuing on whether he's there or not—it's his worst nightmare, but he's prepared to see it through.

What he doesn't expect is for her to hold her ground.

"You honestly think I'm buying into that bullshit?" she asks.

"What?"

She doesn't put it softly, she states facts with as much harshness as his cruel fantasy had, "You're trying to push me away and I won't let you."

Her typically sweet, soft features have hardened into a bitter expression he's sure he mirrors. The arms holding his waist to keep him upright move to climb up his chest and cup his face between her hands with all of the gentleness her face and voice don't have right now.

She sees right through him.

When he tries to look away again, to avert his eyes to make what he's trying to do easier on himself by not having to look at her when he does it, her grasp on his face holds firm. Her hands guide his chin back up so they're face to face, and he realizes what a mistake everyone makes in assuming her this dainty, broken girl whose only source of strength came from the brother she lost. She's a forest fire.

"You're not hearing what I'm saying—"

Y/N interjects, "I am hearing what you're saying, I'm just saying it's bullshit."

She refuses to let him off the hook, and though it frustrates him on the surface, deep down, it makes him fall in love with her all over again. Her insistence against his speech about her leaving him proves him wrong more than anything else could, 'cause he gave her the perfect chance to dip and she shot it down instantly.

The house looms behind them as a menacing presence that threatens to take control of him again, but she doesn't let it. She keeps his eyes on her no matter how many times he tries to look away and doesn't let anything get in the way of what she says next.

"You think that if you push me away and get me to leave you right now, it'll hurt less than it would if I did it later, and I don't accept that. I won't take the bait and let you torture yourself anymore, okay? I can't speak for anyone else, but I know I'll never leave you. Not willingly, anyway."

She looks into his eyes, and this time its softer, more loving, and he's never felt as understood as he does when she continues to speak.

"I'm in love with you. Whether it scares you or not, it's the truth, and I'll never stop saying it. If you think that your issues with your dad are gonna change that for me, you've officially lost your mind." Their noses brush as she leans in to ghost a kiss over his mouth and pulls away a second later to whisper, her forehead pressed to his, "I love you, JJ. Stop being so stubborn and just let me."

His next breath in trembles as he lets her words sink in, and he's stuck at a crossroads inside of himself without a clue of what to do.

The breeze blows her hair away from her face, the afternoon sunshine painting her golden, and when he sees her hair flutter in the air like it did so many years ago, he can't help but feel as calm as he did during their bike ride home. The further away he got from his dad and the house where it all happened, the calmer he grew, and it hits him at this moment that he's so taken aback by her confession to him, he forgot why he was so upset.

It's sobering. The intoxication of his panic hurtled him back in time to the frightened, childlike state of mind his dad's violent abuse often sent him to, but it was hearing her say those words he's feared for weeks that brought him back. Like the jolt of a defibrillator, he's roused back to life with more clarity than before.

She loves him, but, perhaps more importantly, she said she'd never leave him, and that is what he needed to hear more than anything. That is the statement worth more to him than the four letter word he has agonized over endlessly. No one else every attached the promise of "I love you" with the stipulation of it lasting forever. They said the empty words and contradicted it with their actions, but she hasn't done that. Her actions spoke the words long before her mouth did.

He sighs.

It's a deep, yearning sigh that sends him melting into her with the acceptance of what he's denied for too long. He savors the hands cradling his head, as well as the body pressed up against his that he has memorized down to every beauty mark and imperfection, and makes the right choice.

It isn't like it was the night at the Cherry Bowl, or the night he spoke to Pope about it. It still takes more bravery than he possesses to form the words, but there isn't a physical incapability stopping him anymore. It's just him against the trauma beckoning him into its trap again, and he won't let it lure him back into that house.

"Alright," JJ says to her through a sniffle in acceptance to her command, as if he were agreeing on afternoon surfing plans rather than something as monumental as allowing someone to love him, then continues onto with a timid tone, "I love you too."

Before he can watch for her reaction, she's surging forward through the few inches of space left between them to connect their lips in a kiss.

It's vastly different to the kiss they shared in the hallway at school last Friday. In contrast to that one, the reigning emotion within him that drives the kiss after the hesitant beginning doesn't lead them into increased intensity, it gets gentler. It doesn't explode into chaos and passion, it's a tired kiss that he never wants to retreat from. It's the physical manifestation of his feelings for her underneath the guarded exterior he uses to protect himself: gentle and yielding, yet undeniably powerful.

He feels her smiling through her tears against his mouth. In the face of everything that happened this afternoon, he doesn't feel like he should be smiling back at her, but he does. He smiles while kissing her with tears streaming down his face, still reeling from his traumatic response to coming home for the final time, and wonders how a person can feel such contradicting emotions all at once.

Y/N is the one who starts to pull away first, though it's only to check in on him. If she had it her way, she could stay here with him until the sun sets, but he did just come back from the brink of a full-blown panic attack, so she can't in good conscience ignore his well-being for the momentary bliss of their love confessions.

Her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her smile drooping with worry as she asks, "Wanna spend the rest of the day on the boat? You always say being on the water makes you feel better. Maybe it'll make it easier to talk about it."

His Adam's apple bobs with how he swallows the lump in his throat.

"Can we maybe take baby steps for now? I don't think I can handle telling you all that shit yet."

It was already enough to allow her to follow him into the house, watch him break down into a fit of panic no one else has seen him in, and tell her he loved her, but it'd cross the line into uncharted territory to talk about everything between him and his dad so openly. Between the minor annoyance of dealing with Kacey to this hellish visit home, he thinks he's reached his quota on feeling uncomfortable today.

She nods in agreement.

"Baby steps."

Drawn back to each other by a force stronger than gravity, they collide again, but it isn't a kiss this time. It's a hug charged with all of the previously unspoken emotions they've buried inside of themselves for years, the same hug she gave him the last time she came to this house with the fear of his potential death lingering in her thoughts.

She throws herself at him with the same desperation she did that day and relishes the feeling of his muscular arms returning the embrace until their bodies are tangled together. She'd usually never refer to something as inherently affectionate as an embrace as violent, but it's the closest she can come to capturing how it feels as their bodies meet. It makes her lose her footing on the bottom step they stand on together, teetering on the edge she'd surely slip off of with the force if not for him keeping her steady.

He's about to say something, a thank you to her for calling him out on his bullshit and not letting him go that easily, when the grating sound of her ringtone blares from the back pocket of her denim shorts.

The contact popping up on the screen along with a series of frantic messages when she pulls away from him to answer shows Pope's name.

Pope You and JJ need to get back to the Chateau ASAP!!

The van doors slam shut behind Y/N and JJ as soon as it rolls to a stop in front of the Chateau.

Under the assumption that something dire happened, as in injury or death or catastrophic damage to the house itself, they bolted off of that porch faster than they knew they could move. She only turned back when she remembered the packed back of JJ's things they abandoned on his bedroom floor and, not wanting him to reenter the house, she brought it back to the Twinkie in record time.

They're preparing to trample up the porch into the house like a stampede of animals when they hear Kie calling them over to the backyard and change direction.

"No one's hurt!" she shouts, knowing that was likely where their minds went after everything they went through during the summer, "You have to see this though, I don't know who did it!"

Sticks and fallen leaves crunch beneath her feet on her way around the side of the house. Her mind races with the possibility of what could've happened that didn't hurt their friends but necessitated a series of texts and calls as frantic as the ones she received at JJ's house. She drove over here in defiance of the speed limit, something she rarely does, and prayed nothing terrible was happening.

It gave her flashbacks to when she found out John B and Sarah died in the storm. The pedal beneath her foot brought the van to an uncomfortably swift speed, then she remembered the sound of Shoupe's voice when he gave them the news. JJ warned her to slow down, then she remembered how it took multiple people to help her restrain him from attacking the new sheriff for letting his men drive their friends into their deaths.

At first, she doesn't realize what's wrong.

Kiara and Pope are standing and waiting for them across the grass near the large tree that sits as a centerpiece to their yard. Based on the body language screaming their frustration and the tears in their eyes, she can tell something bad did happen, but it's not clear what it is until she looks past them to the tree. More specifically, until she looks at what's on the tree.

"Oh my god," she whispers to herself.

Her hand is already up to cover her mouth and conceal the instantaneous frown besmirching her previously relaxed face. They both are stopped in their tracks halfway to where their friends are standing, and she can’t hear JJ's reaction over the rising volume of her hysterical thoughts.

Spray painted in red on top of their memorial for John B are the words "COP KILLER" in bold letters that conceal what they burned into the tree trunk for his gravestone. It sticks out from the beauty of the greens, browns, blues, and swathes of other earthy tones composing the scenery around the Chateau like a thorn amongst flowers, so much so that she wonders how she didn't instantly see it when they rounded the corner to come back here.

Yet that isn't the only thing amiss in the peaceful sanctuary they call home, there are random things strewn around the ground around the tree. An old t-shirt spray painted with the word "murderer" on the front, four ripped up envelopes, and a gorgeous mahogany jewelry box...broken on the grass.

The freshly turned dirt they had the contents of the box buried beneath is scattered around the trashed area as well. It clicks with her a few seconds late that whoever came here to do this must have seen the pinwheel she put in the ground to mark the "grave" and dug it up to add insult to injury.

She moves forward without consciously realizing it and stumbles until she reaches the first object of the debris field. Before this, she was doing a masterful job of holding in her cries, but as soon as she crouches down to pick up the pieces of the jewelry box, the lid snapped clean off the hinges to separate it from the bottom section, it comes rushing out of her against her will. The first unrestrained keen is the first thing to snap JJ out of his shell shocked trance.

He walks after her as fast as his legs will take him without breaking into a run, but she isn't letting him get close before she puts the box back down and shuffles forward to collect the torn letter remains. She doesn't want them to get blown away by the wind anymore than they already might have been, so she scrambles to gather the pieces until they're cupped in her hands to protect them.

"Why?" she asks and looks up at Kie and Pope with tears dripping down her face, "Why would anyone do this? Who would do this?"

Pope says, "My guess is as good as yours. We didn't see anyone leaving when we got here, so it must've happened before school ended. This is all we saw before we called you guys."

For a second or two, JJ is grasping at straws for why this happened and who did it like the rest of them are, but then something Pope said makes it click into place. It sets off a domino effect in his mind as he brings back the memory of a certain offspring of satan being absent from gym this afternoon despite being at school earlier, since his encounter with her before Physics made him, unfortunately, aware of her existence again.

His face is set in anger, jaw clenching with the tension of him grinding his teeth together, and he takes his hat off to fidget with it between his hands for a second. Their friends are too focused on her crying to see him contemplating it, but as soon as he speaks, they look up to see him setting his hat back onto his head in preparation to leave and track Kacey down.

Y/N's head snaps up from the torn letters in her hands to the sight of him storming off across the yard with his only goodbye being the words, "I'm gonna kill that bitch."

Her and Pope stare after him in shock, unable to put the pieces together about who that "bitch" is, but Kie doesn't miss a single beat. While Y/N is crumpled over on the ground in tears, she's rushing after JJ before he can approach the bike parked in front of the house. He doesn't even make it five steps before he feels her hands latching onto his wrist to stop him.

She asks, "Who the hell are you talking about? And why would they do this?"

His eyes narrow at her. His unreleased frustration for the situation in general and having to watch Y/N cry after an emotional afternoon together comes rushing out when he snaps at her.

"Kacey. She talked shit at school and I put her in her place. Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna pay her a little visit."

He yanks his arm sharply towards himself to free it from her grip, but she's a step ahead of him. Quicker than he can think to stop her, Kie swipes the keys hanging out of his back pocket away and throws them to Pope, who, bless his heart, can't catch to save his life. The key ring jingles with its contact at the dead center of his chest, and she mouths an apology to him before turning back to face JJ.

"What the fuck, Kie?"

He makes to stomp past her and retrieve the keys from Pope only to be stopped by her hands reaching out to grab his shoulders.

"Listen to me, you can't go anywhere. Look at her," she whispers lowly enough to keep Y/N from hearing, pointing behind her to where she sits on the ground with Pope knelt beside her, "I wouldn't put it past Kacey to pull a stunt like this. I'm just as mad as you, but revenge can wait and you know it. She needs you."

The fury visible in his expression is subdued by looking past Kie's shoulder to see Y/N crying softly to Pope about the vandalized memorial.

The last time he saw her so distraught over something, it was the day they made the memorial and buried the box in the first place. She sits on her knees with her mom's broken jewelry box between them, shuddering with the sobs she has no control over, and pours the torn paper into the empty bottom half of the box. Exhausted to the core, she looks more like a sullen, kicked puppy than she does herself.

It makes his anger-fueled instincts that urge him to hunt Kacey down and do something, anything he can to make her feel the pain they do right now bubble down into sorrow. It's visible in his eyes when he looks at her.

Kie knows she's gotten under his skin when he sighs, sparing a parting glance to the bike in the driveway, and nods once at her before setting off back to where they're sitting in the grass.

Meanwhile, Y/N is stuck staring down at the disarray of her backyard with nothing but pain aching through her to the bone.

Her brother did wrong things sometimes as a consequence of being human, but never this, never something worthy of having his name dragged through the mud and being branded a murderer after his death. He stole scuba gear from Ward and broke dozens of laws in their hunt for the gold, but he never crossed that line into moral bankruptcy. Rafe did, and it kills JJ to see someone like Kacey do this to his best friend while hanging off of Rafe and his friends like a leech.

The fabric of his worn t-shirt is tarnished by the dried paint clinging to the front of it to the spell the lie written there, and her vision blurs with tears for what feels like the millionth time in the span of an hour. First, it was JJ. Now, it's John B, and she can't help but wonder if the heartache will ever end. It began to feel better over the course of the week, her grief for him slowly beginning to slip from her mind until now. Until the storm clouds converged again to batter her with another wave of it.

Through the deafening volume of her mind racing with thoughts and feelings to process what's happened, she hears Pope shuffling around to stand on his feet. Then, another person sits down in his place and scoots closer until their bodies are touching, and she knows it's him. She doesn't have to wait to hear his voice or look to see his face, she can tell based on the feeling of his touch and the smell of him she's so intimately familiar with, yet couldn't describe it aloud if she tried.

He doesn't smother her. He sits close enough to touch her and doesn't push it any further.

The background of the pale, cloudless sky frames him in the foreground like the subject of a painting—a living, breathing painting that she could study endlessly. The other trees planted in the yard's leaves flutter distantly behind him and try to draw her gaze away, but she keeps her eyes on him.

Maybe that's how it is, she thinks.

Maybe it'll get better and worse in a dance that'll only stop when they're no longer here to agonize over it. Maybe this is what moving on from John B will always be like. It'll feel like they've made strides in the right direction, then something will come along to shatter it to sharp pieces that'll reopen their stitched up wounds. If that's the case, at least the four of them have each other to lean on when it gets worse again.

JJ sits with her and lets her crawl onto his lap, resting her head on his shoulder, until the sun sinks below the horizon.

The gentle bobbing of the HMS Pogue at the surface of the water steadies her amidst her eddying thoughts. It keeps her present to the moment the way the ropes tying the boat to the dock keeps it from floating adrift into the marsh. It's a motion engrained in her from the start of her life until now from countless days spent on the water. Whether it be for fishing, swimming, or playing make believe with her boys all those years ago, it's as much a part of her as her personality or body itself.

JJ was right about one thing: being out on the water makes it easier to think.

He hasn't followed her out since she woke up before sunrise and snuck out of bed to come here. Despite her efforts not to wake him, he woke up when she disentangled her body from his, silently cursing the fact that they always cuddle so closely, and he tried to pull her back to him with a whine of displeasure in his groggy, half-asleep state. Sleep finally found them after hours of staying up together to talk about what Kacey did, unable to relax from the chaos of yesterday, so he wasn't prepared to wake up that soon.

"Go back to sleep, angel," she whispered as she hovered over him, brushing a chaste kiss to his lips that he was too tired to return.

That was the last time she saw him since this morning, and now that the sun has risen to its peak in the sky without her moving an inch from her perch atop the bow of the boat, she's begun to wonder if he's awake yet. It isn't uncommon for them to sleep in for half of the day when there isn't school or work, so it isn't surprising to her that he's just now waking up when she hears the back door to the Chateau opening and closing.

Unbeknownst to her, JJ has been awake the entire morning since she left bed.

They were so attached to each other yesterday night, he didn't have the time to put it together without her seeing and ruining the surprise, but once he heard the door to the porch close to signify her leaving, he kicked the blankets off of himself and got to work. He wasn't originally planning on starting so early, since they stayed up late into the night together, but once he woke up to the feeling of her sneaking out of his arms, he was too awake to fall back asleep.

The sound of his footsteps on the dock warns her of his approach, but she doesn't raise her head from where she rests it in her palms to stare out at the water.

"I was wondering when you'd finally wake up," she says.

There's another few steps, then the boat jostles with his weight stepping onto it.

He doesn't say anything to her in response. The only clue she gets as to what he's doing are the footsteps on the deck that lead closer to her until she feels him sitting down on the bow next to where she is. And she's about to open her mouth to ask if he's okay when he sets something down in front of her.

It's a shoe box.

Y/N turns to see him, eyes flickering over his tired face, and looks back at the box with furrowed brows.

"What is this?"

His hair is messy, exactly how it was when she left him in bed this morning, and if she weren't more focused on the mysterious box he plopped down in front of her, she'd be combing through it with her fingers. He's gotten used to those casual displays of affection from her; how she runs her hands through his hair on mornings before school when he forgets to brush it, or when she fixes a button on his flannel that he missed.

JJ's lips are tipped in a smile, and she can't help but blush with how he looks at her. She never used to see it, but he has always looked at her like this. Like he's hopelessly, utterly in love with her. Even before they lost John B, back when he'd expend all of his romantic and sexual attention on girls he hardly knew, he still looked at her this way.

He gestures at it and says, "Open it."

The lid of the box is coated in a freshly dried layer of blue paint to match the shade of the sky overhead. She knows instantly that he must have dug through the arts and crafts box she specifically labeled with a warning for him and John B to stay out. It's painted with aimlessly sloppy brushstrokes and stickers placed at every corner of the cardboard box, all of which she recognizes from the stash she kept under her bed alongside the India ink he borrowed last Friday.

As she gives him a skeptical look and reaches to lift the lid off of the shoe box, she makes a mental note to rewrite the label on the arts and crafts box without the warning for him to keep out. Since John B isn't here to steal anything from it and JJ never follows that rule anyway, it's redundant at this point.

Any skepticism is washed away from her face as soon as she flips the lid open to reveal what's inside. It leaves her speechless as she looks down at it all.

"JJ..." she murmurs in awe.

Sitting at the bottom of it is a folded up t-shirt she saw JJ wear multiple times, but never again since John B died. He refused to glance at the shirt his best friend gave him the year before they never saw him again, let alone dig it out of the corner of her closet where he keeps his things...until now.

But that's a scratch on the surface of all of the things about his gift that stuns her to silence. The next thing to catch her immediate attention is a picture she hasn't seen in years.

It's one that Big John took of the three of them together right where she and JJ are sitting. She was much younger in it, flashing a toothy grin with her arms thrown over both boys' shoulders. To her left, John B was leaning his head on her shoulder. To her right, JJ was wearing an eyepatch they crafted out of an old black shirt he stole from his dad. It was cut with the kitchen scissors and tied around the back of his head in a knot.

She brushes her thumb over John B's face, then sets the crinkled photograph back down atop the folded shirt and moves her attention to the last surprise.

Letters.

Torn up pieces of paper painstakingly taped back together sit one on top of the other, some missing pieces here or there, and it makes her mouth part in shock. Her hands shuffle the letters apart to see each one and recognize the handwriting: Kie's bubbly, swirling letters, Pope's neat cursive, hers, and JJ's chicken scratch writing that she's able to decipher from years of proofreading his essays.

She pictures him at her desk all morning while she was sitting out here, ripping tape off of the roll and arranging the puzzle pieces of the ripped letters until he was sure he got it right. It made him want to rip the hair from his scalp, but he sat there and pushed through the frustration to make it as perfect as he could for her. The missing pieces were primarily from Kie's letter, which fluttered away on a balmy breeze when Kacey tore it up and threw it to the ground, but the one he wanted her to have the most wasn't missing more than a single piece.

Y/N looks up from the letters held like a precious treasure in her hands to see him watching her with that same classic JJ smile on his face, but he doesn't let her get a word in yet.

"Go on," he says, leaning closer to pull his letter to John B out and place it on top of the pile for her to read, "I want you to read it."

"You didn't let me read it when I asked before though, are you sure you—"

He interrupts her before she can worry herself over it, "Dude, just read it. I promise I'm fine with it. I want you to."

The letters crinkle under her touch as she looks back down and smooths them out on the deck enough to read through the clear tape. With one last confirming glance to him for permission, she takes a deep breath and reads the first line.

Dear John B,

You really know how to keep a guy on his toes, don't you? You really outdid yourself on this one. I was so sure we were gonna make it, but I guess you had to go all Romeo and Juliet on us, huh? As long as you and Sarah are happy macking on each other in heaven, it's okay.

In all seriousness, I fucking miss you, bro. I miss you more than I realized a person could miss another person. Whenever I need to talk to you again, I don't know what to do. I guess that's why it's good that Y/N made me write this.

Also, I'm really sorry for—

"What does it say there? There's a whole chunk missing," she murmurs.

He scoots close enough to her that she can feel his body warmth radiating onto her through the shoulder of his flannel. Sunlight reflects on the silver rings decorating his fingers as he holds one side of the paper to tilt it enough for him to squint at.

"Macking, I think. It's supposed to say "I'm sorry for macking on your sister."

—macking on your sister. You can totally kick my ass for it, but before you come back from the grave to murder me, let me defend myself, okay? She isn't just another girl for me, John B.

I think you knew it before I did.

Last summer, you asked me straight up if we were hooking up behind your back after I kissed her in front of you on the porch. I laughed in your face, but you were right.

You saw everything before me, man. You knew I loved her since we were kids and waited for us to come to you about it, so that's gotta mean something, right? I hope it means you wouldn't be mad at me for this.

I swear I won't fuck it up with her, but you already know that. That's why you asked me to take care of her,. I didn't know why at the time but I do now. I won't let you down.

I'm keeping my promise.

- JJ

P.S. Don't miss me too much. We'll be shotgunning beers together up there before you know it.

There are tears blooming in her eyes when she lifts her gaze from the tattered paper to look at him again, but they aren't sad. For once, the tears slipping down her cheeks are happy tears, not born from grief, sadness, and pain, but bittersweet happiness.

They're caught staring at each other for a second before he asks her shyly, "It isn't too sappy or anything, is it? 'Cause I thought it—"

"C'mere," is the only thing she can get out before she's tugging him forward by the front of his shirt to kiss him.

JJ stumbles a little with the unexpected force of her pulling him to her, but he takes it in stride. He steadies himself and lets his hands shoot out to grapple for purchase on her waist, keeping her pressed up against him tightly as he kisses her back.

And it doesn't get much better than this, does it? This is it for him. He meant what he wrote to John B, he won't fuck it up with her, especially not because of his trauma with his dad getting inside his head and sabotaging his relationship with her. This is what makes everything worth it.

It brings happy tears to his eyes too.

She can taste the salt of them where their lips meet in the middle. It makes her smile, wrapping her arms around his neck and clenching the letters he mended for her in her fist to keep them from blowing away in the wind, and they both start to laugh into each other's mouths at the poignant feeling they both share but can't quite place.

They pull away from each other to catch their breath after another moment of it, and she can't help but stare. How could she not when she feels like this? It’s less like he’s her boyfriend and more like a piece of her soul has attached itself to his with no hope of letting go in the near future.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," she whispers to him.

Plain and simple. No room for disagreement or a bashful rejection of the compliment. She's pulled back from him enough to hold his gaze and make sure he sees her seriousness, and there isn't anything he can do to refute her statement.

He brushes his nose against hers affectionately, dipping down to kiss her again, but when he leans back to see her face, he can't help himself.

"Ditto."

The rest of the day after their moment on the boat, locked away in their own little world where none of the monsters chasing them could sneak through and ruin it, melts away peacefully. After another half hour spent looking through the box together, of her thanking him over and over again, he hops off of the HMS Pogue onto the dock and extends his hand to her in the most gentlemanly manner possible.

His lips are curved into a smirk as he kneels down on one knee as though she's a revered royal and bows his head in subservience, "Princess Routledge."

Her hand fits in his warm, calloused palm as a perfect match, and she steps off of the boat onto the dock beside him with an expression to match his.

"Captain Maybank," she says in her most regal royalty voice.

Her stellar performance breaks into a laugh they share as he stands and throws his arm around over her shoulder to walk back to the yard. The cardboard box is tucked beneath one of her arms while the other slips around his side to hold him back, and her heart feels full with both the presence of JJ and John B alongside her.

They bury it together.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, and @krisphann

Also, now that it’s over, let me know what your favorite part was in the comments or tags if you’d like to :) I’m curious.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #outer banks #obx #fanfiction #i'm gonna miss these dorks #🥺 #I love how he tries to break up with her and she’s like ‘no❤️’ #also totally do not put on ‘seven’ by Taylor Swift during the childhood flashbacks unless u wanna cry #cause I did and my sensitive ass was crying #that song is about John B and JJ okay #it just is

[kannra21]

Sniperhaul fanfic

ˡᵐᵃᵒ ᶦ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ᵇᵉˡᶦᵉᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶦ'ᵐ ᵈᵒᶦⁿᵍ ᵗʰᶦˢ

Overhoe finally broke out of Tartarus after a very long time. However, he couldn't have done it without the help of a certain villain mistress. 😏 Who's she and why did she choose to help this terrible (x2) man? Find out bellow.

characters: overhaul (chisaki kai) x sniper lady

word count: 3k

warnings: angst, past memories, handless overhaul, hurt, comfort, gangs, yakuza, just girl taking care of her mans

notes: I'd like to thank the person responsible for proofreading this work bc I'm supposed to keep their identity a secret. 😎 Thank you once again! And of course, the manga and characters belong to Kohei Horikoshi. @meefal you were excited to see the final product so here you go, hope you like it. 🖤

✂-------------------------------------------------------

Overhaul couldn't remember how long he'd been there, he'd lost count weeks ago. The only thing he knew was that he was in "Tartarus", a prison located 5km off the coast of the Mainland. It may function like a conventional prison, but in reality, those who're deemed a severe threat toward the safety of the nation were locked up and monitored closely, regardless of whether their sentence has been decided on yet. The facility was divided into 6 levels, where the potential threat level of criminals was deemed "higher" the further underground you go. It's a prison where, once you enter, there's no chance of leaving.

He sat there in his cell, B10 being the lowest level in solitary confinement. It was too cold for his head to function and too dark for his eyes to see, with the small window above the prison doors being his only source of light. There was also an opening where prisoners received their meals, but considering that he lost his hands, the guards could easily enter without worrying too much for their well-being. They'd leave whatever they offered that day and give him a disgusted look before locking the doors after themselves. He couldn't see his reflection nor touch his face, he probably looked like crap by now. His skin was itching and he felt disoriented from all the germs occupying this space, it's been a while since he's gone out for some fresh air. 

He was practically Quirkless and yet they locked him out in the worst, most dreadful place the isolation block had to offer. He couldn't even feed himself properly, he couldn't do anything by himself whatsoever. But there was only one thing left to him; he spent days and days thinking about pops, Chrono, yakuza and everything he could have if it weren't for those stupid heroes-- no, if it weren't for his plan that so grandiosely failed. It made him feel miserable, desperate even, and with grief soon followed acceptance. It was all his fault, and he needed to live with this burden for the rest of his life. Because of him, pops is still handicapped to the bed somewhere, wherever the heroes might have taken him. 

He stood up and started beating the cell with his leg, curing his frustrations. He didn't know why he was doing it, it was irrational and he's hurting himself unnecessarily, but for some reason it made him feel lighter. At least he could transfer some of his inner pain to the outside world. Other criminals laughed at his patheticness, especially since they knew why the guards were allowed to enter his cell. They shouted that it was impossible to escape, but he wasn't trying to. He knew that it was useless a long time ago. 

Midnight came and all the prisoners mostly fell asleep. Overhaul, however, couldn't sleep a wink. Because of the dark room he spent most of his days in, he lost his sense of time so he was pacing around, deep in thought. He couldn't dream of anything nice anyways. 

"Can't fall asleep either?" a feminine voice could be heard from the other side. Wait. They allowed women here? What could she have possibly done to deserve such punishment? 

He leaned his back on the doors and slid down to the floor, trying to find the right words.

"Yes." he sighed, enthusiasm lacking in his voice "But it's not like I need you to talk about my problems." 

"Hm, whatever. Go beat your head against the bars. Fall unconscious, loser."

The man snorted, which might as well be his first time he ever did that. 

"Well, this certainly sounds effective. It's not like I have anything to lose anyways." 

"Hey." the tone of her voice was earnest, and it aroused further questions in his jumbled up head. 

"What?"

"We're going to get out of here." 

Is she being serious now? "Really? Because as far as I know, we're locked out here for good. We don't even know the severity of our sentences. They can do whatever they want with us."

"Not quite. You know that they're being supervised by 'The Hearts and Mind' party offshoots. They can’t do a thing to us as long as they have their heads to the pikes." 

This might be true, but he didn't believe in anything the government's been telling them lately. It's only a matter of time before they switch their plans and play by their own rules, because stabbing people in the back was the only thing they've ever been good at. 

"How did you end up here?" 

Oh the long-awaited question. She wondered when he'd ask. 

"It's not like I need you to talk about my problems."

He smiled, he liked this vicious side of hers. But he also realized that she could be nice as well because if that wasn't the case, she wouldn't spread promises of the escape. At least that's what he thought. 

"Sorry about that." 

"It's okay. We've all been here for a very long time, now weren't we? We lose our cool and act like total assholes."

"Direct and straight to the point I see." his deadpan voice could be heard from the other side of the bars. 

"'Been raised this way, for the better or worse." it didn't sound like she was bragging, yet it felt like she was just talking about herself, honest and confident, to cover up what she felt was wrong. The incoming topic which she'd rather avoid. 

The villainess didn't want to open up about her past, so she just answered his question. 

"I killed people beyond counting, following AFO's orders. He always wished to become the world's greatest demon lord and thus promised us enormous change in the hero society. So in order to achieve that, he needed his underlings. And that's how I ended up here."

"You were loyal till the end."

"You know what they say; there can be no progress nor achievement without certain sacrifice."

Wise beyond her years and just as sad. He wondered how her face looked like, how the world's been treating her. 

"I had my own sacrifices as well."

"Do you regret them?"

...

"I do." 

Now it was her turn to snort "Really? And I thought that people situated this low couldn't have regrets. You remember what they said about us. 'Beasts in human clothing', 'Simply dreadful beings'." 

He felt insulted, maybe the things she said were true but it's not like he was anything similar to these pigs he shared the same air with, unfortunately.

"I regret hurting the person important to me. The old man who once took me in when I was very young. He was the infamous boss of Shie Hassaikai." 

Something clicked in her, it's such a small world they're living in, "Yakuza? I know you guys. We used to trade with you back in the days."

"Todou Gang?" 

"You said it."

"But... you were a force to be reckoned with. One day you just collapsed and not a single trace could be found. According to certain sources, there was no way anyone could determine the exact cause of your downfall. So what happened?" 

"I killed them all." 

... 

"AFO told me to kill them to prove my loyalty to him and, of course, to make sure that there was no one I could turn to other than himself." 

For some questionable reasons, and he didn't dare to admit that it was empathy he felt towards a random stranger and a former gang member he shared some history with, Overhaul wanted to fill the silence that lingered between them. Perhaps, because he felt guilty for making her reveal more than what she initially intended. 

"I used pops' niece, a 6-year-old girl who had an extraordinary Quirk; it allowed her to rewind a person's body back to a certain state. That means she could put a body back to before it was injured or before the person even developed a Quirk. With that, I wanted to create a Quirk-erasing drug to get rid of the Quirk society altogether and to make sure that yakuza could rise once again. I cut her skin every day to take blood samples and to test her regenerative abilities. However, pops didn't approve of it, so I handicapped him to the bed and planned on waking him up the moment I realized my plan, to make him proud of the achievement. Unfortunately, it didn't play out as I wanted and I never reached him."

The silence followed and the woman wore a disheartening smile on her face. It's not the answer she expected, she didn't ask for another sad story from another messed up person she's met in her life. But the intentions were pure and for her, it was good enough. 

"We both fought for something only to lose it all, huh?" she laughed, but it was prominent in her tone that it was bittersweet. 

"At least you're brought here in one piece." 

"At least you can still revive your parent."

Were they comforting each other? Were they jealous of each other? Were they wallowing in self-pity? They couldn't tell. The only thing they certainly could was the embarrassment they felt from the moment they realized that some of the prisoners were eavesdropping and making fun of their vulnerabilities. See? That's what they hated the most about opening up about themselves; they were worried about their feelings being perceived as a joke. The only way to protect themselves was to rise up the walls and never let anyone get closer, except they didn't regret exchanging a word or two, as long as it was the two of them. 

The next day, 8:34PM Mainland-side entrance, the guardians of 'The Bronze Gate' announced a code red security lockdown. Panic and shouting could be heard from across the hall and the security alarm announced the potential danger. 

"Close any and all passageways on each floor. All workers are to enforce strict measures to maintain order."

"The surveillance system is down! It seems like we've been hit by some sort of EMP attack!"

Static waves were spreading around the metal frames and the prison doors of the isolation block unlocked. Overhaul could hear the commotion outside and the villains leaving their cells in a hurry, but as much as he tried, he couldn't push the heavy doors open.

"3 seconds until we're back online- wait... What the... With the system down we can't monitor the inside!"

"Nice, 3 seconds be damned." he beat the door with his legs, pushed the surface with his shoulders, leaned all of his weight on the godforsaken thing just so it could finally open. Nothing. It seems like he lost a couple of pounds during his stay here. He couldn't believe his eyes, this couldn't be happening to him. After all this time of patient waiting and hoping to meet pops once again, it turns out he'd be the only one still trapped and all because he didn't have any hands. He panicked, he really couldn't decide on what to do next. But then he remembered-

"Go beat your head against the bars, loser."

That's it! This might be his only chance to escape! He didn't have much time left though, he could hear the shooting nearby so he definitely needed to hurry.

"The system won't come back on!! The ones in solitary confinement are breaking out!! Inside!"

"Control unit's on site!! Execute lockdown in the isolation block!"

"Follow procedure! If even one of them steps a foot outside their cell-"

"Fire!! Open fire!!"

Muscular threw whatever he could find in this messed up place back at them, excitement prominent in his big smile "You ain't gonna kill me with those puny toys! So how about you show me the exit already?!" 

Other villains were joining him, still overwhelmed by the sudden freedom they've been given "Dammit... After all that time..."

"Meat..." Moonfish mumbled as he cut his opponents with his blade-like teeth. 

The villain lady joined them in the run, still carefully examining her surroundings in case they were tricked into something, "The system isn't responding to my Quirk. 'Guess Tartarus really is falling." 

As she was running down the corridor, she could hear beating noises coming from one of the doors. It sounded dull so the person must have been using their head. 

"Eh, don't tell me the idiot actually listened to my advice. He must be desperate." 

She came to the doors and turned the circular lock in a hurry. She really didn't want to stay in this place any longer, but she couldn't leave him behind either. It's not like she could use him for anything since he was basically handless and Quirkless so why was she doing it? She didn't have an answer. Maybe it was their talk from the other day, maybe because they were both gang members with a history, maybe because of her regrets and her wish to do something right for once. Or maybe because she was just this kind. Nah, this couldn't be it, she never did anything in her life that didn't require a certain purpose. She cast her heart aside a long time ago and did what was necessary for the accomplishment of the mission. It would be weird if she suddenly started using her heart again, now wouldn't it? She was AFO's personal assassin, there was simply no way. 

He came out of the room with eyes wide in puzzlement. He was finally free and ready to find pops so he could possibly revive him and try to fix things as much as he could.

They looked at each other for the first time. They never said it aloud, godforbid, but they liked the other's eyes. And perhaps the eyes were a window to a person's soul, their broken souls, tormented by the life's temptations. They were still so young, probably in their twenties, and yet they looked older at the same time. Maybe because of the seriousness in their faces, their stronger stance, the way they defied their fate. They were destined to fall apart, no one would argue with it, but circumstances drove them to take action and rise from the bottomless chasm. And now they had each other. 

"We need to get out of here," she stated and pulled him by the sleeve that hung loosely from his shoulder. They escaped Tartarus and raided a small shop near the coast to change clothes and to mingle into the public unnoticed. She quickly picked out a dress and threw herself at work while Overhaul was still standing by the shop display, looking out for the potential intruders.

He couldn't erase the thought of this being some sort of a really weird first date; the girl coming out of the stall and the guy examining her looks. He shook his head, he never had this kind of thoughts in his entire life. He needed to pull himself together. 

The bob-hair came out and adjusted the ammo on her utility belt. He looked at her from the corner and she was stunning; intimidating with a tad bit of femininity in design. He stood there and watched how good it fit her curvy form. The thoughts wandering in his head sounded so wrong, terribly wrong. He needed to bring himself to stop. 

"Oh right, I almost forgot." she took a shirt off the shelf and came to him, showing him the garment in her hands "You need a little help, right?" 

"Sure.'' his voice was small and he stood still while she undid his buttons. Maybe from the outside he looked completely calm, but from the inside he was a complete mess. He looked at her face and wondered if she knew, the kind of effect she's having on him. She raised her head and he looked to the side, there's no way he could look her in the eyes at this point. He hoped she didn't notice. 

"You like this one, don't you?" she asked, filling the awkward silence. 

"Looks don't matter, the most important thing is to change and avoid getting caught." She looked annoyed. Great. He wanted to shove his head though the wall. Wait… Why was he thinking that? 

"I choose the clothes I like. It makes me feel better in my skin."

"You look good in it."

She looked at him surprised and he quickly corrected himself "the dress looks good."

"Sure." she trailed off and put the new shirt over his shoulders. She could feel his muscles tensing. This was probably because of the cool air, she assured herself. 

"Why did you break me out of Tartarus? It's not like I could be of any use to you." 

She buttoned up his shirt and fixed the wrinkled parts on the garment, hand accidentally brushing over the left side of his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

Well... that was a surprise.

"I thought that maybe you could be of some use to the demon lord. Not Quirk-wise, but you may offer a valuable set of information. Something that the demon lord would appreciate greatly." she could feel it slowing down and her heart dropped just as much.

"But also because I... liked you."

He looked at her incredulously and she smiled. She pinched him to bring him out of the trance and he complained. "Don't be awkward, say something."

"I like you too... I, this is my first time I ever said this to anyone. It's weird."

She slapped him gently on the shoulder and he reached to take it but, yea, no hands.

"What the hell?"

"You're the one who's weird. But I guess that I like you this way." she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek "Ew, you should definitely shave though. No doubt about it."

The former yakuza boss swore; he'll never understand women. But for some reason he couldn't deny that he was particularly drawn to this one. He wondered if pops would approve of her.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #overhaul #chisaki kai #sniperhaul #shie hassaikai #ch 311 #bnha spoilers #bnha fic #crack ship #parody

[athlethick]

EATING DISORDERS & BODY DYSMORPHIA

When I started my road to recovery I vowed to be 100% transparent so that others can see the full truth, relate, or just learn. The thing about ED and BD is that it really fucking sucks. It never goes away. It lurks, waiting for an opportunity to fuck with your head, your perception of your self, perception of reality. It twists your mind to a degree you don’t know who or what you are. And even if you feel like you’ve escaped it, it’s still waiting for you just around the corner. Waiting for a nasty comment from someone, an injury, getting sick, a breakup... and it slowly creeps back in and sinks its teeth even deeper.

I’ve had a complicated relationship with food and with my body since I can remember. I was always a big kid. The first time I remember feeling shame about my body was at about 7 years old at the doctor’s office. They weighed me and measured me and put it into some chart (i think it was a bmi thing but im not sure). I was right on the line between “normal” and “overweight”. Then he showed my mom and she told him that if I ever go over that line, she’s gonna leave me there and only pick me up when I’ve lost weight.

I hated myself.

So here I was, a sort of chubby queer preteen who turned to dance as an escape. That’s when I first encountered actual body and fat shaming. It didn’t take long for me to internalize it. At about 13-14 I started to really come into it. I stopped eating, I trained for hours each day and would run on days when we didnt have practice. I lost so much weigh, and everyone congratulated me. I convinced myself if was self love.

I hated myself and I loved it.

Eventually my body gave out... my knees were shot and I had to have surgery and I had to stop. When I got back on my feet, I quit dancing and started going to the gym. I felt like I beat my body issues, I started eating again and started gaining muscles. But it was not enough. The more I trained the weaker and smaller I felt. I wanted more. I wanted to leave the skinny feminine twink behind. People encouraged me, told me I looked great. I’d train 6-7 times a week, eat the same cooked chicken and rice for every meal. I wanted to punish the weakness in me. My entire world revolved around the gym. I was convinced it was self love.

I hated myself and I loved it.

This continued for years. Overtraning inevitably leads to injury... and I was overdue. First it was my knee. I had to have another surgery. Not being able to work out freaked me out. And so if i couldnt train legs I did upper body. I did it so much I fucked up my shoulder. No gym for months. I was depressed, borderline suicidal.

I hated myself.

But I worked through it. I gained some weighed, and started to learn more about body positivity. I wanted to start over and treat my body with kindness. I trained, I ate. I was having fun. I was gaining weight and not hating it. I told myself I would continue for as long as its fun. People congratulated me. I wanted more. The urge to get bigger, look more masculine, more powerful came back. And it stopped being fun. I no longer felt like i was in control. I just needed more. And so I did. I no longer trained and ate to have fun. I did to grow. I felt weak. I hated myself again and used food and gym as punishment for not looking a certain way. But I convinced myself it was self love. I’ve been preaching “health at every size” and while i still believe it, i used it as an excuse, or at least I didn’t practive what I preached. Then covid hit. No gym again. I panicked. I couldnt get bigger muscle-wise... so I ate. And I got bigger. I felt in control but the truth was exactly the opposite. I became a fetish and I was punishing myself.

I hated myself and I loved it.

Which brings us to today. Looking back, I don’t regret any of these experiences. I’ve learned invaluable lessons and while i do tend to overcorrect each time i still feel it’s time to scale it back. I learned that there are many ways to live life but none is sustainable if there isn’t balance.

I can see now that I’ve strayed from my path of true body positivity. I want to get back to moving in a way that brings my body joy, to eat to fuel my body and my spirit. I want to feel healthy and in control again. I want to learn to ignore the external noise of validation from others, comparing myself to others and first and foremost to learn to ignore the voice of ED and BD telling me that I’m not enough. And I want to do all of it in moderation and with kindness.

#me #ed #bd #body positive