eonasrose

[eonasrose]

How to be Bu

I don’t think I’ve ever told this to anyone before, except a therapist I saw a handful of times in 2018, so if you’re reading this, you’re part of a very exclusive club.

My name, Bu Remiè, isn’t actually my name. My legal name and the name I go by most often is Amelia, but the reason for why I use Bu as my name and its origins would best be explained from the beginning.

When I was a kid, fresh from the trauma of CPS taking me from my mom and all that came with that, my grandma gave me a teddy bear. I name that bear Berry Bear because I thought bears ate berries in the wild. He was my best friend until I made friends in school, years later. We did everything together, until I accidentally left that teddy bear in a target shopping cart. However, I was given a new teddy bear to replace the one I had lost and they inherited Berry’s name and identity. I still have that bear today, sitting on my bed.

Now to the origins of my name. When I came out as trans, I decided my bear would too, so I chose to name them Bu. There wasn’t any grand reasoning behind it, I just thought it fit; however, the name Remiè wouldn’t come about until a few years later.

In 2017, I was working at a Walmart in my home town. It was a pretty terrible job tbh. I didn’t pass at all, so people would regularly misgender me and laugh at me. It made working there hell. In addition to this, at some point during that year, my dad changed his phone number without telling me. I would call him regularly and always received the voice message that comes with phones by default. This bothered me a bit, but it wasn’t until my dad’s birthday that it broke me.

I called him on that day, wanting to wish him a happy birthday, and instead of getting that voice message, the person on the other end picked up the phone and immediately hung up. I took this as my Dad’s way of telling me he didn’t want to talk to me or be in my life anymore, as he hadn’t answered my calls for months. This was the first time I really wanted to self harm and resulted in the worst self harm injury I’d given myself up to that point.

These two things made my mental health take a nose dive into the ground. I was having emotional breakdowns every day. This eventually lead to having nightmares about it, where I’d be bullied by dozens of people. I’d be kicked, beaten to a pulp and mocked the entire time, until one night i had a nightmare that ended in a positive way. At the end of this dream, a short, white haired, green eyed person showed up to save me. That person’s name was Bu Remiè. In a way, I saw them as the spirit of my teddy bear, come to save me once again, in adulthood.

When I end up in the deepest, darkest parts of my depression - the parts where I feel like I can’t reach out to anyone, where I can’t ask for help and where I’m feeling more alone than at any other point in my life, that white haired person shows up in my mind’s eye and helps pull me out of that pit.

So in short, Bu Remiè is the non binary, white haired, green eyed spirit of my teddy bear, who protects me and cares for me when there’s no one else who can. Though at the same time, Bu Remiè is my name as well, despite what I said at the beginning of this post, because that white haired person is just as my a part of who I am as my love for chocolate milk or my gender.

(There is more to the origin of my name, but I’m not particularly keen on sharing it here. However, these are the important parts)

[eonasrose]

How To Be a Teen and How To Do It Again

I’ve been needing a place to vomit some thoughts, so here I am, after years away. I’m hoping this will be a bit cathartic, so here I go.

Where to begin…Early life I suppose. I had a somewhat stereotypical trans woman backstory, I was the kid that told her kindergarten teacher my favorite color was pink, to which I got teased/made fun of by other kids in my class, and I was the kid who grew up wanting to be a girl.

The first memory I have of being uncomfortable with my body occurred when I was around 5ish, so pretty early in life In this memory. One day, while I was sitting one the toilet after finishing my business, I looked down between my legs. When I saw my p*nis, it bothered me. I wanted it to disappear, so what did my 5 year old brain do about it? I tried to push it back in like a button. Obviously I didn’t know why I was uncomfortable, I didn’t even know there were people that didn’t have a p*nis yet, but that didn’t change what I felt.

A few years after this, I remember going to bed one night, thinking to myself that I wished I was a girl. I don’t remember the circumstances that led to this, but what I do remember was telling myself I couldn’t let anyone know what I wished for. I remember, before falling asleep, telling myself that I would take my secret to the grave. I couldn’t have been older than 10, yet I already knew how taboo it was for a boy to want to be a girl

This brings me to my tween and teen years. I still remember when I got my first zit, I was standing in the bathroom at school, looking at myself in the mirror, afraid to go outside, lest other people see it. To put it in simpler terms, I was embarrassed, and unfortunately this would be far from the last time I’d be embarrassed by something puberty caused.

My facial hair was one of the first things that would bring about this embarrassment. I was so uncomfortable with the hair growing on my face, I didn’t even want to talk about it. For the longest time, I had these terrible sideburns and a patchy beard, that I was so embarrassed about, I couldn’t even ask for razors to shave. Shortly after this, my voice started to change, hair started to grow on my chest and back, and my bottom bits were no longer so small, I could push it back in like a button. Everything became impossible to ignore.

Of course, in my case, “embarrassed” is entirely interchangeable with “dysphoric,�� though, at the time, I didn’t have the knowledge to recognize it for what it was.

Eventually I was forced to face the consequences of a testosterone fueled puberty. In the case of my facial hair, I was literally forced by my sister and my dad to learn how to shave. I’ve always been a quiet person, so my voice wasn’t a problem until I had to speak, which over time, became more and more of a requirement. When it came to my bottom bits, there wasn’t much I could do, and so I did my best not to think about it. For everything else, I just chose not to deal with it, and it stayed that way until I came out at 20.

The most notable difference between my first puberty and my second, has been the embarrassment. In popular media and our culture in general, it’s accepted and even expected that puberty will cause embarrassment, but frankly, that hasn’t been the case for my second time around.

I haven’t been embarrassed by a single change that estrogen has brought me. In fact, the only thing it has brought me is joy. My boobs are slightly asymmetrical and bounce when I do anything more rigorous than walking, I have a lot of fat on my hips, thighs and butt thanks to estrogen, I even have stretch marks because of it, and yet I’m not embarrassed about any of it. The only aspects of my transition that have ever brought me embarrassment, are things linked to my birth sex and puberty.

I’ve been embarrassed about my boob size, but that’s only because my chest is wide, which causes them to spread out and makes them not fit my frame. I’ve been embarrassed to change clothes in a women’s locker room, but only because of what’s between my legs. I’ve been too embarrassed to take pictures of myself, but that’s only because of what testosterone has done to my face. Lastly, I’ve been embarrassed to talk on the phone, but only because I can still hear the remnants of what my voice sounded like before vocal training.

Coming out has done nothing but make my life better, and in more ways than those I’ve listed, but that’s a discussion for another post. For now, it’s bed time. If you made it this far, thank you for reading.

Bu Remiè.

[eonasrose]

Local Rusałka said sapphic rights. Have a good summer this year 💮 💮

> Art blog | Originals tag | Comic tag | Ko-fi 

[eonasrose]

Saiga Tokihito  -  http://mist.in/spectrum  -  http://spectrum-blue212.tumblr.com  -  http://www.pixiv.net/member.php?id=41450  -  https://twitter.com/tokihito  -  https://www.instagram.com/tokihito212  -  https://www.artstation.com/artist/tokihito

[eonasrose]

How to be my Skyrim characters Part Five Rowan

(I just want to quickly apologize for the relatively meh ending of this chapter of my Skyrim characters’ backstory as well as the admittedly bad writing of the last part. Today has been a long day and I can barely see straight as I write this. The next part will follow directly after this one.)

It had been a rough 5 months. Just days before he set out on this quest, Sora’nel had asked Rowan to find out what happened to her mothers and though he had traveled and gone on expeditions before, this one was exceptionally difficult. He had already been attacked and captured by a group of thieves, thinking that a traveling alchemist must be rich and an easy snatch and ransom. They would have been right had they not been blubbering drunks half the time and one night miss took one of Rowan’s sleeping elixirs as a fancy smelling mead.

His camp had also been ransacked by a wondering troll and all his food was gone. It was a miracle the beast hadn’t checked his tent. Add on a sprained ankle and rogue gust of wind blowing him into a freezing cold river, all in the space of a few weeks, and you can see why one would be tired of the wilderness. Particularly Skyrim’s wilderness. He constantly wondered what he would give for just one night spent in the deserts of Elswyr, but alas Skyrim was his home. In fact Rowan had never so much as stepped foot in the homeland of the khajiit. Having been born in Skyrim and only traveling as far east as the bordering provinces of Morrowind and as far south as the Imperial City of Cyrodiil.

Right now though, Rowan was on the trail of a rumor he had heard from the Innkeeper in Riverwood. She had told him a patron of hers had seen a wild looking, red haired Wood elf roaming the forests near Falkreath. He had left Falkreath’s warm inn about 5 days ago and was now squatting behind a bush outside an abandoned cave, waiting for any sign of inhabitants. He had to be sure it would be safe to stay the night inside. He learned that lesson the hard way.

After three hours of waiting, he was sure it was safe to go inside. He stood up, slowly, his joints screaming in pain from not moving for so long, and carefully walked to the cave entrance. He couldn’t see very far in but it looked safe enough. He took no more than 10 steps before realizing the cave was, in fact, inhabited. He could hear the sound of something moving around inside. Seconds later the sound abruptly changed direction and seemed to be moving towards him.

His instincts taking over, Rowan quitely but quickly rushed out of the cave and dove behind the bush he had just got up from. The sound of footsteps were now clearly audible from outside the cave and were drawing nearer. A moment later the source of the sound appeared outside the cave. The rumors didn’t do her any justice, her hair was definitely red, only slightly lighter than the color of blood. The same color as Sora’nel’s hair, he thought. However it was the rest of her that was so much more than the rumors suggested. She smelled like she hadn’t bathed in years and her eyes looks of a wild beast, a beast that lived to cause pain and anguish to others. They gave him an uneasy feeling.

Some how she hadn’t noticed him and left the cave, presumably searching for a meal. Rowan decided to take this chance to investigate the dwelling she left behind. Again he carefully entered the cave, making sure to check around every corner. It seemed to be just an empty cave aside from the smell. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, Khajiit have a better sense of smell than most humanoid races on Tamriel, and this smell wasn’t merely the smell of an unwashed body, it was the smell of death and it seemed to permeate everything. Even the rocks.

For a moment, Rowan considered turning around and leaving. What ever was going on in this cave wasn’t natural and it was probably just a coincidence this Bosmer had red hair anyways, but his curiosity got the better of him and he proceeded farther inside the cave. He quickly wished he hadn’t.

The image that stood before him was nearly indescribable. There were so many bodies, some looked as though they had just fallen asleep, others looked like their very life force was drained from them, and some were nothing more than skeletons wrapped in skin. That wasn’t the worst part though; there was blood everywhere. It was practically seeping out of the rocks in the walls.

As he got to the back of the cave, Rowan’s stomach had enough, he began vomiting up the little bit of food he had in his stomach. In all his years as an alchemist, he had seen many gruesome scenes but this was by far the worst. Even after he was sure his stomach was empty, he continued to retch, but it didn’t last long. The sound of footsteps stalked up behind him, and he quickly hid behind a near by upended table, praying his stomach would be still.

The Wood elf rounded the corner and entered the cavern Rowan was now hiding in. She had what looked like a rabbit in her hand, it appeared to be dead. She didn’t seem to be satisfied with her catch. Knowing he wasn’t very well hidden and that she would surely find him soon, Rowan had to act fast. He checked his pockets and found a partially filled vial that contained a concoction he had been working on while wondering the wilds. He wasn’t quite sure what its effects would be but he had theorized it would be able to knock out a mammoth for a couple hours at least, as it contained Harrada root, an ingredient used in very strong paralysis poisons.

Looking around, he couldn’t find any weapons to use the vial on, so his only option was to get her to voluntarily consume it. He was sure she wouldn’t drink it if he asked her to so he decided the best plan would be to put it in her food. Luckily the elf had left the rabbit on a table across the room, Rowan just had to get to it. There were a couple pebbles on the floor around him, too small to fight with but maybe good enough to cause a distraction. He reached down, grabbed it and threw it toward the entrance to the cave. She didn’t seem to notice as it clunked against the stone floor. Rowan cursed to himself, but tried again. This time throwing with a bit more oomph.

She took notice this time and stalked off toward the sound. Rowan, as silently as a mouse, creeped over to the rabbit and poured the vial down its mouth. As he finished, an obviously annoyed growl came from the entry way. Rowan just barely got back to cover before a supremely angry face came storming toward its meal. It didn’t take long before she thudded to the ground, completely unconscious.

[eonasrose]

How to be my Skyrim characters Part four Sora’nel

Six years after being adopted by Rowan, Sora’nel had become use to her new life and her new home. She had also become quite brash and sarcastic, or as some of the more wealthy residents of Riften would call her; Uncivilized and ill-mannered. Though, who could blame her given where she was living and what she had been through; I for one thought it made her a bit more relatable and, quite frankly, cute.

Just after the start of harvest season, Sora’nel started to feel a bit depressed, as the anniversary of her parents death was nearing and as always, she wished she could see her parents again, if only for a little while. As the day grew nearer her depression grew with exponentially increasing strength. Last year it became so bad, she had snuck into the Ratway - the sewers beneath the streets of Riften - with the plan to beg Arkay, the God of life and death, to let her see them again. When he didn’t respond to her pleas, she decided to take it into her own hands, and stole a dagger Rowan kept in his alchemy shop. It took Rowan all night to stitch up the cuts all over her body and an entire month for them to heal.

This year though she had other plans. On the anniversary, she would ask one of the many bounty hunters that frequently visited the thieves guild, to find out what happened to her mother. She attempted to pick the pocket of a supposed noble from Windhelm and got caught, but thankfully a member of the thieves guild had noticed her and apparently took interest in her abilities. Just as the guards had arrived, the thief - who she would later come to know as Brynjolf - took responsibility for her and was sent to jail for a week; but before they were able to get him in chains, he handed Sora’nel the ruby she had tried to steal. It had been worth more than enough to pay for a bounty hunter services.

A week later, she enacted her plan and snuck out her bedroom window in the middle of the night. She then made her way down to the Ratway, careful to avoid the gaze of anyone that might alert the guards to her presence, and even more carefully made her way past the rough looking thugs that hung out in the winding corridors. As she reached the door, she took a deep breath and prepared herself for the rude comments and even worse stares she would likely get and then walked in.

As she entered the large cistern that the guild resided in, she noted it was a lot more empty than she imagined. Only a lone bartender and a few various shadowy looking figures were visible, but living in Rften had taught her there was always more going on than what her eyes could see. She made her way to the bar, looking as confident and strong as a 9 year old girl can in a room filled with some pretty dangerous people, and sat down.

After a minute or so of some confused looks from the bartender and more than a few of his patrons, she plucked up the courage and asked if anyone was looking for work and if they could help her find someone. With a bit of an annoyed grunt, the bartender pointed to a man sitting at a table behind her. After a pretty uncomfortable walk, she sat down at the mans table, across from him and asked if he was, in fact, looking for work. He laughed and said his work doesn’t come cheap and nodded at her, motioning for her to show what she could offer. Shaking, she reached into her pocket and laid the ruby on the table and asked if he would accept it as payment.

This time the man just glared, obviously annoyed by something. He then stood up, pulled out a dagger from a sheath on his belt and pointed it at her. This time with a very upset tone, he asked what kind of fool she though he was. There was no way a child could get a hold of something so expensive, so it unquestionably, had to be a fake. She insisted that it was real and told him to look at it if he didn’t believe her. Instead of doing as she said, the bounty hunter knocked the table out of the way and quickly knocked Sora’nel to the ground, and held the knife to her throat again asking her what kind of fool she took him for.

In a panic and a shaky voice, she cried that she didn’t think he was a fool and begged him not to hurt her. Now almost yelling, she told him she just wanted to find out what happened to her mother. The man wasn’t listening and began squeezing her neck harder until she started to choke. With tears rolling down her face, she fought desperately against the iron grip on her neck. As she realized she couldn’t escape, she realized she was going to die here and accepted her fate, thinking to herself, she could finally be with her family again.

Though, just as she was about to pass out, the man went flying across the room and skidded to a halt a couple feet away from where she was laying. As she coughed, trying to catch her breath, she looked around to see what had happened. As she looked in the direction of the bounty hunter she saw Brynjolf, kneeling on the mans chest, beating him in the face with his fists. A moment later he stood up, the man who had attacked her now unconscious and bleeding, walked over to Sora’nel and picked her up. He carried her all the way back to her home on the outskirts of the city.

That night Rowan yelled at her until they both broke down crying, apologizing to each other. He also thanked Brynjolf for saving his daughter, (This shocked Sora’nel as she had never heard Rowan call her his daughter before) and offered his services to him when ever he needed it.

The next morning, Sora’nel explained why she was down there in the first place and asked him if he hated her for constantly putting him through this. He assured her he didn’t and when they sat down for breakfast, Sora’nel asked Rowan if he could find out what happened to her mother. Over the next six months, Rowan searched all across Skyrim for any tracer of Neerah while Sora’nel stayed in Riften, waiting for her father to return and learning some new skills that would come in handy in the future.

[eonasrose]

How to be my Skyrim characters Part three Sora’nel

A week after Sora’nel was found by Rowan and taken away from that house of pain, they arrived at the gates of Riften. Having never been farther south than Whiterun, it felt unusually warm to her and all the shady looking people in the city frightened her, but she stayed strong. If her mother and father had been there, they would want her to have courage. Of course having an equally shady looking khajiit escorting her didn’t hurt either.

Over the next two days, Rowan took her to the orphanage in Riften and introduced her to the children and the caretakers residing there. Though the children were kind to her and she liked having someone to play with, she didn’t particularly like the headmistress, Grelod. Her friends at the orphanage said she was evil and would sometimes hurt the other kids just because they annoyed her. Because of this Sora’nel begged Rowan to not leave her there, but Rowan thought she was over-reacting and would insist that this was the best place for her to live.

On her third day in Riften, Sora’nel once again begged Rowan to not take her to the orphanage, knowing today was the last day with him, and once again he insisted she would like her time there and that it was the best option. They then walked to the orphanage, all the while Sora’nel was resisting the best she could, and as they walked in Rowan immediately came to a halt. He then peered around the corner into the living quarters for the children, and what he saw horrified him.

Grelod had a young nord girl by the hair and was whipping her across the back with what looked like a long root of a plant, except this root had thorns. Rowan instantly recognized it as Canis Root, a common ingredient used in paralysis poisons. As Rowan quickly rounded the corner, Grelod, surprised by the unexpected guest, let go of the girl’s hair and let her fall to the floor, unmoving.

In a sudden fit of rage, Rowan ran at the vile woman and knocked her to the floor. He then pressed the root into her hands, causing a yelp of pain to come from the headmistress. She struggled to get out from under him but he just pressed harder and harder until he was sure Grelod wouldn’t be using that hand to hurt a child ever again. As he rose from the woman now laying on the wooden floor, unable to move, he turned to the girl that had been whipped just moments before, picked her up and left with Sora’nel. He then took the girl to his alchemy lab and sent Sora’nel to bed. He worked until dawn, making an antidote to the toxins of the Canis root.

The next day he took the little nord girl, now back to normal and a belly full of food, back to the orphanage and left her in the care of Constance Michel, the new headmistress. As they left, Sora’nel asked if she would have to stay with her as well, and Rowan told her no, that he was going to adopt her and that she would live with him from now on. She then asked what happened to Grelod; Rowan just replied with, “she got what she deserved.” Sora’nel then recalled how easily Rowan had made the stamina potion when she had passed out and wondered why he was up all night making a cure for the girl. She let the thought go and followed Rowan home.

[eonasrose]

How to be my Skyrim characters Part two, Sora’nel

The night after her mother hid her in a trunk in her parents bedroom, Sora’nel crawled out of the room. Her hunger had finally got to her and she had to find something to eat. By now she realized her parents weren’t coming back and her tears had long since dried. She walked to the kitchen and searched through the cupboards for anything she could find. She found some bread and decided she wanted to make a sandwich, so she began walking outside to pick something from their garden.

On her way to the front door she noticed the damage from the fight and the blood left on the floor. It terrified her and as she walked she shook with a force most wouldn’t think possible but none-the-less she kept going. Her hunger the only thing keeping her upright. Though the moment she walked outside and saw her father, still laying on the ground, hand clutching his chest as if he might still pull out the blade lodged in his heart, she collapsed and screamed so loud it spooked all of the animals in the forest around her home.

She began sobbing again, washing away the hunger and the fear. An hour later she got up and walked to her father and kissed him on the cheek, then walked back in the house, leaving the bread on the porch. She crawled onto her parents bed and fell asleep, and dreamt of them, both nightmares and sweet dreams.

She slept like a rock until she awoke to the sound of someone moving through her house. She immediately ran to the trunk at the end of the bed and hid inside, just as her mother had her do. What seemed like an eternity passed by, though it was probably only a few minutes, until the sounds of footsteps were loud enough she was sure the person, or thing, was in the room with her.

Moving as silently as she could, she prepared to jump out and run in case the intruder opened the trunk and found her. While squatting in the trunk, she listened to the intruder rummaging through the closet and drawers in the room, but suddenly the sounds stopped. Sora’nel held her breath, praying they wouldn’t find her.

The footsteps began again, this time getting closer. She heard them fiddle with the latch on the trunk. She shrunk down even more, ready to spring out like a grasshopper.

The trunk lid began opening and for an instant Sora’nel thought she would die but when it opened fully and she saw the tall brown haired khajiit standing before her, those thoughts vanished and she sprung from the trunk like a rabbit and ran as fast and as hard as her three year old legs could carry her. Unfortunately, she wasn't fast enough and the khajiit caught her.

Sora’nel’s father, Sona, had always said khajiit were no good, dirty thieves and that they all deserved to be shut in jail. Her mother however was far more accepting and usually argued that they were just people that deserved to be treated fairly. Her mother would always tell her stories of the khajiit caravan that would occasionally stop at Whiterun, and how they sold such magnificent food and clothes from their homeland in Elswyr. Sora’nel always preferred her mothers opinions of khajiit. She could never understand how someone could think such terrible things like her father did without even meeting one.

However, she did not know or trust this khajiit; so she fought, with all of her might, using her teeth, her fists, anything she could to get out of his grasp but he held firm. Even with cuts on his arms and bites half an inch deep, he wouldn’t let go. He held on until Sora’nel tired out, having not eaten or had anything to drink in two days, she couldn’t keep going.

When she stopped fighting, the khajiit told her his name was Rowan and that he wasn’t going to hurt her, that he was there to help. She then asked him why he was searching through all of her parents stuff. He told her it was to check if anyone was still here. He then set her down after he made her promise she wouldn’t run.

Rowan asked her if anyone else was here and she told him no. After their brief conversation Rowan told her to stay in the room while he went outside to make sure it was safe. As she stood there, waiting for this strange khajiit to come back, the room began to spin and she passed out.

What could have been minutes or even hours passed by before she awoke on a pile of hay in the garden behind their home. Rowan was standing next to a horse pulled wagon, fiddling with something she couldn’t see. Being a curious child, she stood up and walked over to him to see what he was doing. When she reached the wagon, she noticed he was crushing some leaves in a bowl and then mixing them with a green looking liquid.

Rowan turned around and told Sora’nel to drink the strange smelling concoction. For a moment she hesitated, but gave in as her stomach was killing her and her head hurt. She almost vomited after drinking it. Rowan told her it was a stamina potion and that it would help her get her strength back.

She had seen stamina potions in the healers home when her mother took her to Whiterun but she had always been told they were too expensive to buy unless you were really, really sick.

She eventually stopped gagging and asked rowan how he knew how to make one and why it tasted so bad. He told her that he was a healer from a town called Riften and that it tasted so bad because medicine isn’t supposed to taste good. She then giggled and so did he.

After the two of them had something to eat and drink, Rowan asked if Sora’nel would like to come with him to Riften. He explained that there was a bunch of kids living in a big house there and that the adults could take care of her. It took her a moment but she decided that she didn’t want to stay in that house any longer; so Rowan picked her up and put her on the seat in front of the wagon and climbed in beside her.

As the wagon began moving away from the only home Sora’nel had ever known, she turned around to get one last look and saw a mound of dirt laying in her front yard with a piece of rock at the far end and an amulet of Arkay hanging from the side of it.

[eonasrose]

How to be my Skyrim characters Part one, Neerah.

Seventeen years before Alduin’s return, a child named Sora’nel Valenthius, was born to an young couple that resided in the Whiterun hold of Skyrim. Her mother, Neerah Valenthius, was a hunter who was well know for her skill in archery and her musical ability.

On occasion, Neerah would travel to the Whiterun inn to sell her kills and sing with the local bard, to earn some extra gold for her family. Though she always found great enjoyment from sharing her music with the strangers at the inn.

Her father, however, was a well known soldier and legate in the imperial guard, located in solitude; and though over the next couple years, both Sora’nel and Neerah grew quite proud of him, his job tended to bring some unwanted attention.

Three years after Sora’nel’s birth, her father, Sona, and a group of his troops confronted a group of bandits that were taking refuge in a cave near Falkreath, known as Shriekwind Bastion. He and his fellow guards had dealt with bandits many, many times before, so as you might guess, they became very good at it but also overestimated their abilities. So during this specific raid, they thought themselves undefeatable and did not take it as seriously, and as a result only partially accomplished their goal with multiple casualties and injuries.

Walking back to solitude, with a couple bandit prisoners in shackles, following close behind, the beaten and bruised squad of soldiers walked past an abandoned fort. This was no unusual thing to them, as they had traveled up and down the road hundreds of times before, but little did they know the fort had been housing a group of homeless refugees from the recent war with the aldmeri dominion, for months; and during their time hunting down the bandits hideout it had been attacked and all the residents slaughtered.

After Sora’nel’s father returned home everything seemed to be normal but back at Shriekwind Bastion, the few bandits that made it out alive were letting their anger rise and soon set out to find the leader of the squad of soldiers that had ruined their home and killed their fellow bandits. After a couple days of searching and many lives threatened for information, the bandits had found who they were looking for - in a small home in the woods known as Elisdriel.

Once they gained this information they retreated back to their cave and began making a plan to assault the home and repay the legate who had destroyed everything they had. unbeknownst to the bandits though, on their way back home, they were being hunted and a couple days after they arrived, their hunters attacked. It would soon come to light that it was the same group that had slaughtered the refugees days earlier.

A month or so after these events, Sona was on leave from the solitude guard and was spending time at home with his family. On the night of the second Morndas of his vacation, Sona heard a couple loud cracks coming from outside their home and went to see what was going on while Neerah went to Sora’nel’s bed and hid her in a rather large trunk at the foot of their bed then grabbed her hunting bow and followed her mate outside.

As she reached the door, Sona let out a loud yell and a muffled thunk came from outside. As Neerah stepped out the door, her knee’s buckled; Sona was lying on the grass, covered in blood and his sword stuck in his chest. An instant after, she looked up and noticed ten rather sickly looking people standing around his corpse, staring at him with unearthly eyes.

Neerah immediately drew her bow and started firing arrows, aiming for the hearts of each of her mate’s murderers. Though her shots were dead on, it didnt seem to stop them. She retreated into her house and locked the door then ran to the opposite side of the house, away from the room she was laying in just moments before.

Mere instants after, the door to their home shattered and the sickly looking creatures poored in sprinting directly for her. She fired her last remaining arrows in vain. The creatures had reached her before she had even dropped her bow. They began beating her with their fists and feet, and began tearing her clothes and skin to shreds as she sceamed for help. The help never came though and seconds after the assault began she blacked out.

She awoke in a cave, on a stone table, surrounded by cages filled with bones and in agony from her wounds. Unable to move anything more than her head without excruciating pain, she looked around to try and figure out where she was and who brought her here. She soon wished she hadn’t, as she looked around she saw the men and women who had attacked her family, lying dead, faces contorted in silent screams of horror and pain. Standing over the bodies were four creatures she knew were not meant to be in this world.

They jerked around, as if her eyes moving had alerted them and moved with unnatural speed toward her. A split second later they were standing around her and grinned with a thirst so terrifying, she almost passed out again, but the realization of what stood before her had kept her wide awake. They were feral vampires and she knew at that moment she would die a horrifying death.

For weeks the vampires tortured her and did unspeakable things to her. It wasn’t until she literally begged for death that they gave it to her. All four of them had fed on her until she was nothing but a husk. Leaving her body to rot after getting their fill, the vampires slept for two days and nights and on the third day they awoke to the sight of pure vengeance. Neerah wasn’t dead, she was merely turned and with her wounds healed and  the new found strength she now had, she destroyed them. Nothing was left but ash.

During this time though, Neerah was not in control of her actions. It was as if someone had taken control of her body and pushed her conciousness into a cage of her own. She could see everything that would happen over the next few years but would be powerless to stop it.

[eonasrose]

How to be Safe

To most people, choosing a president is merely a choice based on ideas. Do I want someone that thinks this way or that way. For me and many of my friends, the choice between presidential candidates is a choice based on actions. Do I want someone who will make this happen or that happen.

This year it was a choice based on safety, on happiness, on lives.

As I am writing this, a very dangerous action is taking place. The election of Donald Trump. He has been declared the winner of the election and this has me terrified. Terrified of my ability to obtain and maintain a career, to use the restroom I prefer, to make use of public services and purchase necessities. The problem is, those aren’t my greatest fears.

I am most fearful of the the simple thought that my country has just elected a president that has in every possible way, shown he wants to undermine my right to simply be who I am and feel safe while doing so. Donald Trump has proven time and time again that he does not like women, non white people, and all colors of the LGBT community.

He has explicitly stated he wished to undo laws put in place by Barack Obama and the Supreme court that allow me to live comfortably. For example he has stated he wishes to repeal the executive order that requires the federal government and companies that maintain contracts with the federal government to NOT discriminate based on gender identity and sexual orientation.

There is also a court case coming up to the supreme court not too long from now that will determine if trans people can use the restroom of their identified gender. The main reason this has not been seen yet is because one of the supreme court justices passed away and the spot has not been filled. This gives Trump the ability to put in place a judge that fits within his ideals. A judge that will vote against me and many of my friends using the restroom in public places without ridicule and persecution; possibly worse.

I don't tend to use the restroom in public places unless I absolutely have to. I am terrified of the potential dangers such a simple thing can entail, but with the potential for a law to be put in place that completely bars me from safely using the restroom of my identified gender, it will ensure I won’t be using public facilities again, unless the law is changed. It is not worth the risk of harassment, sexual assault or worse when using the men’s restroom when I obviously, am not a man.

Also with the hate that has seemingly surfaced, I am worried about my plan to become a nurse practitioner and open a low income clinic for lgbt people. I don't know if it will even be possible in Trumps version of America, and if it is I don’t know if Ill be able to maintain it myself against veritable tsunami of racism, sexism and plain old bigotry coming my way.

To top of the fears for my own safety and plans, I am worried for my friends and family that may face the same struggles, or struggles of their own. I have many friends who are Latinx (a gender neutral term for those of Latin descent) and face deportation due to Trumps misguided and awful beliefs. Or the people who are now in even greater danger due to a president that endorses hate for anyone who looks like they are from the middle east, Muslim or not

In essence our soon to be president has instilled and encouraged hate for anyone that doesn’t mirror Donald Trump and his beliefs and this has me so incredibly anxious and afraid.

Despite all this I’ll continue to be hopeful that this future I see coming for America doesn’t happen, and if it does Ill continue to keep myself safe as best I can. I hope everyone else can do the same.

[eonasrose]

To be Addicted

I. Am. An. Addict.

I’m addicted to the way it makes me feel. I can’t stop myself when it’s near me. My hands start to tremble, my eyes grow wide and I feel that rush of adrenaline that has grown oh so familiar.

It makes me smile when I feel it and I shot of warmth surges threw my veins. It’s both like a rock and a wave; its always there, yet always changing

How do I brake free? Do I even want to break free? No. I don’t think I do. It keeps me alive. It pushes me to be my best. It both days Ives me insane and keeps me stable.

It is magical and pure. It is love and I am addicted to it.

The way her hand in mine makes me feel, the way she always puts a smile on my face, the way her lips taste and the shine in her eyes when we are together. I’m head over heels addicted to it and I hope it never changes.

I love you, always and forever Ruby.

[eonasrose]

How to be Addicted

I. Am. An. Addict.

I’m addicted to the way it makes me feel. I can’t stop myself when it’s near me. My hands start to tremble, my eyes grow wide and I feel that rush of adrenaline that has grown oh so familiar.

It makes me smile when I feel it and I shot of warmth surges threw my veins. It’s both like a rock and a wave; its always there, yet always changing

How do I brake free? Do I even want to break free? No. I don’t think I do. It keeps me alive. It pushes me to be my best. It both drives me insane and keeps me stable.

It is magical and pure. It is love and I am addicted to it.

The way her hand in mine makes me feel, the way she always puts a smile on my face, the way her lips taste and the shine in her eyes when we are together. I’m head over heels addicted to it and I hope it never changes.

I love you, always and forever Ruby.

[eonasrose]

To Be Parentless

I wish I grew up with a mother that cared enough to fix her life and take care of her kids. A mother that I could go to and hug me while I cried.I wish I grew up with a father I got to see more than once a week. I wish my family wasn't broken up and spread apart. Most of all I wish I had a shoulder to cry on right now.

[eonasrose]

How to Be Hopeful

TW: Sucide . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I lost my step father to suicide, I nearly lost my brother to it twice, I've lost friends, I've even nearly lost my own life to it and tonight...I almost lost my best friend to it.

I've been on both sides of suicide. I know what it's like to feel so much pain, to a point where I thought it would never end, that the only escape was the cold embrace of death, and I know the pain of losing someone to those same feelings.

I also know what it's like to make it past those thoughts, to overcome a weight so heavy, it crushes you until there is nothing left. I know what it's like, and I know it's not worth killing yourself.

No matter how much pain your going through or no matter how hopeless you feel, it will get better. It may seem like there's no hope and no choice left but trust me, there is. As dark as it seems now, it will be 100 times brighter when you make it through.

I've only told this story to a few people...I beg that it shows someone, anyone, that there is still hope.

A while ago a trans friend of mine killed herself. After I learned about it, I was mortified. That day was the first time I cut myself and every day after that, for weeks on end, all I felt was pain and anguish. I just wanted the pain to stop. I would try to cut myself every day with a dull pocket knife to make it stop or at least to distract me. I would go and go and go until I saw blood. One day about a week and a half later, I couldn’t take it anymore. I went to my favorite restaurant and ordered my favorite meal and ate it in my car. It was going to be my last meal.

As I sat there, trying to eat, I was writing a suicide note. I had made up my mind, I was going to kill myself that night. I went to a Walmart store later that day and bought an exacto knife and had planned on cutting my wrists in a bath tub of hot water, after my family went to bed.

As the time grew nearer to my last minute on earth, I decided to send a Facebook message to a friend. I had planned on just telling her I was going to kill myself and that I was glad she was my friend. One of my best friends, but as we talked I realized how much she cared about me and she reminded me how much I cared about the friend I had lost.

All my friend wanted was for people to accept who she was and for the hate and pain in the world to stop. She just wanted her family to accept her and to love her, and for all other Trans people to be as happy as she wished she could be. Once I remembered that, I decided I was going to keep going, and I promised my friend that I wasn’t going to let another person, Trans or not, die to suicide. I would do anything to keep someone else from going through the pain that she had felt and I will do anything to help anyone want to be here, to be happy and enjoy life.

No matter how much pain there is, it's not worth it. You may not believe me but it does get better. I promise.

[eonasrose]

To Be Me

I wanted to write my transition story, so here we go. 

*I may add more to this as time goes on.

From the age of 2 or 3 I knew something wasn’t right. I hadn’t know quite yet exactly what is was but eventually I would learn that I was female but didn’t have the body to match. As I grew older, I started noticing specific thing about how I was raised, (as a boy) that I didn’t like. 

**Will add more when I get home.

[eonasrose]

How to be Me

I wanted to write my transition story, so here we go. 

*I may add more to this as time goes on.

From the age of 2 or 3 I knew something wasn't right. I hadn't know quite yet exactly what is was but eventually I would learn that I was female but didn't have the body to match. As I grew older, I started noticing specific thing about how I was raised, (as a boy) that I didn't like. 

**Will add more when I get home.

[eonasrose]

How to Be Hormonal

Today I did my first self injection of estrogen. It made me feel great and super proud of myself, considering i really really don't like needles. 

I was so nervous going into the clinic despite my medical training in injecting someone and the fact I was already taught by the nurse there, how to inject myself. I was shaking so bad I wasn't sure I would be able to do it, especially since I had to do it on my left side this time and I'm right handed. 

I was really surprised that I didn't feel the needle at all. There wasn't any pain what so ever and the Instant I started pushing the estrogen through the needle I could feel soo, soo much better. It's like a shot of adrenaline. I instantly felt like I had a bunch of energy to do what ever I wanted,