#((but i will allow to speak with him like an experienced parent would when disciplining young child is upset at a distressing thing))

[ask-kimerako-therapycarpool]

Just... just let him be. He's feeling feelings, and they'll pass.

Well, I'm feeling feelings, too!! So I'm talking about them!!

((LONG TEXT/IN-CHARACTER RANT INCOMING))

This... freaking idiot still claims he wanted "help" about this whole void thing! And Shiny didn't make anything better by him -- guess what–? Having the nerve to apologize to Neon for asking Tarot to help save him from the void and pull him out, I... Why the hell is he suddenly sorry?! He was worried sick about him being missing when I heard about what happened when the other mes went to the beach! Neon was trapped in there and he needed to get out, but did he thank Tarot from getting him out of it? For being nice enough to use a spell to get him out safely?? NO!! OF COURSE NOT!! He decided to be a royal jerkass and not appreciate the effort!! He wasn't grateful and– and didn't thank Tarot for it!! He's telling Shiny to, like, "fix it" by getting him a new spell or whatever to send him back!! And if memory serves me right, last time he asked such a thing, he hurt Stars! Really badly!! And Neon is just ridiculous enough to say he wants to live there...! The liar...! That void isn't even made for someone like him!! He wasn't born there!! He's not built to live in an environment like that!! It's a horrible place to make a new home in and he should know that!! And it's all that wicked demon's fault he's so involved with it!!

[theroguefeminist]

So I am one of few people who voted (soft) YTA. Not for barring the kid from your class, but for not actually addressing the behavior directly and being transparent with the student.

I sympathize with you because I am a teacher and have been in this boat before and I get how hard it is. Especially when you are the target of the bigotry (which I have experienced as a trans person). Now, there are some situations where you might genuinely be powerless to do anything, such as if you encounter a random student in the hallway or at an assembly being a shithead and you do not know who they are and your school has no clear policy for what to do (like at my school), or if you work at a deeply conservative school and will get in trouble for disciplining a student in this situation. But aside from that, it is up to us to handle this situation appropriately in our classrooms.

You should not have allowed him to speak this way without addressing it. By not addressing it, you failed two important responsibilities you have as a teacher: 1) educating students when they are being bigoted and 2) creating a safe space for your other students. By saying nothing when he did these things, you are communicating to him and other students that this sort of behavior will fly in your classroom and at your school. By saying nothing, it creates a hostile environment. And by not speaking to this kid, or his parents or your administration directly, you are allowing this behavior to continue and not educating this 14 year old who is impressionable and should learn while he is young that this is wrong. All you did was make his behavior another teacher's problem. And other teachers might have said nothing too, continuing the cycle

Again, I sympathize. I've been there. But you are the adult in the room. It's important to set boundaries and communicate with students clearly. If you didn't feel comfortable having a power struggle or argument with this student in front of the others you could have simply said, "that sort of behavior is not acceptable in my classroom. We will talk one-on-one later." And repeated that until the kid shut up (or removed them if necessary), then spoken to them one-on-one either during or after the test. Even if you froze up and regretted not addressing it earlier, you could have later written them a referral or even barred them from the class for their behavior and explained why. But you should not be secretly dolling out passive aggressive punishments to students. You should be transparent about the consequences and why you are giving them out. Again, with the exception of your school being a shitty place that would not have your back if this kid or his parents complained. That situation aside, this was not the right way to handle the situation as an adult dealing with a teenager who very well may outgrow this one day with the proper guidance.

This aside, I've actually had otherwise decent students be fans of Andrew Tate; for example, a female Muslim student of mine who was a bright, sweet student who was misinformed. Teens don't have the worldly understanding of adults. Obviously this kid was also sexist and racist, which is no surprise, but he was also 14 and he needed to be taught better

AITA for denying a student's entry into my class?

this story is a few years old, but I've been wondering about it for a while, so here's my submission. I (30M at the time) am a high school teacher. My school has an extension class that, when students first enter the school, have the chance to apply to. To get in, one has to pass a test. There are 2 parts, a math and an English, both of which I and 3 other teachers judge. If they pads the test, I am their math teacher.

When I was welcoming the test-takers in, I overheard 2 boys (about 14 years old) talking. One of them was talking to the other, who looked uncomfortable. I don't remember exactly what he was saying, but it was something very misogynistic and racist. This struck me off guard, as almost all the students in the school are very kind and accepting, so it's been a while since I'd heard something like that from a child's mouth. I didn't say anything about it, I don't remember why. When everyone was seated, I stood in front of them all and greeted them. This child, who was in the back row, stage whispered to his friend "Ew, an Asian!". A few people laughed uncomfortably and the boy grinned cockily. I didn't know what to say to that, so I just explained the test and left the room.

After, when I was looking over the tests, I stopped on the boy's English test. The prompt was to wrote about someone who inspires you. This boy had written 3 full pages about Andrew Tate and how he was inspiring because he could 'pull 9 girls at once' and was filthy rich. My most distinct memory of his essay was the text at the bottom of his plan for the essay, which read 'talk about how he knows women are inferior'.

I know I am meant to mark objectively, but at that moment I saw red and gave him a very low mark on the essay. Arguably his writing skills were average, and his math was very good, which would have been enough to get him into the class. Except, the other teachers grading him seemed to have the same ideas as me, and graded him low to average on his essay. His total score was not enough to grant him entry to the class.

I told my partner at the time this story while I was drunk a few weeks later, and she said I was wrong to have graded him so low and that I may have ruined his life. I don't regret what I did, but I just objectively want to know: AITA?

TLDR: I graded a boy low on a test so he couldn't get into the extension class because he was extremely misogynistic and unaccepting.

What are these acronyms?

[miracleboiz]

Making a Home Ch. 20

Kita Shinsuke had experienced a lot in life. He had been raised with his grandmother, a loving foster parent and for some time he followed in her foot steps before finding his own path. He thought his foster care license had expired before getting a call at three am with two small boys thrust into his arms. Miya Osamu and Atsumu, from broken homes but still fighting. Thirty days before his license expires. Thirty days to make a choice, keep the boys or let them be separated into different homes. Thirty days to fall in love with them.

Words: 4k

Relationships: Ojiro Aran/Kita Shinsuke, Gen

Warnings: Mention of past child abuse, non-graphic abuse

Not from Kita, but it is mentioned. I will post any warnings before any panic attacks or vague descriptions of abuse.

Read below or on AO3

The press of a wet nose wasn’t a particularly new thing to Aran. Lady had been shoving her nose into his neck since the first day they met and he fully expected that to continue well into her old age. He still wasn't expecting it after the poodle had curled up over Shinsuke’s legs and refused to move for either of them.

“D’ya really have to pee? Now of all times?” Aran groaned into the pillow, the soft tickle of hair under his chin before he felt Lady shift. She pulled back. Then her paw pressed between himself and the warm body of Shinsuke against his chest.

The quietest whine broke from her as the paw scrambled to pet at his side to not wake Shinsuke. She finally found a grip and leaned over, snuffling at his face again.

“Okay, okay yes, I’m up… I’ll take you to the bathroom… get off of Shinsuke, okay? Off.” He ordered, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. Shinsuke mumbled something in his sleep, wiggling slightly at the lack of warmth on his back before he wrapped his arms tighter around the pillow in his arms.

Aran’s heart warmed, softening as he watched his best friend so at peace after the exhausting night. He brushed his hair back into place, taking a moment to wonder at how soft it was. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss against his temple.

“I’ll bring Lady back in, in a moment, don’t start getting grumpy and wake up because she’s not snuggling you.” Aran murmured, teasing. Shinsuke reacted to his voice, the quietest mumble of his name on Shinsuke’s lips and Aran’s chest tightened.

The memories of the night before were bittersweet. Tinged with pain and hope and far too much heartbreak for Aran to say he was happy. He’d made far too many promises and far too few. Still, no regrets lingered. Not for Shinsuke, not for himself. His best friend was inches from him, safe and sound and no regret could ever stain that.

He pulled away, carefully extracting himself from the blankets. Lady leaped, barely managing to not fall off before jumping down the floor. She pressed her shoulder against his leg, trying to herd him forward.

“Yes, yes I am aware you need to use the bathroom. This is the first time in years you’ve done this at night. Are you okay?” Aran asked, looking down at her but she just stared resolutely forward. He sighed and stepped out, making room for her to squeeze passed.

Instead of heading to the backdoor, she turned down the hall. Aran shrugged, wondering if she just forgot that he showed her the backyard. Then she turned into the bathroom.

“Wha- No you can’t drink out of the tub, you’re a weird dog…” Aran blinked in surprise at the two boys staring at him from the bathroom. Lady was already sniffing at them, trying to lick every inch of skin she could find. They, on the other hand, looked quite terrified.

“Hey you.. You two okay?” Aran asked slowly but still Atsumu flinched, mouth moving but no sound escaping as he shook. His hand reached out to fist in Osamu’s shirt, for once unable to be the protector.

“Wh-what are you d-doing here Aran-san?” Osamu asked, voice a tired croak as he looked up at him.

“Uh, Shinsuke asked me to come over… He missed Lady.” Aran said carefully, flicking his eyes behind them. The washing machine was half stuffed with bedding and Atsumu was still trying to hide from Aran’s gaze. 

Ah.

Aran carefully stepped into the bathroom.

“Why don’t we get this taken care of? So you don’t have to climb on it to be able to hit the buttons and get the washing powder?” He kept his gaze on the machine, trying to pretend he didn’t see the way the boys flinched away from him.

It wasn’t their fault they were scared, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to watch them shrink away from him. They looked absolutely terrified, and Aran had no idea how to comfort them. Just like the night before he was at a loss and all he could do was let them lead him.

“There we go,” Aran gently gathered up the comforter and sheet and pushed it in further, “It’s alright boys it happens.”

The barest hint of urine hit his nose, confirming what he assumed happened. It wasn’t unusual for abused kids, either being too scared or too apathetic after an emotional day to leave their bed. Sometimes it even happened in their sleep, leaving them frightened and surprised the next day.

Aran tossed in a few packets of the soap Shinsuke had and moved to start the machine. Then he glanced at the boys as it rumbled to life.

“Are those clean pajamas?” Aran asked, looking at Osamu so Atsumu didn’t feel the need to hide any deeper in Lady’s fur.

Osamu swallowed thickly, trying to brace his shoulders like he was going to take any hit that came for him and his brother.

“No… I… I had an accident.” Osamu said, lip trembling. “I’m… I’m s-s-sorry.”

“It’s quite alright… You guys didn’t take a shower last night right?” He waited until they shook their heads. “I know it’s a little early, but why don’t you go take a shower now? I’ll throw your clothes in the wash and get you some fresh pajamas.”

They looked like they were going to say no before Atsumu reached for his shirt and started to haltingly tug it off. Osamu copied his brother and Aran quickly tossed the clothes on top of the washer.

“I’ll throw those in next, you can’t wash them together.” Aran informed them when Osamu started to look more than a little confused. “Okay, let’s get in the shower, get you all clean and you guys can sleep again.”

Aran led them over to the shower head, pulling the body wash down and two wash cloths from the caddy. He flipped on the warm water, checking the temperature before stepping away again.

“No baths, just a shower and make sure you get real clean okay?” These weren’t his kids, he couldn’t stay and watch them to make sure they did it properly. Besides, they already looked so jumpy just knowing he was in the house he didn’t want to push it when they had to turn their backs to him in order to get clean.

The boys nodded and stared at him until he stepped out and slipped out of the bathroom.

He quickly dug through their dresser to pull out warm pajamas, trying to remember where Shinsuke kept the bedding. It was either in the hall closet or in the second office and Aran wasn’t sure he trusted Akagi’s ‘office’ that he used when he visited. He’d heard too many stories of Akagi just crashing there after too much alcohol and Aran was far too tired for that. Already the bed was calling him back but he had a job to do.

When he returned to the bathroom after grabbing towels, there was no laughter. Not like when Shinsuke had bathed them the first night, when their sounds of happiness echoed through the house. It was almost deathly quiet but a quick glance proved both of them were very much alive and reaching up to turn off the water.

“I’ve got towels.” Aran called, aware there wasn’t anything he could do to not startle them. Lady stood up from next to the toilet immediately, moving to lick at their hands and trying to slip into the wet room.

“Lady, no. No water, you can go swimming later.” Aran said, side eyeing her as she tossed her head haughtily but stepped back out. “Yes, yes, you’re very pretty. Why don’t you go back to bed?”

She huffed and sat, staring him down as if to say ‘I’m working right now and you can’t tell me what to do.’

Aran was tempted to remind her that that was literally his job, to tell her what to do. Because she was a dog. He didn’t though, and definitely not because she was more stubborn than he was at two in the morning.

“Let’s dry you two off.” Aran hummed, passing over two towels. The boys didn’t speak, barely even glancing at him or each other as they scrubbed at their skin. They paused, a tired glance between them before they looked away again and scrubbed at their own hair.

Aran passed over the clothes as they finished, making sure they were dressed properly as they tried to quiet a few yawns. He moved to carefully herd them to their room but Lady intervened instead.

Carefully she pressed between them, turning to nudge their hands into her fur. They looked at Aran in confusion but when he nodded they obediently gripped her fur. She stepped forward, barely waiting for them to catch up as she made her way to their bedroom. She stopped in front of their bed, quickly jumping up and moving to press against the wall before laying down.

Atsumu’s eyes quickly flashed to Aran, fear of punishment clear despite having no control over Lady.

“It’s alright, Shinsuke said she’s allowed on the beds.” Well, technically Shinsuke had said Lady was allowed on his bed, but Aran would take any admonishment for it. It wasn’t like Shinsuke would be able to bring himself to discipline the boys right now anyways.

“She’ll stay with you, okay? Keep ya safe.” Aran said softly and Atsumu’s shoulders seemed to relax just a touch before he was crawling into the bed and tucking himself into her side. She kept her head up, watching Osamu until he crawled into the bed too, latching onto his brother.

“Can.. Can you get k… Ki-chan?” Osamu whispered, like he was trying to trust Aran but was completely terrified of being wrong. Aran gave him the gentlest smile he could.

“Yeah of course.” He moved over to the other bed, in the top corner two foxes were next to each other and Aran grabbed both. He moved to pass the Ruppell’s fox to Osamu, then laid the other above Atsumu’s head so he could grab it if he wanted it.

“Get some sleep you two, you’ve had a stressful day.” Aran murmured, moving almost on instinct to brush Osamu’s slightly damp hair down. Thankfully he didn’t flinch, just sighed and snuggled into the thick comforter.

Aran turned back to the bed, moving to remove the plastic cover Shinsuke had in place specifically for this.

“What’re you doin’?” Atsumu’s voice piped up, a glitter of eyes just barely visible over his brother’s black hair.

“Takin’ this off. It’s what keeps your bed from getting wet if you have an accident. Don’t worry, I’ll clean it off and make the bed again. Get some sleep, Atsumu, Osamu.” Aran said, watching Lady lay her head down over Atsumu’s hair, almost reaching Osamu.

After a moment, the glint of eyes disappeared and left Aran to take care of the other bed. He traded in the clothes for the comforter and hung it up to dry before he finally made his way back to Shinsuke’s bed again.

He didn’t bother to even entertain the idea of moving to the couch, the bed was warm and comfortable. Shinsuke already let him in once, it would be fine for the remaining three hours of the night.

“You stole my dog, you promised you wouldn’t.” The sleepy voice reached him as he pulled the blanket up to his cheek again. Aran laughed softly, getting comfortable and ignoring the whininess in Shinsuke’s voice.

“She’s my dog.” Aran reminded him, rolling his eyes at Shinsuke’s mumbled insistence that it was a lie. “And she’s with the boys, that’s not my fault.”

Shinsuke rolled over in  the bed, eyes half open with worry.

“The boys- Are they okay?”

“Hey now, they’re just fine.” Aran reached out to lay a firm hand on Shinsuke’s shoulder as he started to rise. “They wet the bed, I already cleaned the bed and had them change and shower and the clothes are washing right now. I took care of everything.”

“You… didn’t promise that.” Shinsuke murmured sleepily, starting to drift off again and moving a little closer. Aran shook his head fondly, sliding the hand down his shoulder to his back, guiding him closer.

“Not everything needs a promise, Shin. Sometimes it’s just enough to have faith.” Aran whispered against his hair.

“Aran…” Shinsuke started, trailing off and Aran hummed in response as sleep tugged at his eyes.

“Let yourself relax Shinsuke… It’s still tonight.” Aran murmured against the feather soft hair. Shinsuke seemed to go completely boneless in his arms. Shinsuke scooted closer, until he could wrap an arm around Aran’s chest and close his eyes completely.

“I suppose it is… I’ll see you in the morning Aran.”

Aran didn’t bother responding. Shinsuke was already asleep, lips curved in a small smile and breath hot on Aran’s chest. A comforting warmth against the worry in Aran’s stomach.

Aran woke up alone.

He wasn’t overly surprised, they had agreed that yesterday wasn’t going to be continued any further after the night ended. He had been hoping he’d atleast get his dog back, but Aran was preparing to just move in because he didn’t think Lady would willingly leave if she stayed any longer.

He pulled himself out of bed, not bothering to pull on a shirt in the warm house.

“W… Where’s Aran-san?” Osamu’s voice came from around the corner as Aran made his way to the end of the hall.

“He’s uh.. He’s still asleep.” Shinsuke’s voice sounded tired, almost imperceptible but Aran knew something had happened. It wasn’t major, but even small things could feel like a lot after the night before.

“I just got up.” Aran said as he came around the corner, smiling softly at the two boys standing just outside the kitchen. Shinsuke was flipping something on the stove, with Lady comfortably spread out between them.

“I’m so glad that I have a loyal dog, who would never betray me and will always love me.” Aran said sarcastically, watching Lady’s tail thump before she returned to staring at Shinsuke’s leg. “Hey you two, sleep okay?”

Atsumu flinched but nodded his head after a second, looking only slightly more relaxed than the night before. Osamu managed a full smile, small though it was.

“Yes sir… Lady makes a good pillow.” He said, hesitantly but Aran was just grateful Osamu was still trying to communicate.

He supposed that made sense. Though Osamu had been the quieter one at first, he’d also been the first one to branch out and adapt. He was still hoping for a better future.

Atsumu had given up on being anything but abandoned and abused. Aran didn’t know how to help but to keep trying and letting Atsumu know he was safe. They only had two weeks left, however, and Aran wasn’t sure that was enough time at all. Atsumu might never trust again.

Whatever happened, Aran knew the boys didn’t need anymore appointments with potential adoptees. Not now, between trying to get them to want to stay and the disastrous attempt the night before. Whatever happened at the next home was out of Aran’s control, but for now he could try and keep the possibility of a ‘next house’ from becoming a reality.

“She does, she makes the best pillow, when she’s not abandoning you.” Aran said, moving over to crouch next to her and aggressively rub her belly. She wiggled, a single bark escaping as she tried to lick at his face with excitement.

“Oh? Oh now you love me huh? What about last night? You abandoned me twice, you didn’t even tell me goodnight, you just left me. I was lonely.” Aran insisted but she just wiggled without a trace of sympathy or apology.

“Stop bullying my dog.” Shinsuke said from the stove and Aran’s jaw dropped. Behind him, he could hear the soft hushed giggles of one of the boys.

“She’s… She’s not even your dog! She’s mine!” Aran insisted, massaging her ears.

“Oh? C’mere girl.” Shinsuke said, not even looking over. Instantly Lady was on her feet and moving over to him, sitting obediently at his feet and looking up at him for his next order.

“I’m going back to France.” Aran grumbled, moving to stand as Shinsuke finally turned. Aran watched Shinsuke move to hand Lady a small pinch of white rice and stared at him.

“You’re cheating.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Shinsuke insisted, though Aran watched his eyes drop down. They slid over Aran’s form with only the barest hint of pink on his ears and the slightest curve of a smirk on his lips.

Aran almost covered his chest, and had they been alone this would have been the best way to get revenge for stealing for his dog. He’d have to just get back at him later, maybe by eating all of his tofu burgers he loved.

“That’s it, I’m taking the boys and we’re going to France. Whadd’ya think boys?” Aran glanced back at them, all the teasing was worth it to see Atsumu’s lips twitching up. Osamu was giggling behind a hand before shaking his head.

“We wanna stay with Lady.” Osamu said, blinking up at Aran with hopeful eyes.

“Oh I understand… So we’re going to France with Lady.” Aran asked and Osamu burst into giggles again and nodded rapidly, only slightly tugging on Atsumu’s shirt to try and get him to laugh too.

“Try again, I’m Lady’s favorite.” Shinsuke said, and Aran looked back at him holding two plates up. “Breakfast time for everyone but the dog thief.”

“Oh you’re not eating? That’s too bad, after all that work you just did.” Aran shot back, laughing as Shinsuke looked away to pretend he didn’t hear anything. “C’mon boys, let’s go eat okay?”

Aran helped herd the boys over, sighing when Lady plopped herself down and then crawled under the table to occasionally lick at the boys’ feet. Each time she found one, the boys wiggled trying to muffle laughter.

Even Atsumu couldn’t help but smile a little, legs writhing trying to find a safe place to stay. As soon as Shinsuke moved to the table, though, he seemed to deflate again, looking pointedly down at the table.

Osamu wasn't pulling his eyes from his brother but Aran could see the pain clearly on Shinsuke’s face. The half-built up panic at the idea that the children he had come to love as his own so quickly, hated and feared him. 

Aran stepped up beside him, taking a plate in one hand and gently pressing his fingertips against Shinsuke’s lower back to ground him.

“Give them time. They love you.” Aran murmured in his ear, trying to hold himself back from pressing a kiss there. Perhaps the night before had been a mistake, feelings hidden away for too long given moments of light and hope and now craved more and more.

“So you keep saying.” Shinsuke breathed back, only the slightest flash of his normal neutral expression of displeasure.

“When have I ever lied to you?” Aran said as he pulled away, laying the plate in front of Atsumu and holding his hand out to Shinsuke.

“... First year of High School, you told me you were five foot nine, and you were actually five foot eleven.”

“Okay, I’m bad at listening to the doctor, when did I ever lie intentionally?”

Shinsuke didn’t have an answer to that one and quickly handed over Osamu’s plate instead.

Breakfast was quiet, even after the initial teasing neither Shinsuke nor Aran could bring themselves to laugh and joke looking at the twins. Osamu managed a smile here or there, but Atsumu didn’t seem quite able to bring himself to look up from his plate.

He’d shrunk away when Shinsuke reached for his cup to refill it, and flinched when Aran dropped a chopstick. Even after relaxing in the kitchen, he was on edge all over again when he was easily able to become the focus of attention. Lady tried her best, but Atsumu only managed a few pets before he ignored her and Osamu took over helping the attention hog get extra love.

“Before we finished breakfast,” Shinsuke said slowly, glancing at both of the boys as they froze. “I wanted to ask about something. You went through a lot yesterday and I know you probably don’t want to go to school… If you want to stay home that’s okay with me.”

Osamu perked up, before he deflated again. His mouth worked but nothing came out, silver eyes darting back and forth between Atsumu and Shinsuke. His fingers tightened around his chopsticks and Aran was worried he was going to start crying from the tension and emotional weight he was under. Instead, Lady popped out from under the table.

She nudged his cheek twice until he was blinking at her and then laid over his lap. She wrapped her teeth around his hand and dragged it to her back, tugging gently until he started to pet her slowly. Aran couldn’t help but think how lucky he was to have her.

“School’s important.” Atsumu finally spoke, still staring down at his plate. The words were monotone, like he was just repeating something he’d been told so many times.

“So is your mental health, Atsumu. You’re under a lot of stress right now… It’s your decision but I want you to know the options. You can go with me to the shop and hang out with Asahi or Keiji, you can stay here and play games… What would you like to do?” Shinsuke tried, the barest hint of desperation slipping into his voice. He wanted, needed, Atsumu to be okay. He needed to know he didn’t break Atsumu further and even as patient as Shinsuke was he was human. Impatience was normal.

Shinsuke wanted Atsumu to be happy, and needed to know how to do that. He’d give Atsumu the world if he asked but Atsumu would never ask and that was the problem. He’d never ask for anything even as he wasted away. The only thing he’d ever want, was Osamu to be happy.

Atsumu opened his mouth to repeat himself when Aran spoke up.

“You can come with me?” He offered, giving a light smile when the twins both looked up at him with surprise. “I’m sure we can do something fun and if we can’t then we can atleast play with Lady… Maybe go ice skating or to an arcade?”

Their eyes lit up but Osamu was the one who spoke.

“We’ve never been Ice Skating before! Right ‘Tsumu?” He chirped, fingers still deep in Lady’s fur as he turned to his brother. Atsumu glanced at him before slowly shaking his head.

“No we haven’t… I… Are you sure? The principal was really upset yesterday, he’ll be even angrier for skipping…”

“Atsumu, you need a day off after yesterday. I’ll speak with the principal, just like yesterday, you won’t get in trouble for anything.” Shinsuke said firmly, watching the two finish off their plates.

“So you’ll be giving us away like yesterday too?” Atsumu muttered it under his breath and he seemed just as stricken as Shinsuke at the words that came out of his mouth.

Shinsuke had frozen beside Aran and he could see his fingers shaking, his mouth just barely pulling in air. Atsumu’s name came out like a whisper but still the child flinched, jumping when Osamu’s hand clamped onto his arm.

“Okay, c’mon boys. You’ll spend the day with me, dishes go in the sink. Let’s get dressed.” Aran cut in, standing up. “C’mon, there we go. Go get dressed.”

He waited for them to move, hesitant steps leading them to the kitchen, before he gently laid a hand on Shinsuke’s shoulder. Shinsuke jumped but leaned into it a second later, looking miserable. He tilted his head up, letting it rest on Aran’s leg as he blinked wide silver eyes at him.

“I…” Shinsuke started before shaking his head and moving to stand up.

“Shinsuke. No one ever said adoption was easy. Parent’s make mistakes, even with the best intentions. You did what you thought was right, it backfired. Atsumu’s just trying to show his pain and he doesn’t understand how to do it quite yet. You’re trying, you’re just fine.” Aran squeezed his shoulder, watching Shinsuke move like he was going in for a hug only to stop.

“Thank you, Aran… You should go get dressed. It’s a little too cold to go outside shirtless.” Shinsuke gave him half a smile before he was grabbing both of their plates and moving into the kitchen. Aran watched him for a moment, debating on trying to get him to talk more but the time for that had passed. He needed to focus on the boys now.

“C’mon Lady,” Aran called, “let’s go check on the boys.”

“Ooh, I haven’t seen those shoulders in ages.” Tooru’s voice made Shinsuke jump and he frowned over at the entrance to his shop. Tooru was peeking out, glancing at the two kids with Aran getting bundled up to go outside.

“I did try and knock and text you and it didn’t work so…” Tooru said, waiting until the boys had left before stepping fully inside the house. “Shigeru and Shinji were worried when the twin’s didn’t come out to walk to school but I see they’ve gone out with the other dad. Understandable.”

“Tooru.” Shinsuke said softly, feeling concerned eyes on him in seconds. What was it Aran had told him last night? 

‘You forget you need coping mechanisms too… Try talking with someone if one of us isn’t available. You have a lot of friends who would do anything for you.’

“Can… Can we talk?”

[alignedjourney]

Avoidance of Boundaries

Many of us can relate to growing up in households that did not have great boundaries. In my specific home, there were no bed times, poorly communicated limits, physical discipline that crossed lines, and often times scenarios where taking on someone else’s feelings or making oneself responsible for another’s feelings were the norm. Oh! And to all my other Latino friends out there, you may know this, but the word “boundaries”, in this context, does not have a translation in Spanish. It is no wonder that our culture is more familiar with the word “limits”. Keep in mind that you have already crossed boundaries once you get to limits. (Please know that I do not have judgement or resentment towards my parents as they were doing the best they could, and they were a much improved version of what they grew up with. I love them so much!).

Friends of Earth, I have a new awareness today that I did not have two days ago! I have spent most of my life Avoiding the need to  set up healthy boundaries like a beast! If you remember, this path is about making new decisions, choosing to step into engagement, and using all experiences as learning opportunities to catapult growth. So, I changed my mind and plan to be the Queen of Boundaries, or at least a Dutchess or something until I get the hang of things.

Yesterday, my boyfriend made a joke that rubbed me slightly the wrong way. In my old life, I would have chosen to get mad/sad, give my power away, let the emotion burn deep inside, allowed my mind to spiral and create scenarios, lingered in the state of “why did this happen and why did he say that to me... doesn’t he know better! I’m a good person, I don’t have to put up with this! I don’t even know how to bring this up to him. What value does my word or opinion really have anyway?”, only to bury it, and then settle to be a victim... of a casual joke that had no ill intention. Gosh! That was exhausting!

Today, I have so much more perspective. My mentor (Tammy De Mirza) has brought to my attention that I do not/did not have any boundaries. Through her guidance, I now have awareness that growing up with unhealthy and minimal boundaries as a child lead to me become a slightly taller version of that child and a disempowered adult.

Frequently finding myself suppressing opinions, not having a clear sense of my own identity, and not feeling empowered enough to make decisions, became the unconscious norm and status quo of my life.

When I was married, I found myself relying on my partner for happiness, depending on him to make big decisions, allowing him to manage a significant portion of our responsibilities, and eventually I found myself fearing a life without him. Self battery talk looks like this: “What would being without him look like? What is my value if I’m not in this relationship? Well, this partner is much better than several partners before him and he takes care of me, so I will walk on eggshells to keep the peace and I will be accommodating in order to be the perfect wife and mother so I do not loose this portion of my identity. I don’t really need to share my opinion with him because he won’t really get me and that could put me at risk of not being valued”. (What the actual ***k! Yes, the real life Janet has a really trashy mouth with a loving disposition. Namaste y’all!).

Fast forward to today, and I don’t even know who that person is anymore, but I do remember her. Today, I CHOOSE a commitment to myself to prioritize my opinions, goals, needs and values on a totally different level going forward while keeping in mind that the growth process takes practice and actual execution!

So, how did I address the sweet, goofy boyfriend who made a joke that I could discern as being outside of my comfort zone? I honored my feeling. I did not like his joke and told him that I did not find it funny. I also explicitly stated, “I am drawing a hard boundary” on this joke and these are other parameters that fall under this same guideline. His response: “Fair enough and understood as well as respected”. He also knows that I value change in behavior in addition to the apology. The true apology is the change of behavior.

Now, how does avoidance play into the disliked joke? In the past, old Janet (the one that existed Before Tammy... we’ll discuss my life BT and AT in another post) would not have said anything at all, and buried this emotion because it did not necessarily have value or a right to be expressed. This would have been me simply repeating patterns of the childhood and not honoring myself. This type of action frequently resulted in me carrying emotional weight and even illness.

I am still learning how to walk in my truth and speak it, so I am thankful for a mentor that helps me with these realizations and a boyfriend who has a high emotional intellect and is compassionate. These two offer a safe space and make it easy for me to want to come out of the protective shell I have worn most of my life. It is freeing!

Waking up to the fact that avoidance has been a huge result of an emotional crippling I experienced growing up is so refreshing. It makes it easier to simply observe the avoidance and lack of boundaries as a predicament and a choice. So, today and going forward, I choose to overcome my predicament.

Though it may look small, this exchange of words with my boyfriend has been such a great act of self-love. I now understand why showing another person boundaries is love, for both the other person and self.

Love you guys!

Janet

P.S. Belief Systems = BS. Now sit with that for just one moment.

A significant portion of my insight came from Tammy’s Power to Choose Program™️ where she really has you observe your life as a reality that you are creating. I highly recommend it if you are ready to make true changes in your life. ❤️ 🙏

[dialux]

oh, how far you are from home

You know that I’ve got some nice inspiration for this, lmaoooo. Quick updates ftw!

Chapter 2: In which they reach Rivendell (as in canon), Boromir is irritating (as in canon), the Council convenes (as in canon), and Sansa finally has a breakdown (as not in canon)!

...

Uninteresting is definitely not what he’d call it. 

A sole man traveling the land is given little notice and a wide berth; a man traveling with his daughter- even if she’s young enough to have the coltish awkwardness of youth, Eru above- seems to draw more attention than Boromir’s entirely comfortable with.

Especially when he doesn’t have a horse, and cannot ride away quickly enough from them.

They stop at a few inns- more for Sansa’s comfort than his own- until she asks him if there’s no quicker path to Rivendell. 

“It cuts through the forest,” Boromir tells her. 

She fingers a strand of hair and lifts her chin to meet his gaze. “I’d rather return home,” says Sansa. “A few weeks in the forest would be worth it to go home quicker.”

“A forest is not anywhere near so comfortable as an inn,” Boromir says.

“No,” says Sansa. “But if lacking for that comfort is the price to be paid, I’ll pay it, my lord. I promise you’ll hear no complaints from my mouth.”

The next day, they cut into the forest instead of staying on the beaten path.

Only later does Boromir suspect that she’s seen his discomfort in the inns and taken steps to alleviate it. But then, they’d spent the time in towns telling everyone to call her his daughter, and that had been another measure of salt on her still-raw wound.

Boromir hears enough to know her reluctance well; they sleep in the same room, and though Sansa is perfectly courteous and calm enough during the day, she spends her nights sobbing and twisting in her dreams, making tiny sounds in the base of her throat that tear at Boromir and leave him sleepless on the cold ground.

No child should know that kind of pain.

She’s told him a little more of where she comes, and he’s stymied by it all. A kingdom as large as she speaks of should definitely be one he knows, but he’s never even heard whispers of it. Sansa doesn’t look addled, but she’s just lost her father; perhaps the grief has knocked something loose in her. Whatever it is, hopefully the elves will have a cure. 

Even if they don’t, she will be safe there. No king as evil as this Joffrey would be allowed within Elrond’s domain. 

If ever he has the chance to meet him... 

Well. 

Boromir is not a truly violent man. He wields his sword well- nay, better than well- but his captains and officers have never had to discipline him about overmuch enthusiasm in his actions either, as certain others have required. 

And yet, if Boromir meets Joffrey, he will not hesitate to strangle the king until his face turns blue. 

For all that she’s suffered, Sansa has remained a kind girl; unfailing in her kindnesses, and no matter how hard he pushes to reach Rivendell, she continues without protest. It must be difficult for her, for Boromir himself is exhausted by the time they rest- but she only retreats into herself and keeps walking.

A few days in, he hears her saying- chanting- something under her breath. It takes all his concentration to catch it, and when he does, something like shame rattles him: Sansa keeps whispering the names to her family, holding them close, like Boromir can remember he had done on his first campaign away from Minas Tirith.

“Tell me about them,” says Boromir finally, unable to take the silence between them. Sansa jerks, turning to look at him, and Boromir smiles a little, unbidden, at her astonishment. “You say I look like your- father. But you look nothing like me.”

“I take after my mother,” says Sansa slowly, jaw flexing as if disused. 

But she continues, and soon the words are coming easily, and she looks far more cheerful than she’d been just a few hours earlier. 

She’s a truly lovely girl in that sense- easy to get along with, intelligent, and funny when prodded at. Boromir laughs aloud for the first time since his dream of Isildur’s bane when she tells him about her brothers’ prank in their family’s crypts. Sansa’s eyes sparkle at that, and she keeps him supplied with such tales for long enough that Boromir calls for an early halt and collapses, sides aching with laughter.

“I’d like to meet them, I think,” he says, watching her duck her head, pleased. “All your brothers- and your sister- ah! Such rascals. Your parents must have been glad for you. A little peace in their lives.”

“What of you, Lord Boromir?” asks Sansa, gnawing on her lip. “Were your parents- did you make them worry?”

“I’ve only a brother,” says Boromir. He waves a hand. “He’s far the better child than I, though my father’s always found steel a better pursuit for his sons than books. My mother passed when Faramir was very young; if she’d lived, she might have allowed him to become a scholar. And worried more about me, of course.”

Sansa smiles, but it’s pale and shadowed. “I didn’t know your mother had-” she shakes her head. “My apologies, I-”

“It was a long time ago,” says Boromir firmly, and she falls silent, watching him with those blue eyes. They see everything, which Boromir hadn’t entirely expected from a girl of her age. But then again, few enough girls would have experienced as much as Sansa has. He finds his mouth opening, explaining things he has never wished to explain before. “The pain never leaves you, but it lessens. Like any wound: it will ache on rainy nights, or when you wish them most beside you. But there is a life beyond death, Lady Sansa.”

Her chin wobbles. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“You are young. I was younger then than you are now- but old enough to know that my Ama would never return, and of an age to miss her terribly.” He clasps her shoulder and draws her into a loose embrace, because she looks miserable enough to warrant it, and promises, quietly, fiercely: “It will get better.”

...

They reach Rivendell soon enough- or at least Boromir doesn’t look irritated at any delays- and Sansa feels the difference when they enter the land.

“Yes,” says Boromir grimly, when he sees her eyes widen. “Elven magic. Be wary of them, Lady Sansa; they are not all as they appear, and can use words as prettily as any courtier.”

“What are elves?”

“Elves,” says Boromir, flat as unleavened bread. “The- the Immortal Ones. The first children of Eru.” Sansa shakes her head, still uncomprehending, and Boromir shakes his in response, as if in disbelief. “Your parents have kept you protected over-well.”

Have they? 

Sansa nods, but doesn’t say anything else; she has a feeling it’s more complicated than Boromir is making it out. 

“Anyhow. Keep your wits about you when speaking to them, lass. They are long-lived, and do not see the world as we do.”

“You don’t like them,” murmurs Sansa.

Boromir’s eyes cut to her. “They’ve left it to Gondor to defend against the south,” he says grimly. “Against the orcs and the darkness that lies there, there has been only one shield for the rest of the world, and that has been Gondor. Gondorian blood and Gondorian lives. But of course- elven lives matter more than men’s, and we must not quail from bitter truths.”

“But you’re still going to their home.”

“I had a dream.” Boromir tilts his head, staring into the distance. “The Stewards of old were prophets, and we have learned not to ignore such omens. When both Faramir and I dreamt of the same thing, we knew one of us had to come.” His face tightens, minutely. “I will get my answers from them, even if I must throttle one out of them.”

“I do not think throttling them will make them more likely to speak,” says Sansa, picking at the stitching on the side of her gown. She looks up through her lashes, but the tense anger on Boromir’s face doesn’t soften, and she continues, holding out a hand to the very air that feels golden and soft. “It feels beautiful, though.”

“Beautiful does not mean good,” Boromir says shortly.

Sansa remembers Joffrey and Cersei- how coldly, how cruelly they had decided to take her father’s head. She should have trusted Arya. She should have trusted her father. She should have learned her lessons already.

It’s fine, she reminds herself. I have Lord Boromir to warn me.

It’ll be enough. It will have to be enough. 

And hopefully this Lord Elrond will have the answers she’s looking for. Sansa can only hope that Boromir doesn’t know his geography- which is looking more and more unlikely as he tells her who he and his family are- or that Elrond knows something she does not. Otherwise, Sansa is lost: somehow, she is somewhere else, as in the stories of the fae. Only there is no fairy queen’s crown that she can steal to escape, and Sansa is all alone, is completely dependent on others.

Every time Boromir says something unthinkingly, assuming she’ll know, the knot in her belly twists deeper.

Still lost in thought, she almost flinches when Boromir’s hand comes down on her shoulder, and it’s only because of her trust in him that she doesn’t recoil when the elves spill out of- somewhere.

“Hail Boromir, son of Denethor,” says one of the- elves, it must be; for he is beautiful beyond imagining, with long, loose hair and eyes brighter than the stars, and ears that lengthen into sharp points at the very top. “Imladris welcomes you and your companion.”

“You have both mine and my ward’s gratitude,” says Boromir coolly, hand flexing on her shoulder before he lets go. “I’ve important matters to speak of with Lord Elrond.”

“The Lord Elrond is in private meeting with Mithrandir. Shall you partake in refreshment until then?”

“Very well,” says Boromir, and places a hand flat on her shoulder-blade, and propels her up the stairs without hesitance.

Sansa wants- 

She wants time.

One after another, the things are happening too quickly. And she cannot let herself think about any one thing too closely lest she miss what is going on in front of her.

Do what’s most important, she thinks. Quickly, now, Sansa; you are the nimble one. If you are to be queen, you must be able to master things more difficult than this.

Little matter that she’ll likely never be a queen. Sansa was born to be one; she was raised to be one; it doesn’t matter if she has a crown on her brow or not.

So she listens, carefully, to what the steward is telling them. She doesn’t speak much, but when they enter what is- ostensibly- her room and Boromir turns to leave, Sansa cannot keep silent.

“Lord Boromir,” she calls, and he pauses, and she nearly shrinks into herself. “I- that is- is it possible to ask for a room near mine?”

Boromir turns and approaches her. Sansa lifts her gaze to his and has to fight not to gasp at the dearness of those features.

“Do you remember who I am, Lady Sansa?” he asks quietly.

“Y-yes.”

“Tell me.”

“Lord Boromir,” says Sansa, ruthlessly battling the tears down. She knows this, down deep in her heart. This man is not her father, no matter how much she might wish him to be. “Son of Gondor’s steward, Denethor.”

“I am not your father,” says Boromir, and it isn’t half cruel.

But you called me your ward!

A ward is no simple thing to name someone; it is an honor, done between the closest of friends, family, or to maintain relations between noble houses. Boromir hasn’t known her for very long at all. He isn’t gaining anything by naming her his, but he’s placed her under his protection anyhow. 

Unless such practices are different in this land.

The dread of that thought cuts through the hurt, enough that she can answer.

“I know that, my lord,” Sansa replies. “But this is all so- new. And different. I simply wanted... I thought it would be more comforting to have someone I knew around.”

The shadows in Boromir’s eyes lighten, just a little. “Yes, I can understand that,” he says, and steps away. “I shall try, my lady. Ready yourself; once refreshed, we shall speak to Lord Elrond.”

Sansa nods, clenching her jaw to keep from saying anything more. It’s only after he’s gone and she’s in the room alone that Sansa lets herself think.

There are elves here, and magic she does not understand. The stories that her parents had sung to her mention them, sometimes, but not tales such as these- of immortal beings, with pointed ears and skin so bright as to be luminous.

Tales that she does not know, and people she does not trust. 

Save for Boromir.

For now, Sansa tells herself, looking around the small, airy room. But I loved Cersei so well, and Joffrey even sweeter than that, and both of them repaid that with murder.

Boromir bears my father’s face, but he is not my father.

In that sense, his reminder had not been anything but a reminder; the truth, bitter though it was.

And Boromir had told her, hadn’t he: Sweet truths can be told often and well. But the mark of a good man is one who does not flinch from even the darkest and bitterest of truths- even in the darkest and bitterest of times. Unflinching we must be, if ever we wish to rule any men; and we must never lie to ourselves, even if we let the rest of the world repeat those lies.

They had been lying on grass, watching the stars, weary after long hours of trekking- and he’d said it half-asleep; Sansa had learned, over the weeks, that Boromir did not speak well unless he felt it necessary, or he felt that none would pay attention to his words. But his voice more than the words had softened her, soothed that little hollow in her chest that had felt brimming with tears.

There shall never be someone so stalwart in your defense as your own memory, he’d said, and then Sansa had fallen asleep, and could remember nothing more of any of it.

Sansa surrenders to the ministrations of an elf, who shows her a gown and how to clasp it about her shoulders, then the private bath they’ve drawn for Sansa. But then she leaves, and Sansa allows herself a moment to press her forehead against the soft wood of the mantel, lets the weariness and terror swamp over her for a long moment. 

She wants her mother. She wants her mother to hold her close and promise her safety, and she wants Robb to be there beside her, warm and laughing, and she wants her father, she wants Ned Stark, who would hug her easier than Boromir, who laughed less but did not stoop as much, who would tell her stories when the night turned dark, who was her father.

“One step in front of another,” she murmurs to herself. 

The voice- despite how quietly she’d said it- is too loud in the silence of the bathchamber, and echoes around the stone. It gives her courage enough to slip out of the gown and into the water, which is hot and turns her skin pink.

Remember your family, she thinks, and closes her eyes, leans into the steamy warmth. You owe them that much.

...

Boromir shaves his face and washes the grime from his hair and face, though he doesn’t dare enter the full bathtub the elves offer him. 

If there is time after meeting with Elrond- both for his own dream and for Sansa’s matter- then he shall relax into it. But he feels the prickling of their condescension and the distant, sun-hot rage of it still, and anger has always sharpened Boromir’s mind into something far more intelligent than when calm.

It slows the world down for him; it speeds his reactions up to others. 

Better to keep himself off-balance for the length of time that it takes to finish this conversation, and then to shut himself up for the night. He’ll need the rest if he’s to be ready for whatever the morrow brings.

But he feels more human, too, with the crusted mud flaked off and the itches of too long in one set of clothes diminished. And with that comfort comes the guilt: he’d been harsh with Sansa, far harsher than warranted. A reminder might well have been necessary, but the method of the reminder had not needed to be like that. 

So he breathes in, sharply, when he knocks on her door, the words heavy on his tongue.

Only to stutter to a halt when he sees Sansa.

She’s lovely, yes, but that’s not what makes him almost swallow his tongue; it’s the glow to her skin, and the height the elvish gown she wears lends her slender form, and the brilliance of her hair, freshly washed and braided over her shoulder. Even in the childish lines of her face, there is something there- an edge, a promise of something far beyond the simple girl he’d met in the woods. 

Numenorean, thinks Boromir, but it isn’t that, not truly. 

He has known many beautiful and regal women in his time. Perhaps it is just the gown, which is certainly royal in cut and cloth. Perhaps it reminds him of someone else- some queen of old- but Boromir would not know enough to name what he thinks now, not even with access to Gondor’s libraries. All he knows is that Sansa looks different- and there is something to that difference that makes worry clutch at his heart.

These are difficult times, Boromir reminds himself, offering Sansa an elbow. Look not for hope in people that cannot give it.

“My lady,” says Boromir slowly, pushing the rest of the thoughts out of his mind, “I owe you an apology.”

“An apology?” 

“For my words earlier.”

“Ah.” Sansa smiles up at him, and though it is but a glimmer of what he’s seen of joy on her face, it is a fair enough attempt at one. “No apologies are necessary, my lord. It- was a timely reminder. One that I needed.”

“Sansa-”

“Unflinching we must be,” she says quietly, and Boromir falls silent, struck.

He hadn’t thought she was paying attention then. It had been an arduous trek that day, through bogs and under an unseasonably hot sun; Boromir himself had been so tired that he’d been half-asleep, and any words he’d said had been only the teachings of his own youth drummed into him over long years.

“Aye,” he says, patting her arm. “But we can speak the truth kindly. Remember that, too- cruelty is the last path to walk, and only when all others have been exhausted, though it may be easier and simpler. I should have remembered that.” Boromir smiles wryly. “And so: my apologies.”

The smile she gives him larger this time, and brighter. “Accepted, then, my lord.”

“Hmm. Unflinching- that we must be, yes, but also: we must know our own minds, even when all say otherwise.” Boromir turns to Sansa. “When you go to speak to Lord Elrond, speak your mind, Sansa. Do not be afraid.”

She nods and straightens, a little, spine going stiff; despite her age, Sansa almost reaches his shoulder. Her head goes up, and her chin tilts back, and her eyes remain calm even when they leave her chambers for the rest of Rivendell. 

The ages of queens has faded, Boromir reminds himself, once, and twice, and thrice- the third when Elrond comes upon them, and pales, seeing Sansa with eyes too wide and too old.

...

Do not be afraid, Sansa reminds herself. I am a Stark of Winterfell, and my blood is of the North. 

But this elf-lord is frightening. He looks at her like she holds secrets he doesn’t understand, and she remembers how Boromir had looked at her upon seeing her in elven garments: stunned, and scared, and a little surprised, like he didn’t recognize her at all.

“I am Sansa of House Stark,” says Sansa, and sinks into a curtsy. She rises, and looks at Elrond, and lets herself smile at him, gracious as any queen. “You have my gratitude for your hospitality.”

Elrond nods at her gravely. “We are glad to have you here, Lady Sansa. Please- come. I believe we’ve much to speak of.”

Sansa sits at the wooden table he gestures to, and places her hands on the table, flat, wrists bent. Her head aches a little; she thinks she needs to sleep, and eat some food other than the things she and Boromir could forage on their travels, and then likely sleep some more. But she wants to meet her family first.

“Yes,” she says, focusing on that desire, letting it burn high in her chest. “My lord- I come from Winterfell. I wish to return there- I’d require nothing, I promise you, just a raven to there and then Robb will come. Or one of Robb’s men. But-”

“Peace,” says Elrond, holding up a hand. “Go slowly; where is this Winterfell?”

Sansa’s hands spasm, nails digging into the wood. She closes her eyes. 

So. She is somewhere else, then. Sothoryos? But no, she suspects that this is beyond even that. How could she have gotten from King’s Landing to Sothoryos, anyhow?

“In the North,” she says quietly, but the hope has drained from her voice, audible even to Sansa. “Near the White Knife. Its walls are of grey stone and the direwolf is my family’s symbol.” She breathes in, shallow. “Tell me, have you heard of Robert Baratheon? Perhaps- the Targaryens? House Lannister? Ned Stark?”

Her voice breaks awfully on the last name, and Sansa averts her face at it, wishing Elrond would look somewhere other than her eyes. She knows his answer, even when he doesn’t speak. It’s all but confirmed when she looks up at him.

“No,” says Elrond.

“No,” echoes Sansa, shaking her head. 

“Perhaps a book from my libraries can-”

“This is not a history to be written of,” Sansa flares. “It is my- it is my family’s life. What we have been born into. And I have seen your land’s maps. They are not my own.”

“Perhaps you were mistaken,” offers Boromir.

“I’m not,” says Sansa. She turns to Elrond. “You don’t know who I’m talking about, and Robert Baratheon is a king who overthrew another after three hundred years of that dynasty. My father is Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North- he stood by King Robert’s side for all those days of rebellion, and the Starks have held Winterfell for eight thousand years, and I am his eldest daughter, and I know what I speak of.”

She is standing. She is standing, and shouting at Lord Elrond, at Boromir- who has never been anything but kind to her. Sansa feels the flush of shame heat her cheeks. She turns away, staring out at the balcony and its gently swaying branches. She will not cry here. She will not.

“I believe you, Lady Sansa,” says Elrond, finally. 

Boromir places a hand on her shoulder, and Sansa turns back to them. 

“I know them,” she whispers.

“Yes,” says Elrond. “You do. I believe I know what you are- there are tales of you, or people like you, through history. Travelers that appear and disappear, without history or name unless offered some by people of our own world.”

“You know what I’m doing here?” Sansa asks, the hope swirling back up her so fast it almost leaves her dizzy.

“I’ve heard of others like you,” Elrond corrects. “Often, I’ve found that it’s because of a- trauma in your homeland. A healing is necessary before you can leave, and you shall stay here until that is achieved.”

Sansa doesn’t dare let her eyes flick to Boromir. She slumps into the chair instead. “What kind of a healing?”

“Did you bring anything with you? Of importance?”

“No,” says Sansa. “Just- my shoes, which I didn’t keep, and the gown I came here in which is more rags than cloth. Nothing else.”

Elrond frowns. “That does not make sense.”

“The lass lost her father and disappeared from her land in one stroke, and it does not make sense?” asks Boromir. 

“Twice before have I seen this. And both times, it simply needed the action of a material.” Elrond rises and returns with a book. “Yes- once, the person simply needed to be reunited with their material; in the second, the person needed to go to the ocean after reuniting with their material. But both people knew what they were missing as soon as they came here.”

“I don’t,” says Sansa, throat dry, the whiplash of the lost hope 

Elrond nods. “Perhaps there are things I am missing, Lady Sansa. A few days- I shall be able to help you once some other matters are taken care of.”

Sansa blinks, only for Boromir to speak before she can: “I would have your word to watch over her.”

“And you shall have it.” Elrond inclines his head. “Lady Sansa- you are welcome here for as long or as short it takes for you to find whatever you need. If you wish to become a ward of Rivendell as opposed to Boromir’s, that can be arranged.”

“Watch over me,” says Sansa slowly. She looks at Boromir. “You are planning to leave?”

Boromir tilts his head backwards, looking at Elrond. Whatever is in his face, Sansa cannot understand it, but Elrond does; he leaves, with a sweeping bow and a swift stride.

“I’ve a responsibility to Gondor,” Boromir tells her. “I must return there, and quickly; there is a shadow that grows from the south. They have need of me.”

Anger prickles over her arms, like sunshine on a hot day. Boromir won’t even look at her before handing her over to someone else, like some- some unwanted laundry!

“You’ve a responsibility to me, as well.”

“I am a soldier,” says Boromir wearily. “What would you have me do? You are safe in Rivendell; Lord Elrond shall keep you safe until you can go home.”

“And if I would wish to be with my own people?” Sansa folds her arms about her waist, chilled to the bone. I am alone, always and always. I was right before; I should not have trusted him. Not even with a portion of my heart. Just because he looks like Father does not mean... “You have not asked. Just- assumed. I thought- I thought- my happiness mattered here. That I wasn’t just- another prisoner-price exacted to keep people well-behaved.”

Boromir’s face turns taut, like a chain pulled tight. “I am not your father,” he grates. “You are my ward, and-”

“-believe me, my lord,” says Sansa, drawing all her anger and all her fear and all her loss into a flowing, twisting shield about her body, “I know you are not my father.”

My father would not have done this to me.

She turns and flees, and does not let the tears fall until she is certain that Boromir has not chased after her.

...

Boromir sighs. He feels old and weary when he sees Sansa; she is so sprightly and so fervent, her angers high and her despairs deep. When have the years passed him by? When did he become this- this creature, so weighted by expectation and duty that the bright star of youth only tends to weary him with its untempered brilliance?

But he must go to the Council, now, and await the answers of both Gandalf the Grey and Elrond. Hopefully with less obfuscation than he’s experienced over the morning.

(When he walks in- there are elves there, and dwarves, and a single man: a Ranger, scruffy-faced and shadow-eyed.

Very well then, thinks Boromir, son of Denethor, heir to Steward of Gondor, and straightens his broad shoulders, takes up this burden unasked for and unwanted, unhesitatingly. If I am to represent Men here, I shall do that as well, and do the task properly.)

...

“Why do you weep?”

Sansa looks up from her hands to see an elf. A she-elf, this time, with dark hair and pale eyes, in a simple gown made of rich material, as everyone seems to wear here. Her throat hurts; she wants nothing more than to be left alone. What can this elf know of Sansa’s loss?

“I’m sorry,” she says, instead of any other words, and rises to her feet, brushes off the dirt from her skirts. "I did not mean to intrude.”

“It was no intrusion,” says the elf, stepping forwards and putting a finger under Sansa’s chin, lifting it to her gaze. “But when young women weep in my garden- it would be remiss of me not to ask why.”

Sansa looks away. “I cannot,” she says, and it wrenches at something deep, deep inside of her. “I cannot go home.”

The elf seats herself next to Sansa and pats the stone, waiting patiently until Sansa sits down again. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she says softly. 

“Have you ever known pain like it before?” Sansa asks. She looks up, up, up: to the sky, scudded with white clouds and as beautiful as on the day of her father’s death. “I did not wish to come here. I have lost- everything, now; my father, my mother, my brothers and my sister. My sister- I don’t even know where she is! She ought to have been with me, and then she wasn’t, and now I don’t- I won’t- ever see them again.”

“Is that so? Has my father told you that?”

“Lord Elrond is your father?”

“Yes.”

“No,” admits Sansa. “But he has said that he has never seen anything like me here before. That with the others he’s seen, a healing was necessary, and an object to take them back; but I’ve nothing that I brought with me.”

“A healing,” says the elf thoughtfully. “Are you a healer, back in your home?”

“I am a lady,” says Sansa. 

“And a lady cannot be a healer?” The elf seems amused. “Tell that to Lady Galadriel of Lorien, or Luthien of old. And anyhow, healing takes many forms; as many forms as a wound can take. Wounds of flesh, or the heart, or the soul; wounds of a nation, of a family, of yourself. Take heart, little lady. Keep faith.” She turns, staring at the sky herself, and her long hair stirs in a wind that does not touch Sansa at all. “And remember: when all looks darkest, there shall be a dawn.”

“And if there isn’t a dawn after all? If it only gets darker, and darker, and darker still-”

“-then,” says the elf, gentle as a falling leaf, “it is not yet the darkest times yet, and there shall be a dawn to come.”

She rises and helps Sansa up, too, and smiles, plucking a leaf out of her hair. Sansa doesn’t recognize it; the leaf is narrow, with little golden veins that illuminate it from within. 

“These are dangerous times,” says the elf. “Dark times. I regret that you had to come now, when you are likely to see the worst of us.”

Sansa bows her head. “Dark times,” she echoes, slowly. “Why?”

“There is to be a Council,” says the elf. “One where the future of Middle-Earth shall be decided; attended by dwarves and elves and men alike. I believe your foster father is there now.”

Foster, Sansa reminds herself fiercely. Not father.

“It sounds- important.”

“And so it is. Do you wish to see?”

I want to sleep. I want to be held by my mother. I want-

But her desires have not mattered since leaving Winterfell. Not since Lady died. She has watched her father die and her sister disappear; she has watched her world be made anew. I must choose between comfort and curiosity, thinks Sansa, and closes her eyes, and opens them, and lets the part of her that still wants to weep shrink and shrivel within her chest. 

“Yes,” she says, and takes the elf’s hand.

...

The dread that curls over Boromir’s heart is nothing new. He has known it well; he has lain beside it, and fed it, and tended to it with the grim surety of a man who knows his actions are necessary. Such fear keeps men’s minds sharp and so has Boromir let it hone his own. But here do five stand: men and wizards and elves and dwarves alike, and of them all Boromir does not see the fear that sings in his own heart.

Only with true fear can a soldier know true courage.

The prickling in his mind, the weight across his lungs- he steps forwards, lets it carry him to the forefront of the rest of the Council, and only then does he speak.

“If this is, indeed, the will of the Council-” he breathes, in, out, watches the rest of them, “-then Gondor will see it done.”

“No,” he hears, through a small bush, and amid the clatter of other halflings- Valar, but they’re numerous; are they dividing before his eyes?- a pale, red-haired shadow lunges forwards and seizes him around the wrist.

“Sansa,” says Boromir, startled.

She glares back at him. “Mordor,” she bites out. “An evil ring- you cannot.”

“Someone must,” he says quietly. “There is no other. What are you-”

“Arwen,” says Elrond, exasperated, and a tall, black-haired woman steps out of the shadows from which Sansa had done just a few moments earlier. “I believed this to be a private Council.”

“Private indeed,” says Arwen, arching an eyebrow. “Nigh on twenty members of three races, with all of Imladris knowing what the topic of conversation is on.”

“She is a child.”

“Whose only link to this world has just volunteered for the most dangerous quest in all of Arda. She deserved to hear of it.”

“And I would have told her,” says Boromir. “Just-”

“-after the decision,” finishes Sansa tremulously. She shakes her head. “You cannot go. You must not go. You said it yourself- your people need you!”

“I can best serve them by delivering this ring.”

“I know what happens to men that walk into evil lairs,” whispers Sansa. “Please, my lord, please- that is not a fate I would wish on Joffrey himself, much less you!”

Boromir slowly extracts his wrist from her death grip. Places it on her shoulder. “I shall go,” he tells her, and watches Sansa’s face crumple in on itself like paper on flame. “I shall try to return, Lady Sansa. Until then, you shall be a ward of Lord Elrond- and safe, in Rivendell.”

Sansa backs away rapidly, pale as death; her gaze is on his face, but she is not seeing him. Boromir knows what she sees instead: her father. Her father’s execution, and the pain of everything that came after. He curses his features, holding out a hand to her, and Sansa shakes her head once, tears standing in her eyes like ground diamonds.

“I saw my father’s death once,” she whispers. “And I’ll see it again, and again, and again-”

She cries out and turns and, dodging those that try to capture her, flees. Arwen follows after throwing him a dirty look- apparently Boromir is to blame for simply telling the truth- and when Boromir looks around, everyone’s staring at him suspiciously save for Elrond, who looks utterly resigned.

As everyone is leaving- with the Council disbanded- Boromir walks up to Elrond.

“Tell me she doesn’t have the gift of foresight,” he says lowly.

“I did not believe she did,” says Elrond, just as quietly. “But now... her face... Be careful on this quest, my lord. Be very careful.”

...

Sansa watches Boromir from afar the rest of the day- he spars for some time with one of the elves, and though he is not so fast or so strong as the elf, he holds his own well enough; Boromir’s a fair swordsman, better by far than Sansa’s own father, and knows his own abilities well. Sansa takes heart in it. 

But this enemy is thick and swarming, with numbers enough to blot out the very sun.

And any man may be turned aside by an army, and there are things here that Sansa could never have imagined to exist in reality; dreams, the wildest tales of history, now breathing and ruining even the world of her songs with their cruelty. Things that are a thousand times larger than any man, no matter if that man is king of the Iron Throne or heir to the Steward of Gondor.

It had not been a prophecy that she spoke in the Council. 

But it had been a fear, now her deepest fear; to see Boromir’s head again, only this time detached from the body and sightless, long hair hanging limp about slack features. To see the blood run, thick and red, and be unable to stop it.

“Sansa,” she hears, and looks up, and sees- Arwen, yes, that had been what Lord Elrond had called her. 

Arwen, who kneels, and captures Sansa’s wrists, and draws her into an embrace so tight and warm and motherly that Sansa cries out, succumbing to the twisting grief in her chest.

“He’ll die,” she whispers.

“Have you seen it?”

“I don’t need to see something to know that he is a man alone among legends and myths,” cries Sansa. “A man bound by duty and honor- what nonsense! Why? Why? Why send me here, and bind me to him, only to lose him here, now- like this?”

“You haven’t seen anything,” cautions Arwen. “It is a- fear, yes, but-”

“I saw the way you looked at King Aragorn,” snaps Sansa. She feels the guilt of her words when Arwen pales a little at her words, but does not stop. “You don’t mean to tell me that you’re glad he’s going, too.”

Arwen shakes her head. “I am not. Only, I know that he shall not be turned from his path. My gladness does not mean that I’d keep him safe in Imladris; such a wish would turn him away from me, for I could not ask him to put my desires above his own.”

“His life matters as well,” Sansa tells her sharply. “And I am not like you- I’m not in love with Lord Boromir. All I know is that he has protected me, and cared for me, and treated me as well as my father ever treated me, and it would break my heart to see him dead in the same manner.”

“Oh, Sansa,” says Arwen sadly.

“Call it selfishness. Call it greed.” Sansa rises to her feet. “Call it what you wish. But I have seen what happens to good men in this world. And I’d not wish that death on Lord Boromir.”

Arwen looks at her, and her gaze is piercing; in that moment, for no longer than a heartbeat, moreso than Elrond’s. She is very beautiful, and likely has been alive for longer than the Red Keep has stood, and Sansa wants to shrink away, wants to cry at it.

She’s so tired. 

“Sink your roots into the rock and face the wind,” murmurs Arwen, “though it blow away all your leaves.” She bows her head. “You asked me if I could imagine leaving my home behind, Sansa, and I answer you now: if I wish to live with Aragorn, I must. I must choose mortality. I must choose to never see my father or brothers, and fade into the fabric of the world for the sake of the few years I would get with him.”

“Highborn women do not get to stay with their families in my land,” Sansa tells her quietly. “Once wed, we go to our husband’s homes; to their castles, to their realms. And it is... I loved the idea, when I first left my home. I still loved it. I loved it, right until Joffrey took my father’s head.”

“It does-” Arwen wrinkles her nose, “-sound like something to be endured.”

Sansa laughs, a little, despite herself. “But my mother loved my father, and they built a home in the North that they could both love. Queen Naerys and Aemon the Dragonknight- they never even got a home or family together, but they loved each other from afar.”

“Now that sounds like a tragedy.”

“It’s the romance of it,” Sansa tells her. She sighs a little. “The tragedy is in the ending, but the beginning and the middle... that was lovely.” She sneaks a look at Arwen. “You know, if you asked my mother- or Naerys- if they’d exchange another lifetime’s worth of time for none with my father or Aemon- I’m fairly certain they wouldn’t take your offer.”

Arwen lifts a brow, and she looks amused again, eyes aglow. “And what about you?”

Sansa traces the ground with the toe of her boot. “It depends on the man I’d wed, doesn’t it? If it were Joffrey- likely always. But with someone else? Someone kinder and better, good and sweet and strong and handsome? I don’t know why I would.”

“Well.” A smile still plays about the corners of Arwen’s mouth. “Are you still afraid for Lord Boromir’s future?” She doesn’t wait to hear Sansa’s answer, just continues on. “It will mean hard work for you- harder work than you’ve ever done before, and I will not be an easy mistress.”

I am a Stark of Winterfell, and I do not shrink from challenges.

“I don’t mind hard work,” says Sansa stoutly.

Arwen’s smile grows, to a grin bright enough to rival the sun. “Very well,” she says. “Let us keep this between us, then, Sansa. But take heart: this shall not be the last time you see Lord Boromir. That much I can assure you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You need not; not yet, at least.” She winks. “For that which you do not know cannot be revealed. Bid him goodbye tonight, when they leave. And keep your head tilted high, Lady Sansa of House Stark. Your tale of Middle-Earth shall not end in the safety of Imladris.”

...

Sansa approaches him in the evening. She is still pale and red-eyed, but her gaze is steady and her voice soft when she hands him a ribbon of silk.

“Be safe, my lord,” she tells him.

“I shall,” says Boromir, and embraces her, and Sansa returns it with enough warmth.

He does not ask her to stay safe as well, or to heed his orders. 

He does not even think on it. 

Boromir has heard his uncle Imrahil curse his daughter Lothiriel many times in his life; for all that she is a kind and good woman, there are times that Lothiriel can act without thought and bring down the best-laid plans, plans years in the making, within a scarce few moments. But Boromir doesn’t remember that then. He only smiles down at his ward, and thanks his stars that she’s proven to be so understanding.

Later, Boromir curses himself to be a fool.

[acupofsims]

As dinner began to wind down, Ada finally got an opportunity to sit down and enjoy her meal. Oftentimes when she’s hosting, she is so focused on helping everyone else feel comfortable that eating is often the last thing on her mind. When the kids finally went upstairs to play video games in one of their bedrooms they had whenever the kids would stay over, Ada saw this as an opportunity to check in with her daughter-in-law.

Ada sat down next to Leila, who was just now eating her main meal after munching on appetizers for most of the dinner and began to talk with her.

“So how are you feeling? How’s the baby boy?” Ada asked, as she began to dig into her plate.

Leila shrugged, pausing to answer so she could finish her bite. “I’m alright, I suppose. I think this pregnancy is more intense than the last three, but thankfully baby boy is alright.” 

“I’m telling you, should try to get a prenatal massage when you can. Those things work wonders and could help make this pregnancy a little easier.” Ada suggested. Once she noticed that Leila wasn’t quite jumping for joy at the suggestion for the massage, she held her hands and added, “It’s up to you, though! I’m just saying it helped me with Theo.”

“I respect that and I thank you for your suggestion.” Leila replied, hoping to reassure Ada that she wasn’t trying to imply that her advice isn’t appreciated. “It’s just that this pregnancy is so different than the last three in ways that I don’t think a massage would help right now.”

“Hmph.” Ada muttered as she tilted her head to the side. “I disagree, but it’s your pregnancy.”

Silence fell upon the room except for the sounds of the kids periodically cheering over the game they were playing and the television in the living room. Periodically Ada would glance back in Leila’s direction as if she knew that there was something Leila wasn’t sharing with her. As if there was something that Leila was experiencing or going through that she was hiding behind her face.

“Kylee still having that boy drama, huh?”

Leila’s eyes bulged as she felt shocked as to how Ada knew about this. While her statement is true, Leila still had not determined with Theo what the proper way to deal with all of this was, so she had not shared with anyone in the family about the parenting troubles they were having. While Leila’s always open to advice, she felt this situation was far too sensitive to disclose with anyone but those who needed to know.

Then she remembered Theo, who’s a mama’s boy through and through. As the only child and the only boy on their side of the family for a while, Theo and his mother were inseparable. Of course, Theo would tell his mother. 

Unable to hide it for much longer, Leila responded. “Yes, unfortunately. Let me guess, Theo told you what happened last night?”

Ada nodded. “Of course he did. You know that boy can’t keep a secret from me to save his life. He cried to me on the phone and shared everything that’s been going on.”

“He cried?” Leila asked, softly. 

While Leila had her moment yesterday where she sobbed after talking with Kylee while speaking with Theo, he did not really show any emotion surrounding it. Perhaps it was because he knew he needed to be strong for her, but she felt terrible knowing that he felt so frustrated and hurt that it brought him to tears as well. 

“Yup. Boo-hoo, snotty nose crying too.” Ada replied, causing Leila to roll her eyes at how flippantly she was speaking about it. “He’s alright now it seems, but I wanted to speak with you since it seemed like both of you are clueless as to how to deal with it. Let me ask you first, though. Do you want my advice?” 

Leila was a bit perplexed as to why Ada was asking for permission to share her advice when consent or lack thereof hadn’t stopped her from giving her unsolicited opinions before. Leila was struggling with what to do, however, so she figured she’d entertain it.

Seeing Leila’s nod as consent, she began. “The thing you have to understand about teens is that they are at a special age. Hormones are changing, they are incredibly impulsive and sensitive and when you combine those three you get the stage of life where you’re currently at with Kylee. To deal with teens, you have to first remember yourself at their age, remember their lack of emotional maturity and parent that way.”

“So you’re saying not to discipline her or have boundaries?”

“Absolutely not. I’m not saying that all. What I’m saying is whenever Kylee does something wrong or talks about boys, y’all immediately tell her how she’s not allowed to date and you reprimand her. What if you engaged her for a bit more, explained her to why she can’t and then phrase your “no’s” in a way that feels less demanding and more like a choice?”

“Like?” Leila asked, requesting an example because so far she wasn’t sold on Ada’s suggestion.

“Like, you can go on dates with guys, but we must meet them first and have dinner with them. You can have a boyfriend, but we must approve of them before you make it official. In that sense the choice is she can go on dates, but she must do certain things or otherwise the choice is no dating. She can have a boyfriend, but she must do these things before she can rather than saying she can’t have it until she’s ready. You gotta tell her what ready looks like - otherwise it just feels like you’re punishing her for no reason.”

While there were some things that Leila disagreed with, there were some gems she heard that felt like something perhaps her and Theo could improve on. Perhaps they do need to explain to her what “ready” looks like rather than be vague about their expectations of her. Perhaps they could allow her to do certain things once she’s shown them certain things. However, for Leila, she felt this would’ve been great advice before all of this happened because now it feels much too late. She’s already in a relationship and unbeknownst to Leila and Theo, had already fooled around with him.

“So what do we do now?” 

Ada smiled. “Let her date this boy, but I would set boundaries for what is allowed at each step of their relationship and I’d tell her that in order to meet him that you all would like to see him more often.”

[vancilocs]

4, 6, 10, 19, 20 22 29 30 34 36 41-45 for roxette, remy and iain?

all sortsa people

4. What type of discipline was your character subjected to at home? Strict? Lenient?

Roxie’s parents got together, married and had her far too young so they also split up when she was just a toddler and kept in pretty minimal contact. So she could pretty much do what she liked because A) her parents were trying to one-up the other by being more lenient and nicer to her so she could literally just say “but daddy lets me-” and her mom would let her do that and more, and B) the parents didn’t speak to one another so she could get both of them to take her to the zoo because the other didn’t know she had already been there with the other. Boi did she learn how to manipulate people quick

Remy’s mom wasn’t overtly strict but not overtly lenient either. She made sure to teach her kids manners, respect and all that, gave them rules, grounded if needed, but really nothing out of the ordinary.

Outwards the family was just spotless and perfect, but Iain’s parents were pretty strict and quite demanding of him (his sister too). But, as long as he pulled straight A’s from school, he could do what he liked with his spare time before curfew. 

6. Did they feel rejection or affection as a child?

She grew up holding the leash of both her parents, but when they remarried and had other children when Roxie was in her teens, she was absolutely mortally insulted. So that feeling of affection turned into rejection really quick because she wasn’t the center of their world at all and this wouldn’t do.

Affection, dad wasn’t around but mom is and was very loving and nurturing, and there were aunts, uncles and grandmas and grandpas. So even if he had to share with his other two siblings there was plenty of love to go around 

Mainly affection, but very conditional and like he had to be even better because he was born “imperfect”. He still loves his parents and kinda refuses to see how their demands still affect his life.

10. Is your character street-smart, book-smart, intelligent, intellectual, slow-witted?

Very street-smart and quick-witted, very manipulative. Knows how to use her looks to fool people and make them underestimate her. 

Very very street-smart, always knows a chance to profit when he sees one. An expert on doing crimes without actually doing crimes and thus avoiding jail.

Book-smart and intelligent, good with people as well. Persuasive.

19. What were your character’s deepest disillusions? In life? What are they now?

Used to think she was the only thing her parents could care about until she wasn’t. These days maybe she’s a little unaware of how unhinged she actually is

He has a habit of not trusting anything or anyone outright, he’s the doubting kind who absolutely wants to dig into the very root of everything and see things out of every angle. He also sees the worst sides of a lot of things and people so he really has no disillusions about the world.

He’s just stuck on the thought that he needs to be better. Doesn’t matter what it is, he needs to be smarter, stronger, thinner, a better doctor, a better friend, a better husband, do this, do that, do everything cool, run a marathon, just constantly improve.

20. What were the most deeply impressive political or social, national or international, events that they experienced?

It’s hard to think about big events like that but maybe for Remy when Krea dang near got murdered, because to him the judge is damn near unstoppable and probably immortal, to see him die was pretty eye-opening. Impressive that someone that much smaller could do him in like that

22. Who are their friends? Lovers? ‘Type’ or 'ideal’ partner?

She has some friends she hangs out with when off work, regular people like club waitresses, dancers, bartenders and bouncers. She has a boyfriend or a girlfriend every now and then, usually it ends at least when they find out about her actual job or she just loses her cool like she does. Doesn’t care about the physical side but you gotta be a little crazy for her to like you. Wouldn’t mind a squeeze, casual or not.

Lots and lots of friends he hangs out with often, very few close friends though because he doesn’t trust like that. Lovers he really doesn’t have time for nor does he really care enough to have a type.

Befriends everyone if they allow it, a very friendly and outgoing guy happy to make new acquaintances. He’s been married three times - the first wife he left because he fell in love with the second one who was terminally ill and later passed away, years later he fell in love with Malva and married them. Really no type or preference, be cute and friendly, really the type of guy to fall in love with your heart and personality

29. What is your character’s weaknesses? Hubris? Pride? Controlling?

Addict, easily angered and prone to moodswings, unless she’s been given clear orders on what to do or not to do she can act real irrationally when she lets her feelings lead, messy

Too nosy for his own good, physically tiny, has a billion irons in the fire at the same time and without his trusted helpers would be so lost

Absolute refusal to take it easy

30. Are they holding on to something in the past? Can he or she forgive?

For no good reason thinks her parents outright betrayed her, refuses to forgive. Holds very long grudges against former partners too, none of her breakups have gone well

Made some dreadful mistakes that cost him his tail, will never forgive himself for that

He doesn’t blame his parents at all for making him such an overachiever, though he doesn’t even consider himself that nor does he think it’s anything to blame anyone for or anything to forgive

34. Does your character feel self-righteous? Revengeful? Contemptuous?

In her opinion nobody should ever be mean to her or do things she doesn’t like or she will hurt them

He’s just doing his thing, no need for big words.

He’s kinda vain but doesn’t consider himself better than anyone (just himself). Very chill and nice

36. Do they like to suffer? Like to see other people suffering?

Like, if a guy is harassing some girl at the club she absolutely hates seeing the girl in distress and very gleeful about knocking the guy’s teeth out. Depends on the situation. As for suffering herself... well, she’s never minded a bit of pain in the right circumstances

If they’re bad people then sure, he steals their money and sees them scramble and laughs about it. But he also sees a lot of little people suffering and hates it. Doesn’t want to suffer.

He’s a doctor, absolutely doesn’t want people to suffer. Will do anything to fix up something cosmetic or related to prosthetics that causes his patients pain or other kinds of anguish (though he avoids doing things like unnecessary nose jobs or facelifts, embrace your looks people). Not a fan of suffering himself yet he makes himself do that by doing triathlons

41. Is your character aware of who they are? Strengths? Weaknesses? Idiosyncrasies? Capable of self-irony?

In her eyes she’s a nice person who doesn’t deserve anything bad to be done to her and everyone who’s ever criticised her is wrong and mean. She’s great and pretty and pretty great. At times she will criticize others for doing the same bad things she does, don’t point this out to her or she will get mad

He’s self-aware, he has his little pizza hands in so many soups that he kinda has to have a good sense of self before dealing with so many others.

I guess Iain is always a little separate from the Better Iain he’s always striving to be. There will always be a Better Iain no matter how hard he works

42. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain?

She just wants money, alcohol, cocaine, new clothes, a soft bed to sleep in, good things to eat, all the nice things, someone to pet her hair and tell her how great she is and maybe top her. Is that so much to ask. She’s would probably toss almost everyone she knows to the wolves to get that

He always wants information and at times goes to insane lengths to get it, but avoids sacrificing or risking too much, no lives are put in danger (or, any lives he cares about at least) or outsiders harmed. Mainly he just uses a shitton of money in bribes and acts as fast as he can to get to the information first

Be the Best he can be, dammit. What is the Best he can be? He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t know to get there

43. Does your character have any secrets? If so, are they holding them back?

Well she’s not super open about her work to anyone except those who know otherwise. Just says she works at the club, doing some peacekeeping.

He knows lots of secrets of other people, but for his own he doesn’t let his mom know what he’s up to bc he knows she’d disapprove and he doesn’t want that

No, he’s an open book.

44. How badly do they want to obtain their life objectives? How do they pursue them?

Her goals are pretty short-term, think “beating this guy into a pulp so I can go back to the club and get absolutely cranked”, or “I want this guy to rail me”, she’ll do whatever’s needed to get it, be it beating someone into a pulp or being cute and batting her eyelashes

He’s careful about learning stuff and things but he does want to learn stuff and things, always working towards doing that and also using the things he’s learned to his advantage

Dude’s a vegetarian gym rat health nut, maybe his methods are very innocent-sounding but he cranks them up to 11

45. Is your character pragmatic? Think first? Responsible? All action? A visionary? Passionate? Quixotic?

Very intense and passionate, acts fast, punches first and asks second if it seems the situation needed it, gets annoyed if she needs to stay back but will listen to her boss.

The type to stand back for a long time, observe from afar and learn everything there is to learn before acting or carefully moving closer to learn more. A lot of the time he doesn’t even act, at most he’ll sell the information to someone who might find it useful.

Responsible but passionate, looks at a lot of things from many angles before going for it and encourages others to do so as well. In work absolutely not the type to just dive into cosmetic surgery to “fix” something that doesn’t need fixing, works with the patient first to see if this is what they really need (he hasn’t had absolutely no procedures himself either).

[crisisdeltax]

Fear is but a moon revolves around Saturn

A\N: RK900 is Fear “main character”. Amanda is Fate. Connor is Fear’s older brother: Death.

Chapter 1

Something dark, something broken. A sacrifice and a pact, drawn by blood. He was not born, thus was never alive. For eons he rode far and through. His journey as old as the Earth itself, recorded in the screams of those who had witnessed him, retold by the braves who were able to withstand his wrath, and written in crude words upon the long pillars of history that have been set by the tyranny of their time.

He is not the first of his name. Before him there were others who failed their tasks, crumbled in shanks under the burden of the power in their hands. But not he. He is stronger than those prior and he refuses to prove it in words, letting his actions in the past millennium speak instead.

He is Fear. His shadow reaches those who are weak of heart. His power is necessary. Only brave mortals deserves the light out of his shadows, or so he had thought.

Fear stands in the hall of fortune surrounded by the red strings of Fate as she herself stood before him, tall and proud. Her wings of shimmering light that no doubt are as wide as the hall itself if it wasn’t folded behind her back and tied together by her red strings as if to show the weight of responsibility that ties her freedom down.

Among all beings, Fate is the most powerful. Wiser than the ancient ones and older than the first pillar of the universe. She is strong enough to end all things in a blink of her lashes. Her word is law: if she summons Fear, then he must answer and answer the call he did.

Icy grey eyes staring back into Fate’s glimmering ones, his hands folded politely behind his back, and dark brown hair brushed neatly to the side. His signature long black coat and his shiny black shoes that never catch dirt under any circumstances stand motionless as Fear awaits Fate’s greetings.

“Welcome, Fear,” Fate says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, while Fear merely nods in reply.

“Have you any idea why I summoned you here?” she asks.

“No,” Fear replies curtly.

Fate flashes another smile, this time she seems proud as though his short, gruff reply was expected. She made a gesture for him to follow her and he did so silently.

“Do you wonder where are we going, Fear?” she asks as she strides ahead dragging her wings behind her.

“No,” comes the dry reply.

Fate hums in thought, “Every hour many mortals pass through the realm of the dead, not by the hand of your brother but by taking their own life willingly, influenced by… You.”

Normally Fear would consider this an affront. His elder brother, Death; is the one who reaps souls, not him. In Fear’s eyes this is yet another victory but Fate’s tone didn’t sound grateful for his efforts, she instead seems… disappointed.

“Only the weak ones succumb to me. Unlike my brother I have no power over mortals. This is their choice.” Fear, rarely to experience any sort of emotion, his older brother always being the sentimental one, found this rebuke irritating. He doesn’t like to talk much, let alone be in a position where he has to justify his rightful duties.

“You consider them weaker than the rest?” Fate’s face remained neutral but her tone reveals a little bit of amusement.

“It’s not my place to form any judgement, but giving up their right to live is an act of weakness.”

“It seems to me that you are taking pleasure in watching them lose to you.”

“I carry no such emotions however, I find them as a burden to the universe.”

“You think the world is better off without them?”

“I think that those who give up without a fight are… Useless.”

“No-one is useless. Each one of us have a purpose in life - including mortals. Look up.” As Fate gestured, Fear was quick to oblige, staring up. The view was nothing he had ever seen before in all his eons. A shimmering silver tree as huge as Jupiter with billions small sand hourglasses hanging by red threads from its branches like fruits.

“The tree of time…” Fear stated softly, his eyes trying to roam all over the tree to take every detail in. This is a sacred place only few are allowed to see.

“Here is where all my strings begin their knot. Each one of these hourglasses is a mortal’s lifespan. The strings of fate tangle and link them together. Each choice they make, each piece of knowledge they gain, and each path they choose ripple across all strings not randomly. Altogether, they serve the greater plan. Until you…”

Fate gazes up the tree with a hint of sadness in her eyes, she stretches her hand to catch a slowly falling hourglass. A mortal has just ended their life. A young one by the amount of silver sand that was still left in the glass. Fate’s long ebony fingers brush the welting red strings away from the glass as it slowly turns to dust.

“Many things awaited this one… now all the tangled strings between him and others will disappear causing a gap in their lives that threaten to end them in just the same way.” Fate paused watching the hour glass disappear before she restores her focus on Fear who, wisely, remains quiet. “This sad cycle is disturbing the balance of all things, Fear”

“Balance is not my concern. This sad cycle is why I was created.” Fear, losing his patience, makes no effort to mask it. Fate’s face remains stoic as her shiny eyes study Fear.

“Balance should be everyone’s concern, but I see now what you lack,” Fate finally speaks and her words seems to hit a nerve judging by Fear’s subtle clamp of his jaw.

“Tell me, Fear, why do you think the Creator created you?”

“To discipline mortals. My creation was the result of my older brother’s existence. As long as there is Death mortals will be afraid.”

“Ah, so you think if Death disappear you will be no more?”

“Yes.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t your existence make mortals rush their own end to Death… not fear him?”

Fate smiles a little bit smugly when that seemed to shut Fear up. “You are right about your existence being to discipline mortals. To teach them their limits. But not away from Death…” Fate gestures with her hand opening up a small portal, a small window to other dimension, “this is why the creator created you.”

Fear looks into the portal to see colourful sky, hobbit-looking houses, dragons and unicorns, rainbows everywhere, and the sound of laughter that echoes through the sacred hall. “The land of wishes?” Fear frowned. This must be a joke.

“Yes. Every mortal has their own wish. Their wishes are infinite light and happiness. It makes them believe they can conquer their whole world, but too much of everything disturbs the balance and so… You were created. To serve balance.”

This is definitely a joke. Fear’s face kept on its cold, lazy look. He nods but he doesn’t seem to believe. Fate saw right through him. She closes the portal before she speaks,

“If I end your existence now, what would you feel, Fear?”

Fear understands that his ending means nothing, literally. Another Fear will replace him and the universe will continue.

“Nothing.”

“Fear, I don’t believe you understand the depth of how important you actually are to a mortal’s existence”

“Do elaborate,” Fear requested amused but questioning.

“That is something experienced not explained, Fear. To understand what it is to be afraid, is not a thing of mere words.” Fate gave him a side look before creating a new hourglass in a rapid motion. Satisfied, she drops it gently over his palm.

Fear stared at it blankly not sure what to make of it.

“This is your second chance. A human yet to be born, your task is to watch over them. Should their life end before it runs its natural course out of fear, you will be deemed obsolete, stripped out of your powers and replaced.” She pauses as she watches Fear gazing upon the hourglass before she resumes.

“It should be an easy task for you. This human will be born in a peaceful country and to financially stable parents. Do you understand what is at risk, Fear?”

“Yes.”

He understands, but he doesn’t feel it.

As the hourglass levitates over Fear’s palm, a red string appeared connecting them together. Fate smiles at Fear’s lack of surprise, “A little surprise awaits you. It would be regrettable to end you, before letting you taste your own medicine, Fear. Your brother has tasted his own many times till he now understands balance. Now it’s your turn.”

Fear frowned slightly at the mention of his brother but Fate didn’t leave him any room to ask as she says “The next time we meet, I hope it won’t be the last.”

——-

A\N: Thank you for reading this far. I’m a slow writer and English is not my first language. I rarely share my works but this is for a close friend of mine whom I wish to help and hopefully help others too. She showed great interest in RK900 written in @the-darklings amazing stories. so This is heavily inspired by them. Check their works if u haven’t already. 

[lovehaswonangelnumbers]

New Post has been published on https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/re-claiming-the-fish-saturn-and-capricorn-in-the-age-of-aquarius/

RE-CLAIMING THE FISH: SATURN AND CAPRICORN IN THE AGE OF AQUARIUS

  RE-CLAIMING THE FISH: SATURN AND CAPRICORN IN THE AGE OF AQUARIUS

By Louise Edington

In Astrology, the sign of Capricorn is said to be a feminine sign, and both the sign and it’s ruler are represented by the sea-goat which is a creature of impossibility with the front half of a goat and the tail of a fish. 

Over millennia of Patriarchal rule and conditioning the planet and sign has lost it’s yin qualities with the sea-goat becoming a goat alone much of the time and Saturn and Capricorn being said to represent the Father amongst other things. Saturn and Capricorn have been spoken of in Astrology as harsh, cold and unloving and this article challenges that as being a reflection of the patriarchy itself.

Saturn, the planet is named after a male deity, traditional ancient astrological technique of sect described Saturn as diurnal, which is usually seen as more masculine. And yet, Saturn and Capricorn are earth energies which is traditionally feminine. 

However, the universe is essentially neutral or genderless. It’s the language of Astrology and humankind that has assigned polarity in our search for certainty. In my new book, to be published early in 2020, I invite readers and students of Astrology to, and I quote Astrologer Jason Holley here in the Mountain Astrologer who informed some of this thinking, “embrace multiplicity, non-linearity, and uncertainty” in Astrological language as we move into the Age of Aquarius and as science itself moves further into Quantum wave and entanglement theory. 

I can’t go into more detail yet because of contractual obligations with the publisher but I want to talk about the sea-goat myth in terms of reclaiming that sense of multiplicity and genderless Astrology. After all, we cannot see the gender in the Astrological chart itself. 

As I write this Saturn has just stationed direct at 13 ̊ 54′ Capricorn, and will retrace his Retrograde steps to 20 ̊ 31’ where he stationed Retrograde on April 29th, and is approaching another conjunction with the South Node before moving towards the transformational conjunction with Pluto on Jan 12th 2020 at 22 ̊ Capricorn and, days later, squaring dwarf planet Eris in Aries. 

Additionally, both Saturn and Pluto are being occulted by the Moon, ruler of the Cancer North Node every month this year other than January and December for Saturn as November gets two occultations and January for Pluto. This means their energy is literally being eclipsed by the Moon and Eclipses are re-sets. Saturn’s own South Node is also at 18 ̊ and Pluto’s South Node at 19 ̊ Capricorn so Saturn will also be transiting over these points before meeting Pluto and squaring Eris. 

Then we also receive the news that twenty more Moons of Saturn have been discovered meaning Saturn is now known to have a total of 82 Moons, flying past Jupiter’s 79. New discoveries like this always shift the energy of a planet in our collective psyche. I would suggest that this, alongside the occultations, is softening Saturn’s image in our consciousness. 

The convergence of all these factors is hugely transformative and a big shift away from old rules and ideas. 

It’s my belief that all these Astrological events are inviting us to re-visit and eclipse the patriarchal ways of looking at and speaking about Saturn and Capricorn. This also means that we are being invited to re-visit and eclipse the patriarchal world our perceptions and words have created. In turn, this will ripple out just as wave theory does to change our language about all of Astrology.

This wave is being reflected in the world, the universe as a whole, and is reflected in the wave glyph for the Age of Aquarius.

What of the sea-goat myth? How can we learn from that in this re-visiting? 

The primary sea-goat in Greek mythology is Pricus, an immortal ruler of time created by Cronos, the God of time, son of Uranus and a Titan from the Greek mythological pantheon. 

We must, of course, remember that myths are also created by man to order and explain the universe and aspects of humanity and the Greek civilization was in itself patriarchal in nature. 

Pricus had children who were in his image and who were able to talk and these children were drawn to the land. However, being on the land caused them to turn into goats and lose their powers and intelligence. Pricus attempted to stop this and turned back time to bring them back but they kept returning to land. Not wanting to be a lone sea-goat, Pricus begged Cronos to let him die but Pricus was immortal so unable to die. Instead, Cronos cast Pricus into the stars as the Capricorn constellation so that the lone sea-goat could watch over all his children. 

Like all myths, this is based on more ancient myths from the sands of time when myth was carried down in the oral tradition and Capricorn mythology in ancient Sumeria as associated the the God Enki, the God of water, knowledge, and creation. In Babylonian times Capricorn was described as fishtailed Ea who was the “Antelope of the Sea” and who watched over the land but lived in the ocean at night so never lost the energy of the ocean, as the more modern patriarchal sea goats did. In these ancient mythologies, Capricorn was seen as the gate of death with the opposite sign, Cancer, being the gate of birth. 

It could be said that the Greek Pricus myth itself reflects the loss of, or deliberate erasure of, the night energy under the patriarchy. I use the term night for what has been spoken of as feminine, energy in our society. The patriarchy has demonized and sidelined all that is not day, outgoing, and what has been seen as masculine. The loss of powers experienced by the sea-goats as they rejected the water reflects the loss of essential powers within each of us under the patriarchal structures and language we have lived under for millennia. Though interestingly, in other myths, the goat actually suckled Zeus as a baby, and Zeus or Jupiter is the King of patriarchal pantheons moving forward as he took down the ancient God of time. 

The occultations of Saturn and other aspects of Saturn in the sign of rulership are asking us to reclaim the seemingly impossible nature of the sea-goat in my opinion. We are each both goat and fish, both day and night, both land and sea. We all inhabit both realms. We each are born and die. There are no opposites and polarities even though our human need to make sense creates this separation because everything is connected in entanglement and cycles and waves. 

Like the cycles of life and death, Capricorn and Cancer work in tandem, together. Like the Sea Goat, the Crab that is the symbol of Cancer, inhabits both the land and the sea though taking the Hermit crab as an example, the Crab can only survive on land if it stays moist. Both the Seat Goat and Crab lose their powers if on land for too long and if they don’t return to the water regularly. 

In patriarchal times, the qualities of the night have been devalued. These are the qualities of acknowledging and validating emotional responses and feelings, the value of nurturing and supporting others, true humility and empathy. Left brain characteristics of rational, logical, factual and verbal reasoning have become over valued in relationship to the right brain qualities of creativity, emotion, intuition and imagination. 

Think of the language used in our lifetime to devalue the night energies of the right brain. 

‘It’s just your imagination’

‘You are irrational’ 

‘Control yourself’

I’m sure you get the picture. 

Yet Saturn and Capricorn are night or feminine energies, though I believe Saturn as traditional ruler of Aquarius has both day and night qualities as do all the traditional planets, and the language used in Astrology for both planet and sign is that of the left brain. 

Saturn is described as the Father, external authority, rules, limitations, control.

Capricorn is described as discipline, practicality, determination, leadership, controlling, responsibility. 

They are all of those but our human minds have interpreted this all as very male and taken those qualities to mean dominion over others, to mean hierarchies, and to mean controlling others rather than the self. 

This is a simplistic explanation to say that the night qualities of Saturn and Capricorn, or the fish tail of the sea goat, have been lost. 

A higher understanding of Saturn and Capricorn is that of the wisdom of the elder or crone, near to the ancient Gate of Death and in tandem with the Cancer Gate of Birth. Both working in cyclical and circular harmony. 

In the Cosmic Intelligence article written by Linea Horne on the Lunar occultations she speaks of the Circle of Grandmothers for becoming more enlightened Capricorn energy and I agree. I would take it even further as we move into the Age of Aquarius and merely call it the Circle of Wisdom.

Ancient cultures had pantheons of Gods that represented both day and night energies and that had equal value so we must move away from the binary and oppositional world of the patriarchy and return to a more inclusive and integrated language in Astrology and life. 

The re-claiming of the fish tail of the impossible (I’m possible) sea-goat will aid us in that path. 

When speaking of Saturn and Capricorn as a night energy Astrologers can, and many are, speak of external authority as how we allow others power of us and how the only real authority is within, rather than speaking of it as a controlling and dominating energy. After all, we can only be controlled if we allow outside forces to dominate us. 

As we move into the wave energy of the Age of Aquarius, we are being asked to take a more diffuse view of both Saturn and Capricorn and to change our language as Astrologers to reflect the receptive, more malleable, and softer, elder wisdom energy they both contain. Discipline is a loving parental act if done with wisdom, for example. 

If Astrological language itself re-claims the seemingly impossibility of being both night and day as we approach our work, we can help to shape the New Paradigm itself. 

******

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[coffeeman777]

but it really distresses me. I feel further from Jesus and also extremely guilty for giving in. I'm aware that it's reached the point where I should be contacting a doctor/therapist or something of the sort but that would involve my parents which isn't really an option. I would really appreciate prayers/advice. I'm really sorry for burdening you with this and for how long it turned out.

Part 2 of 2

First, don't be sorry to come to me with this. I'm very happy to help! You (and anyone else) are always welcome here, I'm always willing to pray for you and give you whatever advice I can.

Now, about this issue. First, you should join a local church if you aren't already part of one. You should speak to the pastor, or youth pastor, and join the men's group of there is one (or women's group, I'm not sure which one applies to you), and confess the issue to someone who you can be accountable to. It's a hard thing to do, but believe me, your struggle is very common. Being a part of a local body of Christians for support and accountability makes all the difference.

Next, you need to work on a couple of things. Recieve the truth that the Holy Spirit in you breaks the power of sin over you, and that through Him, you do have the power to turn from this sin and put your flesh in its place (Romans 6, Jude 1:24). Faith in God's promise is the lifeblood of the Christian way. Next, pray. No doubt you have been praying, but keep praying for God you help you get free of this. Pray for His forgiveness, for His grace, and for His strength. Pray for His help as often as you feel the temptation rising up. Don't neglect spending time with God in private prayer and worship. The presence of God is far better than any pleasure gained by appeasing the flesh, and experiencing Him will give you tons of motivation.

Finally, begin practicing self-discipline (1 Corinthians 9:27). Start small; deny yourself something you want, like a soda or a snack. Just refuse to have it. Then advance a little; allow yourself to be a little to hot, or a little too cold, and make yourself endure it. When that becomes easy, move up a little; fast a whole meal on a regular basis, and give that time to God instead. This will help you a great deal in resisting your sexual urges.

This is what helped me succeed in this area, I know it will help you too. Be patient. This takes time. Along the way, if you mess up, don't beat yourself up over it; go immediately to prayer, confess it, repent, and get back to the fight. If you put all your effort into diligently doing these things, you will get free. Be blessed, I'll keep you in prayer!

[strawberry-milktea]

9-18-17 pt1: Hi. I'm feeling really empty right now. I came to my faith at 11 and I grew up in church rather than in a relationship with God. I remember just jumping into this whole life style of trying to do "the basics" (church, bible, praying,) without realizing I didn't even know the "basics" about the basics if that makes sense. I definitely didn't know what I didn't know and struggled for so long as a result of thinking I knew everything I needed to. I thought faith was like superpowers...

9-18-17 pt: I thought a relationship was instant when you do in fact have to pursue that with God. I thought all the spiritual maturity, depth, strength and intimacy was instant too. I didn’t realize it’s the *opportunity* to start and build a relationship that’s instant. It’s the *potential* to grow and become spiritually mature that’s instant. I have struggled so much to take my faith into my own hands and learn for myself what my parents or church didn’t teach me. I’m grateful but this is…            9-18-17 pt3: this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. The holy spirit still kinda scares me. I grew up seeing people fall out involuntarily because of Him. When I got saved and baptized, both times I was terrified because I thought I was gonna fall out too. I STILL don’t really understand what God sounds like and it kills me. Because I hate doubt and long to be obedient and recognize His voice. No joke, I always want to think he sounds like Mufasa from the Lion king. LOL But..      9-18-17 pt4: I honestly am so confused about the spiritual nature of God. I was prophesied to awhile back and was told to lie prostrate. God told me to visualize laying before Him and he would take me to his throne room where I would taste & see that he was real. Everything in my mind was so hazy and I worried I was making it all up, recalling what others said God/His throne rm looked like. I never really saw much of anything & I’m so scared. I have no idea what went wrong that it didn’t work…     9-18-17 pt5: I honestly came on here to talk abt something totally different but ended up pouring out something else entirely. What I wanted to ask about was how to feel when believers are either living their lives unshaken by fear over the world nearly ending, or they’re so aware that they’re frantic that others aren’t frantic too. I’ve seen too many rapture debates & endtime prophesies. I just turned 23 on 9/15 & feel like I don’t even have time to get my godly life together before time is out     9-18-17 pt6: I honestly feel really nervous.  Between the sept 21st stuff with the feast of trumpets for united nations, the predictions for sept 23 with the constellations, Christians debating if the rapture is even biblical, if the mark of the beast is here or not, if its an rfid chip or not…I don’t know how to sleep at night. I took down my little collage of how I thought my life would go, trying to literally surrender to the fact that I don’t know God’s plan for me and I’m cool with that.      9-18-17 pt7: I’m still learning how to do this. I’ve been planning to go back into college in January and I’m applying to Christian colleges and looking at faith focused majors so I can be sure that I’ll  learn how to be more active for God. I’m doing everything on my own now and I’m still struggling fighting distractions and relying on discipline because I am really shy and feel like I’ve done nothing for God’s kingdom, which is embarrassing considering I have been a believer since I was a kid.    9-18-17 pt8/8: I know this was a lot, please forgive me but i am seriously freaking out. I’ve been crying & feeling hopeless over this. I’m just trying to do the right things. Get right with God. I want Him all over my life. I deleted all of my kpop & worldly music today. My flesh was screaming. I don’t know what to want anymore. God just blessed me w/ a new job & turning another year older. I still want things like marriage & a family. Still pure til marriage. Yet I’m so paranoid abt my future?  —Hi there,I want to apologize for such a late response, since you sent this so long ago.. I hope that you still follow/check back and happen to see this response.It’s definitely not uncommon to experience what you are describing about being raised in Christianity but coming to realize there is more to having a relationship with Him than simply being raised a Christian. Speaking personally, I was raised a Catholic from infancy - I made all the sacraments, went to Sunday school, and attended mass with my mom frequently. But in reality, I was just going with the motions. Once I was born again, I realized I had been spiritually dead as a Catholic. As a Catholic, I didn’t read the Bible and sinned in various ways without a second thought. I blindly followed Catholic doctrine that isn’t in agreement with Biblical scripture and I didn’t know any better because I didn’t read the Bible. Once I was born again and truly started my relationship with Christ, I left Catholicism, started studying the Word, and found a church that accurately follows what the Bible teaches. Our circumstances aren’t identical, but they are similar in the sense that we both came to a point of realizing our faith in Him is more than being raised a Christian and that the vital basics of faith/a relationship with Christ are overlooked when one mistakenly thinks being raised with the Christian label is what it means to be a Christian. But this realization isn’t something to fear. Rather, it is something to be thankful for! What I’m seeing here is you realizing that having a relationship with Christ and developing spiritual maturity is something that of course requires His intervention/drawing of us, but also requires our dedication and refusing to give up, even when we find ourselves in rough patches in life. The reason you are able to realize this is because He is helping you to realize and has opened your eyes. And this is great news!You are going to heap a substantial amount of stress on yourself if you believe that you are solely responsible for your spiritual growth. It’s great that you are taking responsibility and trying to learn things that your parents/your church didn’t teach you. And like I mentioned above, it’s definitely true that we won’t grow if we sit stagnant and don’t make effort to know Him better (e.g.: we won’t be able to learn the Word and therefore learn about Who He is if we don’t make the active effort to read it). But at the same time, please always realize you aren’t alone in this. The Lord is with you and He is responsible for our sanctification and our learning/understanding of the Word: “However, as it is written: ‘What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived’—the things God has prepared for those who love him—these are the things God has revealed to us by his Spirit. The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God. For who knows a person’s thoughts except their own spirit within them? In the same way no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. What we have received is not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, so that we may understand what God has freely given us. This is what we speak, not in words taught us by human wisdom but in words taught by the Spirit, explaining spiritual realities with Spirit-taught words. The person without the Spirit does not accept the things that come from the Spirit of God but considers them foolishness, and cannot understand them because they are discerned only through the Spirit.” - 1 Corinthians 2:9-14“But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you.” - John 14:26When you realize that you aren’t in this alone and trust that He will guide/teach/strengthen your faith if you rely on Him, it takes a lot of the burden off of yourself.There is absolutely no reason to fear the Holy Spirit! I have heard of people saying they fall down/collapse in the presence of the Holy Spirit like you have described. However, not everyone experiences the Holy Spirit in this way. Personally speaking, that hasn’t happened to me but I do know what it is to experience His presence. And I think the best way to describe it is how the Word puts it - a peace that surpasses all understanding. The first time I experienced the Holy Spirit was during an extremely painful and frightening time in my life. It was also when I was being drawn to a true faith in and relationship with Christ/when I was newly born again. In the midst of that turmoil, I experienced an overwhelming sense of peace that made no “logical” sense. I had no reason to feel peace given the circumstances. I just felt at peace and had a general sense of “everything is going to be okay”. I didn’t understand what it was until I talked to a more mature Christian who pointed me to scripture that explained this. The point I want to drive home is, the Holy Spirit is not Someone to be fearful of. He is our Helper (also referred to as Comforter or Advocate, depending on the translation) Who brings us peace and provides us with the conviction we need to correct our behavior when we sin. Don’t allow the thought of collapsing in His presence cause you to fear or shy away from Him. That may not even be how you experience Him and say if it were, it wouldn’t be a frightening experience if it’s His presence you are experiencing.Regarding hearing God’s voice, it’s not always experienced as hearing a literal voice. I explained my experience with this in bit more detail in these asks if you want to take a look.Regarding what you mentioned about visions of the throne room, I have heard accounts of this and while I am wary/don’t automatically believe every claim of this, I don’t dismiss the idea that the Lord could allow visits to heaven/the throne room if it is His will and He has a purpose for it. But you don’t need to have one of these experiences to taste and see that He is real. I’m kind of getting the impression from your words that you feel something is wrong if you didn’t have this experience. Faith in Him and developing a relationship with Him allows us to taste and see He is real. We should never base our belief in Him on having a vision to prove it to us.. so please don’t let yourself fall into that incorrect mindset. You don’t need a vision of the throne room to have deep faith in Christ. When it comes to the end times stuff, my advice is to not allow yourself to get wrapped up in it - meaning don’t become obsessed or fixated on it. Many Christians have an unhealthy fixation on end times to the point that they ignore what scripture tells us about it (e.g.: setting dates when scripture tells we will not know the day or hour) and living in a state of panic. Instead of focusing on the amount of time left and what day it could be, what we should do is be aware of the signs taking place in this world that point to His return and be spiritually ready as if His return could be at any given moment (like Jesus instructed us to do using The Parable of the Ten Virgins). I have an end times tag that you may be interested in looking at. I also highly recommend listening to Pastor J.D. Farag if you want accurate, Bible based commentary on end times (he does weekly prophecy updates).When we fix our eyes on Christ, focus on strengthening our relationship with Him, and have our goal be for Him to sanctify us so that we become more and more like Him, there will be no reason to fear His return. Whether it’s His return or the moment of our last breath, we have no way of knowing precisely when either of those will be or which one will come first for any of us. There is no good that comes from living in a state of panic about either. If the panic comes from fearing you aren’t right with Him, then that’s when you use the time you have in the present to make yourself right with Him.. and from what you are saying, it sounds like you are taking these steps. So keep doing that! Keep desiring Him to be all over your life and to convict/guide you to remove things that don’t belong in your life. Don’t feel embarrassed over wishing you had done more work for Him at this point. I was far from a kid when I was born again. Rather, I was an adult woman. And before that point, I wasn’t doing work for His kingdom because I didn’t know Him.. has that stopped Him from using me once my eyes were opened? No! He made a way for me to do work in various ways, including this blog. I’m a shy/reserved type of person, too. But when He is guiding you to do the work, He will allow you to do work in ways that suit your personality (for me, He has allowed me to work through social media) and He will bring you into situations that force you to break out of your comfort zone and simultaneously grow spiritually while helping others (which He has also done for me). When He gives you the words and guidance, He fills you with courage to accomplish things you normally would feel are impossible for your personality type. It will happen, just trust Him and don’t give up!Regarding the future, I understand all too well the desire to want to control the way your future unfolds or to at least have some idea of what it will be like. But part of faith includes laying our future in His hands and trusting Him to unfold it according to His will, according to His timing. It’s much easier not to be paranoid and frightened when we do this. And this is something I am still learning to get stronger at myself.I hope you found this helpful and once again I apologize for taking so long to respond to this.. I hope you see this and if you have any other questions or want to continue discussing this, please let me know!

[apurpleaddledbaker]

Character Solidifying

Answers to this ask meme because mun doesn’t know how to love herself and got up far too early to function so have some results

1. How does your character think of their father? What do they hate and love about him? What influence - literal or imagined - did the father have?

Gamzee thinks poorly of his lusus, the creature may have looked after him after his emerging but he was hardly around enough to have much of a positive impact upon him. He may have taught Gamzee about Alternia and ensured he knew of home and his purpose upon it, but that was hardly useful when the creature absconded and left him to his own struggles.

2. Their mother? How do they think of her? What do they hate? Love? What influence - literal or imagined - did the mother have?

The Mother Grub is the Mother Grub, not much else to say on that.

3. Brothers, sisters? Who do they like? Why? What do they despise about their siblings?

He’s got all his brothers and sisters in the crew Jade sister is definitely a fav, they chatter about their less than innocent jobs. Gamzee thinks it’s really fucking cool how Jade works He doesn’t hate any of his bros or sisters

4. What type of discipline was your character subjected to at home? Strict? Lenient?

It was most lenient, due to his lusus being mostly absent, he was able to do a lot of things he most definitely shouldn’t have been allowed to, including get himself hooked on sopor slime. After his lusus absconded, he had a very strict set of rules to follow when he worked for the original owner of what is now his bakery. Before the man was tragically lost during a break in… yes.

5. Were they overprotected as a child? Sheltered?

Not at all. Not at all.

6. Did they feel rejection or affection as a child?

He definitely felt more rejection than anything else, there was a complete lack of affection in his childhood.

7. What was the economic status of their family?

They were actually quite well off before the absconding, then his funds were flat locked (and may or may not have been stolen from him at some point by shady bank) and he had to do his best to deal with shit from there.

8. How does your character feel about religion?

Gamzee is all about the Mirthful Church, is here and he stands it. All of the here for his Grand High Brother and the rest of the Church, it’s all good.

9. What about political beliefs?

He’s just a big shrug, doesn’t have the time or the care. Just wants to do what he do, shit’ll happen and he’ll just keep going.

10. Is your character street-smart, book-smart, intelligent, intellectual, slow-witted?

Gamzee… is a special. He’s consumed all of the mind rotting drugs and he’s the most slow, very late for all of the things it’s not uncommon for him to respond to something that happened a while ago as if it just happened. He’ll also forget so much of what he’s just been told.

11. How do they see themselves: as smart, as intelligent, uneducated?

Gamzee knows he’s a bit of a dumb son, he’s fine with that, he’s all cool.

12. How does their education and intelligence – or lack thereof - reflect in their speech pattern, vocabulary, and pronunciations?

He doesn’t use a lot of bit words, uses a lot of profanity though and tends to speak slowly and a bit slurred, trailing off and tripping over his words at times.

13. Did they like school? Teachers? Schoolmates?

He didn’t really go to school, all of his teachings were very homeschooled kinda thing, first everything he learned from his lusus then what he learned from his employer.

14. Were they involved at school? Sports? Clubs? Debate? Were they unconnected?

N/A

15. Did they graduate? High-School? College? Do they have a PHD? A GED?

Nope, not at all. There was nothing to graduate so he done didn’t.

16. What does your character do for a living? How do they see their profession? What do they like about it? Dislike?

He’s a Baker first and foremost! He loves making miracles for people and sharing his baked goods! Loves seeing the happy faces and hearing how much people like his stuff Also works as a Hitman for the Crew, which he is also enjoying, it’s the closest he’ll get to what he was born to do according to his lusus and there’s something really satisfying in beating a motherfucker with his clubs

17. Did they travel? Where? Why? When?

He’s never travelled anywhere, just stayed in Midnight City that he knows off. He’s unsure if he was born on Derse or Alternia and he doesn’t have anyone to ask anymore.

18. What did they find abroad, and what did they remember?

N/A

19. What were your character’s deepest disillusions? In life? What are they now?

Literally all of the drugs he takes, those are some big disillusions right there. Also probably all of his miracles, would much rather believe in them then the truth of science and things that can be explained away. Let the boy continue to believe in his greater powers.

20. What were the most deeply impressive political or social, national or international, events that they experienced?

That would definitely have to do with meeting his Grand High Brother and being accepted into the Church proper, that was a very big impressive day for him and stays cherished in his memories.

21. What are your character’s manners like? What is their type of hero? Whom do they hate?

Gamzee’s not got the best manners, he doesn’t quite get personal space or a lot of social ques but he does his best to remember things he’s told if he thinks it’ll make somebody happy, doesn’t like setting people off or making them uncomfortable so he does his best to ensure it only ever happens once if that. He doesn’t really have a hero type? Is just kinda shrug, doesn’t mind hearing about ‘em though if somebody wants to chatter at him about ‘em. He currently has no potential pitch leanings or any hate towards anybody at this current time. At least nobody alive and it’s kinda useless to hate a dead person, would much rather spend his emotions on other things.

22. Who are their friends? Lovers? ‘Type’ or ‘ideal’ partner?

All of his brothers and sisters are his friends! All of them. His Jade sister is his favourite, murder buddies for life Currently doesn’t have any flushed partners/leanings nor does he really have a type or ideal partner, he’s happy to roll with things and let emotions pop up and fester where they do.

23. What do they want from a partner? What do they think and feel of sex?

From a Flushed Partner, someone that’ll stay afterwards and cuddle with him even if he is bony and uncomfortable and won’t be deterred by waking up in a clown octopus hold, rub his horns a little cause he likes that and he’ll purr for you From a Pitch Partner, please just hold him down and give it to him rough, pull on his hair the most good, also biting, yes for biting. And a good fight to decide who gets to be on top is always good for a very violent race >;3c Sex is good, he enjoys it, is messy but is fun. Enjoys both topping and bottoming with a bit of a lean towards the latter.

24. What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually?

He’s part of the Midnight Crew, works as a Hitman for them and sometimes brings and leaves baked goods for them, usually just what he hadn’t been able to sell that day but sometimes he’ll make shit just for them. Definitely prefers to just be told what to do about things, give him orders to follow and he’ll follow them.

25. What are their hobbies and interests?

All of the baking! Also enjoys all kinds of clown things such as juggling (I’m not saying he’s good at juggling blood-stained clubs but I really am)

26. What does your character’s home look like? Personal taste? Clothing? Hair? Appearance?

His room is a very chaotic place, messy but he knows where everything is so it’s fine, the only part of it that isn’t messy is where Deploy (his new cat) sleeps, it’s pristine and well maintained over there. But the rest of the room is mess and piles, the best one being his blankets and pillows pile, really just a nest but he likes piles more so that’s what he calls it. He doesn’t really have much of a care for what he wears, is really shrug about it and he often wears his clothes wrong anyways, because buttons are hard ok. His hair’s really soft and thick, wild curls that he does remember to brush sometimes so there’s an equal chance of knots and not. He looks lanky and a bit not-quite there, wandering hazy gaze and listing in place.

27. How do they relate to their appearance? How do they wear their clothing? Style? Quality?

Not really big on things like style and quality since how he wears his clothing goes really well with his general disposition of confused, not all put together and things could probably be better.

28. Who is your character’s mate? How do they relate to him or her? How did they make their choice?

Currently no Matesprit

29. What is your character’s weaknesses? Hubris? Pride? Controlling?

An inability to focus for too long and an over-zealousness for his job. Also the fact that he’s really friendly and that’s not the best quality for this life Gamzee.

30. Are they holding on to something in the past? Can he or she forgive?

Not really, Gamzee runs better with it’s better to let shit go and just keep going with his life, no point hanging onto grudges too long. There’s also the fact that a lot of his grudges tend to end in murals painted on stone but that’s not important.

31. Does your character have children? How do they feel about their parental role? About the children? How do the children relate?

Nope!

32. How does your character react to stress situations? Defensively? Aggressively? Evasively?

Typically he’s just go with the flow, unaffected. Others he gets a bit fidgety and would like to either leave it or if that’s not available to him, aggression is always a good road to take.

33. Do they drink? Take drugs? What about their health? 

He takes ALL OF THE DRUGS. ALL OF THEM. His health is pretty not the best, is not terrible but is bad, is why he’s mostly bones, boi takes too many drugs and shit’s just fecked up now.

34. Does your character feel self-righteous? Revengeful? Contemptuous?

All of the no, not at all for any of those.

35. Do they always rationalize errors? How do they accept disasters and failures?

Errors happen all of the time, you just gotta learn from them and continue on, and if they continue, well you only need to beat the motherfucker harder.

36. Do they like to suffer? Like to see other people suffering?

Gamzee’s alright with a bit of physical pain, it adds a nice ping to the haze he’s usually in very enjoyable. He’s very meh about other people suffering though, doesn’t really care one way or the other.

37. How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories?

He is always daydreaming, mind’s always getting away from him and wandering off somewhere he doesn’t want it to.

38. Are they basically negative when facing new things? Suspicious? Hostile? Scared? Enthusiastic?

He’s pretty open and excited about new things! Unless someone he trusts and respects tells him to act otherwise, then there’s suspicion and wariness because they know what they’re talking about and they wouldn’t warn him without good reason.

39. What do they like to ridicule? What do they find stupid?

He doesn’t really care to ridicule anything or anyone, everybody’s off making their own miracles and that’s cool. Except disloyalty, that’s unforgiveable and a big no-no to him.

40. How is their sense of humor? Do they have one?

Everything is hilarious. Everything. All jokes are miracles and deserve to be laughed at.

41. Is your character aware of who they are? Strengths? Weaknesses? Idiosyncrasies? Capable of self-irony?

I think Gamzee is very aware of himself, knows how strong he is, knows he shouldn’t be around all of the people while he’s sober/raging and that he’s definitely not the brightest/best blub in the box. He’s fine with that. He is definitely capable of self-irony.

42. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain?

I don’t know if Gamzee has anything he really really wants, probably just to make his Grand High Brother proud to associate with him and stay with him for some time to come. He needs his miracle pies as being sober is a terrible time for him and he hates it, absolutely hates how weighted and real everything feels, it hurts his head and makes him so easy to rage and he doesn’t want that please, would do anything to prevent it.

43. Does your character have any secrets? If so, are they holding them back?

Yeah, definitely. But more in the sense that they’re not really important and don’t need to be brought to attention at the current time. There’s no point bringing up anything about the roles they would have taken on Alternia as that’s neither here nor there and he doesn’t want his brothers and sisters worried that he’ll just murder them just because Alternian culture would have called for it.

44. How badly do they want to obtain their life objectives? How do they pursue them?

He doesn’t really have a life objective currently, he’s currently at a good place and is good with staying here.

45. Is your character pragmatic? Think first? Responsible? All action? A visionary? Passionate? Quixotic?

He doesn’t think first, if he did he’d never get anywhere because the thought would abandon him so quickly it would be hilarious and sad and nothing would ever be done ever. Even when he plans things it’s very quick spur of the moment, follow the thought before it escapes.

46. Is your character tall? Short? What about size? Weight? Posture? How do they feel about their physical body?

He’s a toll boi! 6’1” and all gangly limbs and bones! No fat on him whatsoever, there is some muscle but not too much. He’s very shrug about his physical body, his blood caste live a long time so he’s pretty sure he’s got another growth spurt or two in him, until then just ‘this is it’

47. Do they want to project an image of a younger, older, more important person? Does they want to be visible or invisible?

He doesn’t really want to project much of anything, what people see is what they see, he does try to be non-threatening, though that’s a bit difficult with the face paint. Doesn’t really try to be either visible or invisible, he’s just there.

48. How are your character’s gestures? Vigorous? Weak? Controlled? Compulsive? Energetic? Sluggish?

His gestures aren’t controlled at all, they’re a bit slow and dragging, sluggish is a good word for them.

49. What about voice? Pitch? Strength? Tempo and rhythm of speech? Pronunciation? Accent?

Very slow, slurred kinda scratchy. A low bass or a baritone

50. What are the prevailing facial expressions? Sour? Cheerful? Dominating?

A cheerful, if absent-minded and dopey grin, it tends to show off sharp teeth.

[schoolpsychlife]

APA Monitor on Psychology, April 2018

NINETY PERCENT OF THE PATIENTS who seek treatment from Atlanta clinical psychologist Jennifer Kelly, PhD, are referred by a doctor, insurer or attorney. When they first come to her office, some are surprised to see she is African American. A few times, they have mistaken her white office manager for the clinician, thinking Kelly is "the help," she says. Others have been openly hostile: Early in her career, she recalls one patient refusing to work with her because she was black. "That’s a hurtful thing because it has nothing to do with your education and training, level of experience or the content of your character. It’s all about what you look like," Kelly says.

Erlanger Turner, PhD, a clinical psychologist in Houston and an assistant professor at the University of Houston—Downtown, faces a different brand of bigotry: ageism. He gets pushback from some of the parents of his young clients, who doubt his ability to treat their children. "I can’t control my physical appearance—I look much younger than I am, but I don’t think that should discount my competence and my experience," Turner says.

A psychologist with a less visible diversity status may face a different set of challenges. Lindsey Buckman, PsyD, a lesbian psychologist practicing in Phoenix, says that "most people assume everybody is heterosexual…and people say things when they feel like you are similar that they wouldn’t say if it was obvious that you are different."

While no formal surveys have measured the scope of the issue, anecdotally many psychologists report they have experienced discrimination from clients based on race, ethnicity, age, religion, sexual orientation or disability status. Many also regularly hear clients express prejudice about other groups during treatment. Bigotry directed at the practitioner can weaken the therapeutic alliance, while intolerance of other groups can negatively affect a client’s personal relationships, says Buckman.

Yet most practitioners receive little to no formal training for handling prejudice during treatment. Psychology programs often offer a single diversity course, says Huberta Jackson-Lowman, PhD, president of the Association of Black Psychologists (ABPsi).

"Unfortunately, in many institutions, this is still essentially a sidebar. You may have one lecture, one workshop, one training that people go to, and they assume that makes them culturally competent," she says. "We don’t talk a lot about these grayer areas, and how to navigate those in terms of our ethical responsibilities, but also in terms of our own safety," says Buckman. The only formal training she received during graduate school was when her supervisor helped her cope with sexual harassment from a client, and that "wasn’t even really training, it was essentially just crisis management," she says.

The result is that practitioners must learn how to handle prejudice from clients on the job, relying on supervision when possible to address individual cases.

"We don’t know exactly what to do in the room because this has not been part of our conscious collective thought process as a discipline, in terms of how we teach, train and supervise clinicians, and how we work ourselves," says Theopia Jackson, PhD, chair of the clinical psychology degree program at Saybrook University in Oakland, California, and president-elect of ABPsi. "So, we have to do our own science around what works and what doesn’t."

HOW TO HANDLE HOSTILITY

Jackson and other psychologists offer the following advice for confronting a bigoted or otherwise insulting patient:

▪ Be aware of your own internalized biases. Reflecting on their own social, cultural and political perspectives means practitioners are less likely to be caught off guard by something a client says. "It’s important for psychologists to be aware of what a client’s biases and prejudices are bringing up for them internally, so as not to project that onto the client—it’s important to really understand what’s happening," says Kathleen Brown, PhD, a licensed clinical psychologist and APA fellow.

For Kelly, the Atlanta-based clinical psychologist, this means she’s careful not to assume that resistant clients are treating her disrespectfully because she’s African American. Sometimes her clients, who are referred for pre-surgical evaluation and treatment, are difficult or even hostile because their psychological intervention was mandated.

▪ Foster an open dialogue about diversity and identity issues. "The benefit of having that conversation, even though it can be scary or uncomfortable to bring it up in the room, is that it prevents it from festering or interfering with your ability to provide high-quality care to the client," says Illinois-based clinical psychologist Robyn Gobin, PhD, who has experienced ageism from patients. She responds to ageist remarks by exploring what specific concerns the client has regarding her age (like Turner, she looks young). If she’s met with criticism, she tries to remain receptive, understanding that the client is vulnerable and any hostility the client expresses reflects concern for his or her own well-being. By being open and frank from the start, she shows her clients the appropriate way to confront their biases in therapy.

Of course, practitioners approach these conversations differently. If a client makes a prejudiced remark about another group, Buckman says labeling the comment as "offensive" shifts the attention from the client onto her. "It doesn’t get to the core of what’s going on with them. In the long run, exploring a way to shift how the client interacts with the ‘other’ is probably more valuable than standing up for a group in the moment."

▪ Be straightforward. Kelly takes a direct approach—she often calls out biased comments in the moment—but does so in a lively manner that confronts the statement while accepting the patient. "If I don’t call out the microaggressions, they become a distraction and prevent me from helping the client manage with their medical condition," she says. "It may not be how other people would approach it, but it’s what works for me."

▪ Consider silence. Whereas some clinicians prefer to respond to prejudiced remarks directly, others find silence to be a powerful therapeutic tool. "Silence can be used extremely effectively," says Brown. "It allows the person to sit with the uncomfortable space, because what it does is bring up a patient’s anxiety." She says learned biases are comfortable for many people, but sitting quietly with those beliefs can start to raise questions about their validity. In that sense, silence can open up space for further dialogue and exploration.

▪ Tie your response to theory. When he experiences a bigoted statement, trauma psychologist Tyson Bailey, PsyD, says that he points to his training in dialectical behavior therapy, which helps provide the client with a framework for confronting their biases. He says patients voice stereotypes as a way of trying to simplify or understand other identity groups. Bailey responds by explaining to the client how judgments can heighten emotion and make it harder to think clearly, using this as a segue to begin a focused exploration of the judgment.

"It’s tough because sometimes I need to sit with someone who holds a different view than I do," he says. "I want to help people grow and recognize where bias is present, but I don’t believe it’s our job to change their views. It can be a problem if you lose the client in service of your own agenda."

Bailey says he’s had mixed success in tackling these issues during treatment. The conversations go poorly when he gets caught up in his own beliefs and his focus shifts away from the client. But when he’s stayed present, he finds there has often been a deepening of the therapeutic relationship; for many of his clients, it may be the first time they’ve had a safe space to explore the roots of their biases.

▪ Determine when to revisit the issue. Practitioners may want to further explore intolerant remarks when they are relevant to the patient’s treatment. For example, when one of Buckman’s clients frequently made racist and homophobic remarks, she encouraged her to consider what was driving that behavior, and how it might be affecting the client’s relationships.

Brown says she handles prejudice the same way as she would other unconscious beliefs. "My job is to help the person understand what’s underneath that belief, how they came to develop that belief and whether they choose to change that belief, if it’s creating stress in any way."

▪ Seek support. Regardless of the approach a psychologist uses to address bigotry, a key step is for him or her to seek support from supervisors or colleagues. "Repeatedly facing offensive remarks is painful, and it does chip away at you quietly if you try to hold all these experiences inside," says Gobin. "I think the most important thing someone can do is to share what they’ve experienced." Consulting with peers and supervisors not only provides social support, but also offers a forum to brainstorm and troubleshoot potential responses.

▪ Be cautious. Above all, clinicians should always feel safe before speaking up, understanding that power dynamics and privilege play a role in the therapeutic relationship. "It’s my job to hold whatever the client brings in the room, and that does mean some of the bigoted language," says Jackson. "However, it doesn’t mean that I have to be a punching bag. At no point does being a good therapist mean that you have to be abused in the moment."

FURTHER READING

Diversity Within African American, Female Therapists: Variability in Clients’ Expectations and Assumptions About the Therapist

Kelly, J.F., &

Greene, B. Psychotherapy, 2010

White Fragility

DiAngelo, R.

The International Journal of Critical Pedagogy, 2011

Report of the APA Working Group on Restrictions Affecting Diversity Training in Graduate Education: Serving a Diverse Public

2013

The Heat of the Moment in Treatment: Mindful Management of Difficult Clients

Abblett, M., Norton Professional Books, 2013

[mcneelamusic]

Modern Day Tin Whistle Legend – Mary Bergin

Widely acknowledged as one of Ireland’s finest whistle players ever, she has been described as one of the iconic performers in our time. Mary Bergin is a musician of such startling virtuosity that one could claim she almost single handedly launched the humble Irish tin whistle as a first-tier instrument onto the stage of modern day traditional Irish music.

Her name invariably springs to the lips of modern day traditional Irish musicians when they speak about their greatest musical influences, players like Joanie Madden, Fintan Vallely, Grey Larsen, Sean Ryan, and Vinnie Kilduff.

In Madden’s own words, ‘Mary Bergin… is what every whistle player should aspire to – pure trad’.

And according to Grey Larsen:

‘Bergin has a beautifully lean, pure, and economical style that allows her to play with great agility, drive, and speed, all with apparent ease.’

Thanks to her ‘infinitely melodic, perfectly ornamented, vigorous playing’ she can take her place in the Living Legends Hall of Fame.

Any whistle player or teacher worth their salt will cite Mary Bergin as a leading influencer of the modern Irish whistling style and consequently the holy grail of traditional Irish whistle playing.

In fact, her influence has served as a catalyst for an Irish tin whistle revolution.

She plays the whistle ‘left handed’ with the right hand covering the upper tone holes, like a lot of leading Irish whistle players.

Contents

Mary’s Early Years

Legendary Influences

Feadóga Stáin

Mary’s Brief Absence from the Scene

Dordán

Gradam Ceoil TG4

The Irish Tin Whistle Tutorial

Feadóga Stáin 3

Mary’s Early Years

Born in Shankill, south county Dublin in 1949 to musician parents, Bergin was exposed to traditional Irish music from a young age and took up the tin whistle at the age of 7. Her mother played violin, classical and traditional, and her father played the melodeon. Leading musicians of the time including Elizabeth Crotty, Paddy Hill and Kathleen Harrington often called to the house and music was a constant feature of the young musician’s life.

Mary started competing in Oireachtas na Gaeilge music competitions and it was there she first heard the whistle playing of a relatively young Willie Clancy, an experience that was to inform and inspire her playing for years to come, “ … he had long hair at that stage – but I was very influenced by him.”

Mary and her sister, renowned harpist, the late Antoinette McKenna, progressed to playing at pub sessions in Blackrock in the late 1960s where she met the blind whistler, Terry Horan and fiddlers Joe Liddy, Kathleen Nesbitt and John Dwyre. She then went on to discover her very first Fleadh Ceoil, sessions in Church Street and The Pipers’ Club and from that point on she was well and truly hooked, as she herself puts it, “We ate and slept and drank music.”

Legendary Influences

Her extraordinarily soulful playing enhanced by formidable technique was beginning to get her noticed, and she went on to perform at Comhaltas Concert Tours in the UK and the US alongside brilliant fellow trad musicians such as Liam Óg O’Flynn, Matt Molloy, Seamus Begley, Joe Burke and James Kelly. Comhaltas Concert Tours first started in 1972 when the first official North American Tour took place. The Tour of Britain was introduced in 1973 and the Tour of Ireland then followed in 1980.

In the early 70s she met Alec Finn in The Brazen Head pub, Dublin. He introduced her to Spiddal in Co. Galway where Finn was in the process of forming the legendary traditional Irish group, Dé Danann with Frankie Gavin, Charlie Piggott and Ringo McDonagh. She went on to co-found the Green Linnet Céilí Band and also played with Dé Danann and Ceoltóirí Laigheann.

Feadóga Stáin

‘… to me, in any form of music it’s the rhythm that’s the most important thing … When I look back on myself as a younger musician I would have sought out a lot of the older players. They mightn’t have been technically brilliant, or had the most amazing ornamentation, but they had something special – and it’s the rhythm.’

This understanding of what brought joy to both the player and the listener was to propel Bergin to high musical acclaim in 1979 with the release of her first album, the standard setting and an instant classic of the genre, Feadóga Stáin, a spectacular feat considering the difficulty women experienced in the male-dominated world of traditional Irish music and the perceived ordinariness of the humble tin whistle.

The album was critically acclaimed by anyone who was anyone in the trad music sphere. Renowned flute player, researcher and teacher Fintan Vallely proclaimed the “sparkling brilliance” of Bergin’s playing. Critic and music journalist, Mic Moroney, called it an album of “unparalleled discipline and metronomic groove making it one of the uncontested bedrock albums of Irish traditional music”.

The album stunned many players including a young Joanie Madden, an up and coming whistle and flute player at the time, who tells of when she first heard the album and asked what was the instrument. “That’s Mary Bergin playing the whistle,’ he said. And I said, ‘No, no, I play the whistle, that’s not a whistle – it can’t do that.’ Then I realized my God, it is the whistle.”

Mary’s Brief Absence from the Scene

In the early 80’s, Mary became a mother but she was also dealing with a marriage breakdown, so she took a step back from performance and she was rarely seen in the ensuing years, although she did contribute to Dé Dannan’s Anthem released in 1985.

“I faded off the scene in a way because I wasn’t in a position to travel, and I’d lost heart in playing because my life was on a bit of a downer”

Her long awaited second solo album Feadóga Stáin 2, released in 1992, is described as an “Everest for musicians, with tunes that grab the heart” and for many, both albums are a desert island pick as the only traditional Irish music albums they’ll ever need! Mary is accompanied by a sensational line up including, Kathleen Loughnane on harp, Dearbhaill Standún on fiddle, Joe McKenna on uilleann pipes, her late sister, Antoinette McKenna on harp, the late Alec Finn on bouzouki and guitar, Johnny Ringo McDonagh on bodhrán, Johnny Campbell on bass guitar and Tom Stephens on guitar.

Dordán

The scope of Mary Bergin’s influence on the world of modern traditional Irish music is all the more extraordinary considering her discography amounts to a total of six albums, two solo and four with the stunning Dordán group which she founded with fiddler Dearbhaill Standún and harpist Kathleen Loughnane, in 1990.

The award-winning Dordán, an Irish group specialising in traditional Irish and Baroque music, released four critically acclaimed and award-winning albums including the Irish traditional music Christmas album, The Night Before … A Celtic Christmas (released in 1997) which is an absolute must have for anyone wishing to create the ultimate Celtic Christmas music soundtrack.

Gradam Ceoil TG4

In 2000 Bergin was awarded Traditional Musician of the Year for her life’s work in the world of traditional Irish music, she was the first female traditional Irish musician to receive this award and one of only four women ever to win.

The Irish Tin Whistle Tutorial

She has also released probably the most highly regarded tin whistle tutorial ever produced, Fintan Vallely describes it as a “landmark” publication, “for it is rare that the compiler would be both an accomplished performer and equally-accredited teacher”. Presented in three volumes, it is a must-read for students wishing to master the traditional Irish whistle technique and can be purchased directly from Bergin’s website. Mary tells me that she is working on the third volume as I write!

Feadóga Stáin 3

Although Bergin has yet to release Feadóga Stáin 3, she assured Mic Moroney way back in 1999 that a promise had been made to that effect. Will the 2020s finally see a third solo album by Mary Bergin? It will surely rank as an unparalleled Irish whistle trilogy!

Sources:

The Irish Times 2013 ,The Irish Times 1999 ,The Irish Times 2011

Irish America

“Essential Guide to Irish Flute and Tin Whistle” By GREY E. LARSEN

Living Tradition

[mybumpbirthandbeyond]

Strength

For those of you who have the chance to see my physio consults through Gráinne’s Diastasis Revolution course, or come to see them through Antony’s Diastasis Project, you’ll see I’m as honest in those consults as I am in these blogs. Regardless of those being made public or not, I think it’s so important to be honest - how else can my physios help if I’m not honest about what’s happening or how am I feeling? They aren’t just physios. They have never been just physios to me and never will be. They have been way more since day 1. Counsellors who have provided unwavering and limitless support and guidance, among other things. They have empowered me with knowledge from the start, and the freedom to think and feel. I feel I can be completely open and honest and more importantly, vulnerable with all three of them - something which I’m probably not comfortable with normally. We may have a good laugh a lot of the time (which is more than needed), but it is the ability to confide in them when others don’t understand that I am grateful for the most.

Our latest consult as a team shocked me. I was doing exercises I didn’t anticipate doing again until after pregnancy. Most of it I surprised myself with my ability despite being pregnant, but I do feel the need to err on the side of caution. Hard to believe I’m sure if you have the impression I’m a bit cavalier, but nothing could be further from the truth. I’m confident - there’s a difference. During that consult I had to be honest about something that had niggled me for a while. There was a suspicion I was on the verge of overtraining from previous months, which I totally respected and understood. I was doing a lot of exercises at high intensity four days a week. I was told that three days would probably be fine allowing me plenty of time to recover. I felt reluctant to agree because it didn’t feel like I was overtraining but the concern was I was close to, not that I was. I brought up the fact that I knew where they were coming from and freely admitted I can definitely train smarter next time round. The thing that happened this time (reluctant to say ‘problem’ as it wasn’t a problem as such) was that I was completely and utterly addicted to the progress, the changes, the high of achieving and succeeding where I never thought I could. I could physically see the progress and feel it and I couldn’t get enough. This was unspoken but my physios knew it and I knew it. I didn’t burn out and was constantly motivated and determined - probably why it was considered I was close to overtraining but they agreed I wasn’t.

I never wanted it to come across as disrespect or even disagreement which is why it was so important for me to clarify it with them. That, and my face told a story that I was pretty much stubborn in the face of that conversation. I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve, but there are times when I cannot hide what I’m thinking by the expression on my face. The thing is, I don’t want anyone finding me difficult to deal with ‘how do we approach this with Claire?’ ‘How do we tell her to do X or to stop doing doing X?’ I want to make everyone’s life as easy possible. I might not want exercises to be easy, but I want the process to be easy, especially for my physios. I could not hold them in any higher regard if I tried. They are way up high on a pedestal and there is nothing they could do that could knock them off. They’ll be mortified at that I know, but it’s true.

I can never fail to underestimate how incredible my physios are. You would think that I would know the extent of it by now, but they continue to show more and more other sides which make them even more so. Antony said it didn’t bother him but he noticed the change in my expression 😂🙈 but that I wasn’t a troublemaker. It was in fact the opposite. That they had told me there was an electric fence and not to touch it, so what I had done was push to see how close I could get without touching it.

That made me laugh and also shocked me in equal measure. I’m not really a boundary pusher in any other aspects of my life, but here I was coming across as almost a cheeky toddler (a bit like my son) in seeing how far I could push it before I went too far. I said that made me sound like a rebel to which Antony said ‘I wish you would rebel and say screw it!’ 😂 I’ve been told that a few times in my life - I think people will me to put a foot wrong, to do something a bit daring, to misbehave. I have no idea why...

I’ve never been described as a rebel. I’m the opposite. I follow the rules and probably more of a goody two-shoes if I’m completely honest. I never got in trouble at school and was always described as a ‘model pupil.’ If someone told me not to do something I wouldn’t. Usually if I had the freedom to choose I would err on the side of caution, no exceptions. Climb a tree and swing off a branch? You could break your neck doing that don’t be silly 😂 Since I was about 18 months old I’ve been likened to a bit of a granny. I would say things that would make people comment, ‘she’s been here before,’ and I’ve always been mature for my age. That probably makes me sound like a really boring person. Hopefully people who know me, or have gotten to know me through this process don’t think that, but you never know!

I’ve been thinking about that since and why it should be that my diastasis was the thing that turned me into someone who pushes boundaries and flirts with going too far. I think it’s because the boundaries weren’t working for me. I was disciplined and followed the exact guidance in those early days to a T as always, and they were important at that time initially, but then they failed me. When things started to progress and the boundaries started to move, I kept pushing knowing that I would soon catch up and they would have to move again to work for me. Admittedly losing all limitations turned out to be more difficult than I thought, but that freedom came from me pushing hard all the way until there were no more boundaries to push. I earned it. I guess there’s also the fact that I had absolutely nothing to lose, and everything to gain by going at this hell for leather and I knew it was within my control. I have the best team in the world, but I’m the one who has to do the work for this to succeed. It’s on my shoulders to put it all into practice.

This process has really brought out sides to me that I never knew existed. I always knew I was strong - mentally at least. You don’t go through something like I did as a teenager without it. The loss of a parent is earth shattering at any age, but when you’re meant to hit puberty and lash out for all of the World’s ‘unfairness’ and instead you experience real unfairness in its raw and unforgiving vice, you skip it and instantly become an adult. My determination was set the day I was told I would never see my dad again. I turned to my mum and told her I would achieve top grades in my big exams the following year. Who even cares about things like that at a time when your world has just ended? It’s hard to describe, but I knew it was my way to show I wasn’t going to break and I wasn’t going to turn to drink or drugs to solve problems I should never have had to deal with. My choice was to excel because I knew that’s what my dad would have wanted. That ability to know what my parents had brought me up to be undoubtedly saved me.

The physical strength has shocked me. What my body and in fact any body goes through in pregnancy is life-changing. It’s fair to say some people have an easier ride than others, that’s just life. My pregnancy may have been, but my recovery was anything but. I think it may have been lost why I even started this blog. My diastasis has been the biggest thing that happened, but it wasn’t the first or even second, and in the immediate aftermath, wasn’t even my biggest problem at that point. I started this blog after what I can only describe as going through physical hell. Labour was a walk in the park in comparison to what happened after. Breastfeeding is meant to be ‘natural’ but there was nothing natural about my experience with it. I fully admire and I’m in awe of anyone who succeeds at doing it for any length of time. I failed spectacularly and I have no doubt I suffered trauma as a result of what happened within just one week of doing it. When you have visited a breast clinic three times in the first two weeks, and you have breastfeeding support workers tell you they don’t blame you for giving up two weeks in, you know you have been through hell.

Since I was diagnosed with my diastasis, it became my sole focus. Other shit was still going on, but not to the same level as the first two weeks. Inevitably it has been the focus of my blogs. To be honest, that has just happened naturally. It isn’t spoken about nearly enough and as I’ve said, this has brought out sides to me that I never knew existed. My physios have mentioned things that genuinely have surprised me. I’ve been considered laid back (my husband would certainly not agree!) and a boundary pusher. For me: a (slightly) rebellious side; an obsessive side; a bold side and a physically strong side, are all things I have discovered about myself. This journey has allowed me to speak my mind more freely than anything else I have ever experienced. Much of that is down to my physios and the freedom they have given me to do that is something I value more than anything.

One of the biggest things I have learned about myself is a relentlessness beyond any determination I have ever known to have. Somewhere there is the reason why I never grieved properly for what I had lost, and why I never gave in to my feelings. Maybe it’s because I’ve had enough grief in my life in a different form. Maybe I didn’t know if I could come back if I did. Whatever the reason; whatever I have learned about myself during all of this, this has made me a stronger person than I ever thought possible. There are no regrets. I have no doubt that that will stand me in good stead as I head further down this road. There are going to be so many more bumps along the way, but equally there will be more boundaries for me to push and who knows, maybe even a chance to rebel after all...😉

[rogerrachel1995]

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