#I’m only sharing this because I have a second insatiable need to be validated on anything I work on so why not take to the internet yknow

[is-your-name-anronpa-cause-dang]

Sorry it’s trash I had an insatiable need to make this and it’s 3:48 am and I just had to do it sorry

[gallickingun]

so i saw the post about kissing that you reblogged and that made me think... imagine reader retweeting that on twitter and bakugou sees it, then proceeds to kiss her at random times the next day which really flusters her and she wonders why he's doing this because they normally don't advertise the fact that they're dating

a/n: this is a lot of all over the place randomness but... i kind of love it??? short little blurby about bakubaby treating you right!!!

ps, i can’t do anything short, can i? couple hundred words ahead lol 

Bakugou had always been possessive over what he deemed as his.

So, it’s somewhat strange, when he doesn’t necessarily lay claim to you in front of all his friends.

Sure, Kirishima and Mina know that the two of you are secretly attached at the hip, and Denki may or may not raise a brow when you get too close to one another, but overall it’s not necessarily well known that you have been exclusive to one another for the past few months.

Bakugou is genuinely secure in your relationship; the one constant in his life now that the Pro Hero Sidekick gigs are taking off. He knows that when he calls, you’ll answer, and that there is never too much of him for you to handle. Honestly, he never thought much about the fact that you didn’t really show much affection in public because you were on his mind every moment not premeditated on training exercises and patrols and skirmishes in the streets.

No, your affection comes in small doses, here and there and always in private. And you know that the Pro Hero life will be a lonely one at times, but you can’t help the insatiable need for physical affection. It’s something instilled in you, bred in you maybe. The unbreakable desire to feel the pads of his bare fingers, his knee slotting between your thighs as he lays closer to tell you about his day. You even wish you could just feel his hands on the crown of your head, maybe a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

At this point, after a couple of weeks of non-stop action in the streets, you start to grow restless. Your publicist says you need to show more attention to social media, so you take to Tweeter when you have a second to breathe in the agency locker room.

It doesn’t take long for you to find a relationship-based account that posts sappy quotes and cute photos; it makes your heart ache and long for something a little more concrete than what you have now - something just a smidge more open.

In a moment of haste, you post a response to a specific original comment: I was extremely kissable today and do you know how many kisses I received???? Zero!!!

It’s something harmless; a gentle joke with your growing audience. You need to prove to them that you’re relatable, which is all that you’re doing. It couldn’t have come from the darkness of your mind that clouds your vision at night, begging you to crawl into Katsuki’s bed at ungodly hours of the night even if he’s not there; even if the two of you aren’t there yet.

It is another night spent alone, cold ramen on the coffee table as you fall asleep on the couch to old training tapes of yourself replaying on the television. You were trying to pick apart your every misstep, but all you could focus on was the way your body aches for your lover. Your blood beats heavy in your chest, the sound deafening to your ears when the pulse throbs at your temples and in your jugular. The edges of you crave something solid to fall against, to fall into.

You want Katsuki.

Instead, you step into your hero shoes and get ready to conquer another day at the agency.

When you step out of your car, you’re surprised to find Bakugou’s vehicle parked next to your usual spot. Even though he’s an early riser, he’s usually patrolling or attending appointments during the morning hours, so it’s a bit out of sorts to see his car already in it’s place.

The front door is pulled open for you by a familiar face - ashen blonde hair framing crimson irises, a small smile tugging on his full lips. You tilt your had in silent questioning as you step over the threshhold and into your persona for the day. 

You let out a strangled sound when those very lips find yours, right in the middle of everything, the hallway full of people turning to look at the two of you.

“Good morning,” he murmurs as he steps away from you, vermillion irises trailing over your frame, “sorry I didn’t make it over last night. Patrol was a bitch.”

You shake your head but you can’t reply because your mind is foggy, dizzy in its haze to attempt and figure out why he’s done what he’s done. There are several people staring at you now, mouths slightly agape at the obvious display of affection that is rather unusual for the pair of you. Most of those that you’ve now given full access to the validity of your relationship only hinted and gossiped about it prior, unsure if the lingering gazes you might send one another are truly that of longing rather than carelessness.

“S’okay,” you manage, “no big.”

He���s smiling, squeezing your arm before turning to walk his own way. You’re left breathless in the front entryway, hand covering your mouth as you watch him fade further into the hallway until he’s boarding the elevator.

You blink once, squeezing your eyelids tightly so you see stars. And then you take the first step forward to start your day, desperately trying to ignore the effervescent champagne bubbles in your belly but failing miserably with each passing moment. 

The tap on your door at lunchtime brings your attention back to the present, eyes finding the bulky frame of one Pro Hero: Ground Zero at your door. Your jaw goes slack but you stand to your feet anyway, “H-Hey, what’s up?”

“Can’t I take my girlfriend to lunch and it not be a whole thing?” Bakugou clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. “C’mon, dummy, let’s go.” 

Bakugou actually takes you by the hand - a gesture he hardly does even in the confines of your personal home - and walks you towards the food court near the center of the agency. When you stand in line, he kisses the back of your head and pulls you closer to him. The people around you stop and stare and you know it’s because the big, bad Ground Zero finally appears to have shown that he has a heart.

The pair of you eat in relative silence, focused on scarfing down the food in front of you before you turn to speech. Bakugou is finished first, kicking his feet up on the chair next to yours. He smiles across the table at you and offhandedly asks you about your day. 

Through a mouthful of noodles you mutter something along the lines of a whole lotta paperwork, which makes him laugh. You tilt your head, marveling at this new version of your significant other. You aren’t sure if you should enjoy it or be worried, but the revelry you’re sharing in the way people look at the two of you now that he is being openly affectionate makes you keep your mouth shut for the time being.

It is only when he drops you back off at your doorstep and asks you to consider taking the rest of the day off with a kiss to your cheek that you finally broach the burning topic. The words are like acid on your tongue, “What is going on with you?”

Bakugou brushes his thumb over your jaw, leaning back enough to look in your eyes. Something falters in him and you step closer, palms finding his chest, “Katsuki, did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he snaps immediately. Bakugou turns his face away from you so he can compose himself, “I did something wrong.”

Your mind wants to flood with the horrible things he could be talking about, but Bakugou is already interjecting with another sentence before your imagination can wander too far off of a cliff. 

“I saw what you posted yesterday and I feel like I’m being a really shitty boyfriend by not just fucking telling people that we’re together.” He runs his hands over your arms, tucking his thumbs into your gloves, “This is my way of trying to make up for it.”

The tips of your cheeks are painted pink and you can’t help it when you surge up to kiss him square on the lips. The action leaves him breathless, eyes half-lidded as he tries to work himself down from the adrenaline rush.

You bite your lip, “I just decided that I’m taking the rest of today off.”

Bakugou cups your face, fingertips tickling the nape of your neck, “Sounds like a plan to me.”

[mysmedrabbles]

Broken - [Yoongi x BPD!Reader]

requested: by @edgythiccboi (request is pictured above)

a/n: long overdue and with about the most rough drafts ive ever written for something, its finally here! i hope you enjoy and it takes your mind off of some of the hurt from your past and present. know that the whole of the bpd/ptsd community knows what you're going through and supports you (even though we're all just a bunch of bamboozled and 3dgy kids)

warnings: quite realistic description of a bpd episode, tiny self harm mention, some splitting, self deprecation (it ends in fluff i promise)

-ghost mod alex

-hollowed lungs took struggling breaths in the condensed room, steam and water droplets covering every surface like a disease, a disease from which you could not get away from. you sat on the edge of the bathtub, wheezing into seemingly nothing, chest heaving as you strained against invisible bonds, tying you to the tub, restraining you in your own mind, a prisoner of war against your past.

-a familiar pounding in your head clouded your thoughts, and you could feel yourself spiraling through various personas, each personality you'd tailored for everyone in your life; it hurt too much, it felt like you were being pulled in a hundred different directions.

-who were you today? the bubbly friendly girl in the back of the class? the dark, almost suspiciously angry person, hiding in the shadows? maybe just a quick witted friend, always there with a funny rebuttal, making everyone laugh but yourself. what was the point of "being yourself," and "living life," when you didn't even know who that person was? that person you could have grown into died that day, the day,,, the day it happened. 

-you'd been lucky enough to have survived, to live to today, but what was the point of it all really? 

-you stared at your shaking hands, and for a second you see blood, draining you of your life as all you can do is sit there and watch; but you blink and its gone, only a thin white line serving as a memory. 

-you'd promised him you'd never hurt yourself again, and a part of you knew that you should call to him, for he was only in the other room, no doubt writing another extraordinary song. he was always so smart, so sure of himself and an absolute genius. it wasn't an exaggeration when people complimented him on his music, it came naturally to him, he had a passion and he pursued it. 

-unlike you.

-who were you but a stain on his life? he'd be better off without you anyway. 

-a wave of rage came over you, and all you could see was red, red red red. How dare he not notice how in pain you were, not be here to comfort you and take care? Did he not care? was it all just a joke to him? did he even...did he even love you?

-you felt yourself spiraling further, physically bending over to the point of pain, the muscles in your lower back stretched from the lack of support. tears had started to pool in your open hands, and staring at them blankly you were only vaguely aware of choked sobs reaching out the doorway, small whimpers mixed in with cries as you tried to feel anything beside the pain.

-a small knock distracts you, cautious and questioning, and you know immediately that its yoongi. yoongi your sweet angel, the one who always made you laugh when you were feeling down, played card games with you when you needed a distraction, sung to you when you couldn't sleep, kissed your tears away no matter how many times they fell. you didn't say anything, rather let him open the door himself to see you sitting there hunched over, looking up at him with puffy eyes. 

-he assessed the damage first, scanning the bathroom for anything sharp, any blood or a wad of suspiciously thick toilet paper shoved forcibly into the trash can. upon seeing nothing of the sort his eyes soften, seeing you in your fragile state. he never thought anything less of you, in fact he always thought you were so brave to be alive, to still be fighting after all you'd been through. you were a pair of survivors, people who bonded not only over trivial things like favourite band and your shared humor, but the experiences the two of you had gone through added an extra layer of understanding to the relationship.

-he sits next to you quietly, letting you take a breath before speaking, his voice softer than usual, and yet still with edges of his usual roughness, but he's kind. He looks at you, and you can tell it's taking him all of his energy to not to reach to your face, wiping away your tears and holding you in a tight embrace. he knew the drill, and his main priority was your comfort. 

- "can I hug you?" 

-it's a small thing, but it's enough to bring you back to tears as you nod shyly, too afraid to speak. you close your eyes and you can feel his arms wrap around you, holding you securely close to his chest, steady rhythm of his heart beating against your own chest like a metronome. steady, present, there. he's whispering tiny comforts to you, affirmations of his love and your worth, that everything was going to be okay. you lean into his touch, closing your eyes hesitantly as your head falls on his shoulder, hiding in the crook of his neck. 

-he smells fresh, faint smell of laundry detergent intermingled with his pine shampoo, and something else; he smells like home, the smooth cotton of his plain black shirt on his thin frame under your fingers just adding to the notion of comfort, and your own sobs cant help but die down, calming under his soothing presence. you start registering his voice, his hand tracing soothing circles on your upper back.

- "it's okay," you hear him say, "you're going to be okay. it's over now baby, nothing can hurt you.. i love you so much... i wont let anything bad happen to you.. it's okay... you're going to be okay..."

-his voice drills a hole in your chest, striking a cord and unable to get it out as you struggle to catch your breath. He pulls away, making sure you see where his hands are clearly before cupping your cheeks, stroking away any stray tears. he examines your face soundlessly, giving you a chance to speak if you so choose. you study him right back; he looks tired, like he hadn't slept in a while, soft hair a very definitely natural shade of silver. He saw you revisiting the dark circles under his eyes with your own, and as if reading your thoughts he replies, "work has been a bit long, nothing else princess."

-you open your mouth to make a counterclaim, but he cuts you off gently, "I promise," he says, and yet you struggle to believe him.

-a small pause settles over the two of you, and you could see his sincerity in his words, mirrored by the gaze that falls upon you. sweet kind yoongi with his easily irritable self and cutting humor, his stoic side and his adorable smile which you swear could light rooms.

-did you really deserve him? how could someone as amazing as him be in love with someone like you? Even as you began to speak, you could already feel the guilt washing over you, shame at the notion of manipulation as you asked, 

-“Why do you love me?”

-yoongi smiles, just the tiniest bit as he pulls you closer to him, kissing your forehead, taking your hand in his before responding, “why do i love you? ah well thats a complicated question with too many answers,” he looks at you, hoping to notice a change in your expression, but seeing no results he presses on, “I love you because you’re you, because you get up every morning and face the world even though its told you repeatedly to stand down,” he brushes a stray hair behind your ear as he goes on, carefully as to not set you off in some way, “I love you because even though you’re characterized by a mental illness thats seen as horrible and dark you constantly show up with your brightest smile and kindness in hand, and theres never been a day where being by your side hasn’t been a gift. I love you because of the way you’re attentive, how kind you are to complete strangers, your smile when you think no ones looking. the way you doodle in the corners of my lyrics sheet and fall asleep next to me at the studio when im up late working.”

-he shifts, fully facing you, tilting your chin up so you’re looking him directly in the eyes, piercing into your soul, trying to bring back any piece of hope you have to the surface, “I love you because theres that insatiable force pulling us together,” he playfully tugs on your arm, earning a teary chuckle from you as you look away, feeling the tears start up again. damn him and his talent with words.

-he’s just saying that because you asked him that

-your brain, a genius

-guilt courses through you at his words, a stab to the heart marred by the sweet tone of lies. this was manipulation. great. you’d manipulated your way to validation was an excellent girlfriend you were, truly inspiring. You feel the headache start up again, but yoongi catches you, placing his hands firmly where your shoulders connect to your neck, seriousness overcoming him as he cuts off your thoughts, sword at the ready, “I’m a logical person y/n, you know this, you say this to me all the time, and I wouldn’t have said any of this if it weren't true.”

-he searches your expression for anything, a twitch or a change, and is surprised to have you curl up in his arms, burying your face in his chest as you breathe for seemingly the first time since the conversation started, letting a full sigh as you try to clear your head, willing to pay anything to just believe his words. yoongi pulls away, hand running softly through your hair as he admires you. he slowly leans in for a small kiss, not passionate, leading to nothing, but just a kiss to let you know he’s there, and he’s not going anywhere and for now, just knowing he’s here is enough

-after what seems like forever of him holding you, the rim of the tub digging into your thighs, he presses a gentle kiss on your temple, intertwining your fingers with his before he stands up, extending his free arm to help you up. “come on princess, lets go to sleep,” is all he says.

[rockmiyabideusexmachina]

2019 Megaman Valentine’s Day Contest Rules Post

It’s year number 12 of lovey dovey-buku contest art, and I’m back at it again. No secret categories, no surprise themes. These are just the two options you all voted on the most, this time around. Let’s do it!

Two categories, in which you are allowed to submit one entry for each category, if you would like. If you place in one category, you will be automatically disqualified from the other, for reasons of fairness, and to give other people a chance to win a prize.

CATEGORY 1:  The Way To A Mega Man’s Heart Is Through His Stomach (Talent)

Content Requirements:

        * A pinup category focusing on Mega Man characters who are cooking, baking, eating, feeding their partner, lounging on or around supersized pieces of food,  or creatively wearing clothing that appears to be made out of aesthetically appealing food products. Basically, some sort of delectable food must be drawn along with at least one character.

        * As this is the talent category, judging will be based primarily on the overall composition of your piece and your artistic skills. How well can you bring delicious, appetizing food to life, along with your delicious, appetizing character(s)?

Who says robots can’t enjoy food? Certainly not Fully Charged Guts Man. XD

A popular proverb has long held that one can often fall deeper in love due to their partner preparing their favorite food or sharing a romantic meal with one another. There have been many instances of Mega Man characters who would likely operate in a similar fashion, due to their love for their fave dishes. Netto has his insatiable craving for curry, while his papa Yuuichirou’s palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy, as he holds his fork waiting for mama’s spaghetti. Megaman Volnutt wants his sweets so badly, he’d kick a vending machine to pieces to get them, or bug the lady at Jetlag Bakery for those yummy confectioneries. Kelvin Stelar went a more healthy route and loved carrots as much as his wife’s homemade carrot gratin. And don’t forget the delicious cake waiting for Ashe or Grey in the fridge of Hunter’s Camp 4.

So, your task for this category is to draw the Mega Man character(s) of your choice tempting their Valentine with some delicious food. Some sweets for their sweetie, if you will. But the character you draw can be pretty tempting themselves, to go along with their treats. Create a tastefully seductive combo meal that will leave our mouths watering for more!

Now remember, as much as some of you out there might have first thoughts to draw some melons, bananas and glazed honey buns, this category is not meant to get explicit. No frontal nudity is allowed. So please follow tumblr brand censorship guidelines™ when creating your art, or it will be flagged, hidden from the public and not included in the competition. ;p

CATEGORY 2: Princess Sigmia Returns (Humor)

Content Requirements:

           * A Megaman character who takes the primary form of another, opposite gender Megaman character due to a magical crown/mystery tank/navigator’s headset/biometal/battle chip/etc. This character is looking for love this Valentine’s Day. How they attempt to obtain a date/partner is up to you.

           * As this is the humor category, judging will be based primarily on how funny your piece is. Consideration will also be given to a lesser degree on your creativity in combining your characters into a hybrid, and your overall design for them. But the point of this category is to make us laugh!

Following 2018’s hottest videogame art trend, that of the genderbent transformation of Bowser and crew into Princess Peach-looking alternate forms of themselves, it’s time to continue that spin with more Mega Man characters.

Looking to clean up real nice in the ultimate battle body for a night of love and romance, Princess Sigmia is ready to hit the club/restaurant/park/etc., and this time she’s brought friends.

Your goal for this category is to create the funniest romantic scenario this hybrid character can get into on Valentine’s Day. What made them use this magical, transformative item? What are the reactions of other characters to this newly made up character, who resembles someone they thought they knew? Let your imagination run wild, and draw most hilarious creation you can come up with!

There are no restrictions on what characters you merge, and no, you don’t have to stick with my combination of Sigma and Alia. You can base your transformations off of heroes or villains, minor enemies or main characters. It just has to follow the similar format of gaining the appearance of a familiar character of the opposite gender, while still retaining some characteristics of the original character. So, whether you create Mistress Ashebert, Mega Man VolBonne, Rainbow Cieldevil, Prince Praika, or Crimson Akane, the combinations are all up to you!

PRIZES:

It’s the usual, ‘get-what-you want’ option, for the top 3 artists in each category. As always, if you prefer a cash prize through Paypal, and just need the money, that’s typically the easiest and quickest option to get your reward.

But like normal, I will be flexible and work with the winners to purchase Megaman-related prizes, if there’s something you’ve really had your eye on and would like ordered. Be it a Roll Caskett 4-inch Nel, Fully Charged figures, artbook re-releases, Mastermix issues, or some other trinket. If I can find it within your prize price range and order it to be shipped straight to you, I will do all I can to make it happen!

The winners for both the Talent and Humor categories will receive the following:

          *1st Place: $100 USD or an item(s) up to that value.

          *2nd Place: $50 USD or an item(s) up to that value.

          *3rd Place: $25 USD or an item(s) up to that value.

PARTICIPATION PRIZE RAFFLE:

Since they have gone pretty well in the past, I once again will be offering participation prizes. Some might say a few of these are quite X-cellent prizes, in honor of X’s 25th anniversary this year. In order to be eligible for the participation prizes, all you need to do is enter a pic for either the Talent or Humor Category!

Like previous years, if there is a prize here you are NOT interested in, please note that when you send in your submission(s) to me. Otherwise, you will be automatically entered in the raffle for a chance at each of these items.

If you draw a pic for both the Humor and the Talent Categories, you can double your chances to win! (Odds of course, depending on how many others enter and also draw two pics.) You will be able to add your name into the drawing a second time for just 1 of these prizes.

Raffle Prize #1 – Rockman 8 Anime Cel (with Genga)

Name a more iconic Duo. I’ll wait. This cel of Duo is a tight headshot from the midgame cutscene. After waking up, Duo sees the vial of Evil Energy by Doctor Light’s computer, crushes it, and proceeds to say “HE STILL LIVES!” before screaming in this frame and blasting off through the ceiling of Light Labs.

This is almost quite certainly your last chance to win a Rockman 8 cel from me, so best of luck to all who want to take it home!

Thanks to a generous donation from @silentally, there are also 3 other pairs of raffle prizes (*pictures to be edited in and added soon):

Raffle Prize #2 – Set of Mega Man X Official Complete Works Artbook and a beaded Zero keychain

Raffle Prize #3 – Set of a framed 3D sprite art piece of X’s iconic Vile battle, as Zero comes to the rescue, and a handmade Zero plush

Raffle Prize #4 – Set of Tamashii Buddies Zero figure and a Zero emblem wristband

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES:

When you submit, I would prefer you to include the following information in this format, along with your entry:

•   (Your name/preferred alias) – As much as I usually know who you are, there’s always someone new or somebody who has a different preference from what their email name says.

•   (Category this entry is for) – You can either say 1 or 2, or Talent/Humor

•   (Participation Prize Eligibility) – Just write “All” if you are interested in the chance to win anything. Write: “Exclude from # __” if you do not have interest in winning a particular participation prize.

In the event you are submitting your second entry, please specify which prize # you would like your bonus chance in the raffle to be put towards.

Only submit your own work, as usual. Any character, major or minor, from any series is allowed. Pairing characters from different series is totally allowed. Same-gender pairings are completely fine. OCs are allowed, as long as your art contains at least one canon Megaman character.

As always, participants are allowed to submit from all over the world. It’s easier for me to get prizes to US entrants, because international shipping is complicated and pricey, but I’ll do what I can for you guys who aren’t in the States.

Paypal is still the preferred method for cash prize payouts. Please have a valid account to receive your winnings.

Youngin's, get your parents permission before entering.

Entries do not need to be colored, but it is preferred. The more effort put into things as always, the better chance you have!

Entries can either be e-mailed to me at rock2125[at]hotmail[dot]com, or you can just PM/note me a link to your pic.

DO NOT post your pics in this journal, your dA galleries, Twitter, tumblr blogs, other sites, etc. until the contest is over. This is the fairest way for competitive reasons. I prefer to keep them all secret until the deadline has passed.

I'll edit a confirmed entry list in this thread when I receive them. So you won't be in the dark about whether or not I've received your entry.

DEADLINE:

The deadline for this contest will be Tuesday, February 12th, 2019 by 11:59PM CST. *EXTENDED!* New deadline is Wednesday, February 27th, 2019. This gives you a little more than 5 weeks to finish your entry!

MISCELLANEOUS INFO:

As usual, If you don't plan to enter, but would like to help me judge, please let me know through DM or mention so here. Never hurts to have extra opinions on all the entries.

Bug me with questions if you have any. Please join in, and good luck to everyone who enters!

CONFIRMED ENTRIES:

Cat. 1 (Talent) - @prar-draws, @larytello, @drewblossom, @bracedshark, subzeroiceskater, @irischroma, @papillonthepirate, SockMonkii

Cat. 2 (Humor) - @drewblossom (x2), @bracedshark, subzeroiceskater, 

[myxcenterxstage]

Meta: Priscilla's Motivation in Survival Mode ... and a whole lotta analysis

Author’s Note: This meta is primarily focused on v: Sail On, but can also reflect her character motivation in other verses.

TLDR; just jump to part 3 for the survival mode motivation stuff. But parts 1 & 2 help it make more impactful sense.

Part 1: A Character Analysis Pre-Franklin Expedition

So, let’s first take a quick look at Priscilla’s “Prologue” - her life growing up under the guardianship of her Uncle Charles Kimbleton.

Priscilla’s personality is slightly different in her verse v: Sail On. SLIGHTLY. She’s still her kind, buoyant and quirky self, but she’s also a lot more badass. She’s not afraid to get her hands dirty and isn’t interested in her debutante ceremony or who she’s going to marry. Nope. In this verse, Priscilla’s free-spirited “Wild Child” side is more prominent with her insatiable sense of wanderlust, wanting nothing more than to indulge her obsession with exploring the world as her Uncle Charles’ second-in-command and record their discoveries as a Natural Historian.

She imagines herself as the heroine of her own story she’s going to write about someday, or at least tag along for a grand adventure with like-minded people until she can accomplish that.

Besides v: Sail On being a great high seas & survival story, I like to think it has an underlying coming of age aspect where Priscilla comes into her own, because, granted, she’s a mess of contradictions.  

She’s afraid of commitment and marriage… but she’s a hopeless romantic.

She’s a bit of a rebel to Victorian stereotypes… but she’s so self-conscience of what others perceive of her even if she claims she doesn’t care.

She’s independent… but is so vulnerable and impressionable and wants to be rescued by a hero that’ll sweep her off her feet.

She knows who she is and what she wants… but keeps seeking validation from others.

She’s insightful and a delight to be around and sometimes wiser beyond her years… but is emotionally immature and has a track record of recklessly foolish & impulsive decisions.

She has the courage to stand up to always do the right thing… but when she’s faced with a challenge she runs away from it.

Do you see where I’m getting at?

(I guess you could leave it as she’s a complex character… or I’m still trying to fully grasp her personality as an OC. I’d love some feedback on these ‘contradictions’!)

Part 2: The Aftermath of Uncle Charles’ Disappearance

So, Uncle Charles. He doesn’t physically appear in this verse per se, but boy does he remain an indirect main character.

No matter where in the world they were, Uncle Charles was Priscilla’s ‘home’. He was her bodyguard, her mentor, her storyteller, her shoulder to cry on, and most importantly her conscience to curb her foolishness as she was still growing up. The Kimbleton family isn’t exactly small, but Charles was by far the most genuine. Charles wasn’t just an uncle - he loved and cherished Pris as though she was his own daughter. (Since Charles was a widower who never remarried, I think that’s why Priscilla maybe even learned to cope with grief in this verse surprisingly well all thanks to him too.)

Uncle Charles was certainly one of the biggest influences in Priscilla’s life, and who encouraged her curiosity and scientific obsessions contrary to other relatives who wanted to repress it in favor of her becoming the stereotypical Victorian house-wife.

Unfortunately, Charles was also someone she lost at all too dependable a time. And it was probably a bigger catastrophe than whatever happened to her parents that brought her into Charles’ custody to begin with. Everything that represented her sense of security was ripped away from her, and she was left with a void she didn’t know how to fill.

Even at the urging of her other relatives, she refused to host - or attend - the funeral held in honor of Charles years after his disappearance. Maybe, just maybe, he would come back. Maybe, even against all odds.

But she didn’t know. What was closure? A part of her didn’t even want to believe he was gone.

And now without him, she became an open target of vulnerability.

This also begins a new, very prominent flaw in Priscilla’s character: her strong sense of denial and running away from her problems given the quickest opportunity. Left to her own devices Priscilla tries to hold on to every good thing her Uncle raised her with, all while struggling to cope with loss and fend off her inevitable foolishness.

{{ Insert Backstory & Priscilla’s Scandal Here }}

Part 3: Franklin Expedition Disaster & Survival ::  From glory... to desperation… to reality.

Okay NOW. Finally to the part we’ve all been waiting for!! THIS is what I had the Eureka for earlier that started this whole meta to begin with!!

So, fast forward to Priscilla running away from scandal and boarding the HMS Terror. She feels she struck gold by being able to follow her dream and her “running away from home” paid off. Fast forward again from the new friendships Priscilla makes and secret crushes and buds of platonic cuteness and everything happy in Baffin Bay etc.

Fast forward again to Priscilla hearing Sir John’s announcement about them sailing straight into the ice pack since they’re so ‘close’. Fast forward again through Priscilla’s impression of Sir John unraveling once they’re stuck in the ice.

At that moment, nothing was more terrifying than the great unknown to Priscilla. She had no place to run.

Parts of her personality she didn’t know existed came out after the ships were stuck in that ice:

Bitterness. Anxiousness. Volatility. Fragility. Restlessness. Fear.

Beneath her thin veneer of mandatory bravery and blind desire to wish things could turn for the better was a mess of emotions she was so desperately trying to suppress. Almost overnight she picked up random nervous habits. Outbursts of skittish laughter, speaking her mind out of place, trivial chatter, zoning out. Sporadic enough to not be of concern, but noticeable to those who knew her well. And all the while she had this gnawing sense of jitteriness to always do something amidst constantly feeling so helpless.

As the tragedy continues, she grows quieter - her radiance dimmer. Her optimism that was fueled by denial slowly comes crashing down into the reality of the frightening dark caverns of her own mind. Writhing in bitterness over Sir John’s hubris that sentenced them all to death, she had begun to realize that she too perhaps had made an impulsively reckless mistake to volunteer herself to begin with.

And once the Tuunbaq attacks begun, she quickly realized they had no place to hide either.

So there was only one option left: she had to fight to survive.

And this, my friends, is when the lioness was awoken. While her struggle between the solace of denial (which still fueled her optimism outside of a genuinely happy moment) was ever-present, and her blind wishful thinking might have helped her to not cripple under from the stress… when backed against the wall of brutal truth she was beginning to realize she had no choice but to unavoidably reckon with herself, which was long overdue. Admit their predicament for what it was, admit her decisions and behavior as a runaway was foolish, admit her feelings of lostness in a cruel world, and admit even though she was not strong enough to face London’s gossip of her she never should have acted so rashly with herself in retaliation. (Let alone other things she may or may not have done on the voyage... to be determined)

But at least in this dead end, she wasn’t doomed to navigating it alone.

After losing her only family, she had gained a new one on this expedition. 129 new family members to be exact, regardless of how well or little she knew them. No matter how many lives she grieved each passing week, she wouldn’t have wanted to trade anything to not know those she especially held dear. And collectively they all shared one supportive notion in common: They needed to survive.

And then, after a burdensome night when she had hit an emotional breaking point and poor medicinal side effects induced a fevered outbreak where she was delusionally mistaking Captain Crozier for her Uncle Charles… the following sober morning she came to an unexpected realization.

Call it the beginnings of madness from the lead poisoning, or her desperation to hold on to whatever threads of hope she possibly could, but a new question of ‘what if?’ became her new obsession:

What if Uncle Charles was in fact still alive? Just like them?

Somewhere, someplace - it felt almost tangibly real to her. The years of disappearing from the face of the earth and civilization - and yet still not dead.

Thus, her own independent motivation to survive against all odds in these Arctic conditions emerged. It fueled the promise she made to her new friends that they’d press on. Ignited the motivation lent her by others. She found a new purpose: not for only herself in the end, but for those who mattered to her. 

And if Charles had the strength to survive wherever he was all this time - then she would do the same. And maybe, just maybe if in these years her Uncle returned home - just like Priscilla knew they could eventually, someday - she would want nothing more than to live so she could run into his loving arms once again.

Come what may, she would march on. She wanted to live. To survive. To love. And most of all, she wanted to make sure her new family would too.

[hellv1ra]

Written in the stars

Chapter 3

Previous: Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Parings: Alpha!Reader x Beta!Fandral, Alpha!Loki x Omega!Sigyn, Alpha!Bucky x Omega!OFC(Jasmine Flowers)

Summary: Post coital wake ups, things get a little steamy with reader and Fandral, Loki and Thor are little shits to their sister, we finally get some Stevie.

Warnings: ABO Dynamics, Things get a lil steamy and

Word Count: 2429

A/N: This is kind of a filler chapter. Sowwy. and thank you to everyone who has read this i appreciate it. 

 YN woke to the one of her servants quietly moving about her chambers, Fandral was wrapped around her, his face buried in her neck. She slipped gently out of his embrace and sat up in bed and stretched languidly.

“Please forgive me if I woke you your highness.” She said bowing her head.

“You didn’t wake me, could you fetch me my robe please?” The girl nodded and rushed off to retrieve her robe. YN quietly crawled to the foot of her bed and stretched her arching her back working the muscle fatigue from the previous night’s activities. She and Fandral had parted ways with their playmates after a quick nap and another round of pleasure in the earlier hours of the morning as the sun was just beginning to crest over the horizon.

“You truly are the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld” Fandral said sitting up as he admired her form.  YN glanced at Fandral over her shoulder, batted her eyelashes and blew him a kiss.  Her servant reentered the room carrying her long black silk robe. she held out the robe to slip it over YN’s shoulders. “No, no, no that won’t be necessary” Fandral said quickly crawling down the bed and pulling YN from behind back on the bed. “You can leave the robe.” The servant giggled and placed it over a chaise not far from the bed. She quickly exited the chamber, knowing the history between the two lovers and that her presence would not be required for the time being.

“Fandral!” YN squealed as he pulled her into his embrace. He turned YN, so she was sitting sideways in his lap. His large muscular thighs embracing her backside, creating the perfect seat. “Excuse me sir, but I have to dress so I can breakfast with my family. I’m supposed to leave with Thor to Midgard in a few days and we have to discuss the journey.” YN whined leaning into his broad, well-muscled chest.

“Even more reason to laze about in bed with me while I worship you, my beautiful goddess. Who knows when I shall have you in my arms again.” Fandral said running his lips up her neck before catching the lobe of her ear in his mouth sucking the soft flesh into his mouth. YN squirmed in his lap, heat pooling deep in her belly. Fandral began leaning her back licking his way back down her neck.

“Fandral” YN moaned running her fingers through his hair. She pulled him from her neck and brought his mouth to hers, the kiss turned rough and passionate Fandral growled as she pulled his hair roughly. Fandral broke apart the kiss and moaned loudly. YN smiled knowingly at him as she ground her backside into his hardening member. Fandral growled nipping at her neck and running his hands to cup her breast and thigh.

“Yes Princess?” He asked massaging the soft flesh of her thigh.

“Take me to Valhalla”

 A few hours later YN had finally convinced Fandral to take his leave, with the promise that she would miss him terribly while she’s gone, and had barely managed to get cleaned up and dressed in time for dinner with her family.

“Well look who decided to grace us with her presence” Loki smirked at his sister as she took her seat across from him and next to Thor.

“Hush, you” YN said yawned as a servant filled her glass with wine.

“Fandral wear you out sister?” Thor asked raising his own for a refill.

“I wouldn’t say that, I just had a very, very long night with a lot of playmates who needed my attention.” She smirked taking a large sip from her glass

“Well, to be fair you had Fandral to help. I don’t require the assistance of another to bring screams of delight from my chamber” Thor smirked

“Such a pity, dear sister I thought you’d have more prowess than that? those rumors of insatiable delight must be fables then?” Loki smirked darkly from behind his own glass.

“Wha-” YN sputtered “Excuse me! I did NOT need his help! In case you’d forgotten Thor, I’d he was one who required my attention as well. I don’t see you taking both men and women into your bed do I brother?” She put her glass back down on the table “And you can shut your trap Loki, you’re mated now so you have no room to talk about what goes on in an unmated Alphas chamber.”

“She’s so defensive brother.” Thor pointed at his sister.

“Agreed, I dare say we must have struck a nerve?” Loki suggested and smiled antagonistically at his sister. The brothers occasionally took delight on tormenting their older sister, they couldn’t help it, it had been going on for so long it was like second nature to them.

“Why are you two ganging up on me?” YN crossed her arms indignantly and turned away from them.

Both brothers burst out laughing and quickly quieted as their mother and Loki’s wife entered the dining room.

“Now what has my sons laughing so hard at their sister?” Frigga asked sitting at the head of the table, Sigyn took the seat next Loki. Thor cleared his throat and began inspecting his finger nails. Loki quickly brought his wine glass to his mouth and began staring intently at the ceiling.

Eyeing both of her sons suspiciously “Thor?” she asked looking to her left. “Loki?”. Both sons refusing to make eye contact with their mother. Sigyn turned to the side and back handed Loki in the chest. Thor covered his mouth and nose with his fist and snorted as Loki rubbed the spot that his wife hit.

“Your mother asked you a question husband” Sigyn demanded from her husband.

“Yes, brothers do tell our mother what is so funny.” YN hissed.

Thor then made an enormous misstep, he looked into their mother’s eyes and folded like a cheap suit under her intense stare.

“Loki started it” he accused pointing at his brother.

“Traitor!” Loki bellowed standing from his chair “You’re the one who suggested she was lacking in the bed chamber!”

Both were now standing and accusing one another of being at fault. Failing to notice the smirk on their sister’s face and their mother trying to hold in her laughter. As the brothers continued blaming the other at the women at the table could no longer contain their laughter.

“Enough!” Frigga yelled winking at her daughter trying to control her laughter “Apologize to your sister.”

“Sorry” both men muttered as they sat back into their chairs. Sigyn scooted closer Loki and ran her fingers through his hair. He grabbed her hand bringing it to his lips for a tender kiss to her delicate knuckles.

Servants began entering the room places various dishes around the table for the family to dine on. The family settled in the meal conversing at the previous nights festivities, omitting the events occurring in the sibling’s bed chambers of course because their mother did not need to hear that. Laughter was shared amongst them as dishes were cleared and wine glasses filled. The discussion turned to Thor and YN’s coming excursion to Midgard.

“When do you plan to leave for Midgard?” Loki asked relaxing into his chair.

“I’d like to leave tomorrow, but since YN is coming id like to be able to give her more time to prepare for her departure.” Thor said raising his glass to his lips.

“I can be ready to leave tomorrow” YN said eagerly “Hel, I’d leave this evening if we could. I haven’t left Asgard in over a thousand years.”

“Then its settled, we leave on the morrow.” Thor said slamming his fist on the table. Accidently cracking it down the middle.

“Not another one, Thor! How many of these must we replace in my life time?” Frigga exasperated at her son.

“Sorry Mother!” His sheepish smile earning him quick forgiveness from their mother.

A shiver of anticipation ran down YN’s spine, things were finally beginning to feel like they were looking up.

 Steve sighed as he rolled over to glance at the clock on his nightstand. 2:00 it mocked him. For the last few nights he hadn’t been able to sleep for more than a few hours at a time. His instincts have been going haywire, not necessarily a sense of foreboding, but something was going on that he couldn’t quite out his finger on and it was driving him crazy.

Running his palm down his face Steve flipped the sheets from his body and got out of his bed to stretch. He headed for the bathroom, scratching at his stomach he caught his reflection in the mirror and stopped to inspect himself. Sometimes he still struggled with the reflection in the mirror, not because he didn’t like what he saw but that it was still hard to believe that he had physically changed so drastically from the man he was before.

It doesn’t change what you really are, “Or were” he said aloud. Steve tried not to think about it too often, but sometimes the loneliness felt almost unbearable. Not that he was alone, he was never alone. Always surrounded by his friends and team mates. He was however alone he had no mate. He had hoped that Peggy was the one for him but, the serum had quashed any hopes of that. His true nature needed to be suppressed, no one could know, it would have been too dangerous. The only people who knew were dead, except Bucky, and thankfully he remembered and that it was a secret.

“It’s for your safety Stevie” his mother used to say. She told him that he had to hide his nature, it would have made him an even bigger target than he had been for being as small as he was. His mother had told people that he had been born a small and sickly Beta, and with his myriad of health problems no one ever questioned the validity of her claims. The only reason Bucky even knew about it was that he had caught Steve in a weak moment after his Mom died and he’d spilled his guts.

“Well that explains so much about you, and why I feel the need to protect your ass all the time Punk” Steve smiled at the memory as he finished his business in the bathroom. He got dressed and headed out to the kitchen to see about making some warm milk to try and fall asleep again.

“Bucky, you’re so bad” he heard a quiet giggle coming from the kitchen as he walked in. He saw Bucky with his plump little omega wrapped in his arms. Steve couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy, he wished that he could find someone that was perfect for him the way Bucky had.

“Heya punk!” Bucky’s voice cut through Steve’s musings.

“Taking a break from your rut jerk?” Steve asked as he went to the fridge in search of milk.

“Yeah, I mean I can’t have my best girl croaking on me because I can’t keep in in my pants for ten minutes.” Bucky laughed as he kissed her forehead.

“Oh please” she said squirming her way from his grasp “He’s the old fart who can’t keep up.”

“Oh, that’s the way its gonna be Jazz? You gonna do me dirty like that?” Bucky asked crouching his frame lower like he was gonna pounce.

The little omega squealed, grabbing their snacks and bounded off towards their room.

“You better run missy, I’ll be taking out of your hide later” he called after her. Steve smiled and sighed sadly at their interaction. “Alright punk, what’s eating you?” Bucky asked tilting his head at his friend.

“It’s nothing Buck, I’m just really happy for you” he said settling pouring himself a mug of milk and putting it into the microwave. “It’s just I can’t help but feel a little jealous you know, I wish I could have that you know.”

“Well, its not like you can’t man. There are plenty of willing omegas and betas, and VERY willing alphas if they knew the truth. You just have to be open to the idea of it.” He smartly advised his best friend.

“It’s not like I haven’t tried, I mean look at Sharon. She’s a beautiful beta, smart and skilled, and completely fucking wrong for me man. It’s just nothing feels right you know, like even as much as I loved Peggy even after the serum it just never felt right. As good as this serum has been, it’s like the thing that is fundamentally who I am is gone.” Steve leaned against the counter, the sadness in his eyes unmistakable.

“Well, do you think that the suppressants you’ve been on for the last 85 years might have something to do with how you’re feeling?”

“Buck, I haven’t been on suppressants since June 21st ,1943.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped, and just stared. His mouth opening and closing like a fish. “How, why- How?!” he stuttered. “Does anyone else know? Besides me that you’re an omega?”

“No!” he hushed “and keep your voice down damnit. I don’t want anyone else to know?”

“Why not? It’s not like it was when we were kids Steve, there are a lot more Omega males now.”

“I’m not, at least I don’t think I am anymore. I think the serum made my body into a beta. My brain still feels like an omega, like its instincts are still to respond like an omega would, but my body doesn’t match up anymore. I feel I’m in the wrong body Buck.” Steve’s voice hitched up higher and tears formed in his eyes. It was a rare moment of weakness for Steve, who was usually annoyingly calm and collected.

Bucky wrapped his arm around his best friend’s shoulders “Stevie, you gotta see a doctor about it then, at the very least talk with Bruce about it. He’s not gonna tell anyone about your nature and he might actually have an idea about what’s going on with you.” Steve nodded his head and embraced his friend.

“Alright man” he said pulling away “Get back to your woman, before she comes out here and reams both of us”. Bucky chuckled and clapped me on the shoulder one last time before heading off to his room.

I grabbed my milk from the microwave and headed off to my own room in search of a few more hours of sleep.

[floraexplorer]

Both My Parents Died Before I Turned 30. Here’s How I Deal With Grief.

It’s not easy losing both your parents in your twenties.

And the grief? It’s a sucker punch to the gut.

It’s like a sharp-toothed creature inside your chest. Like a waning chasm crawling up your throat. Like an animal barrelling through your ribcage.

Grief is lethargic. It has an insatiable appetite. It fills you up with fury, sucks you into quicksand, and buries you under mounds of duvet covers. It sneaks suddenly around corners and reduces you to tears in seconds.

In other words? Grief is a complicated beast. 

But grief is also absolutely fundamental. It’s the recovery process of how we mentally and physically deal with the loss of a loved one.

I should know. I’ve been doing it for ten years already, and I’ve just had to start from square one again.

First Mum, then Dad: two deaths in ten years

In January 2009, two months before I turned 21, my mum died from a sudden, unexpected recurrence of cancer. It was quick and brutal: the time from terminal diagnosis to her death was just two weeks.

I didn’t understand what had happened, and neither did my dad. I was at university at the time, and a week after the funeral I numbly went back to class because I had no clue what else to do.

Fast forward eight years to March 2017, when my dad’s lung fibrosis got so bad he stayed in hospital for a month and had a pacemaker fitted. My friends all told me to be positive, but I knew from the doctors expressions and from my dad’s increasing exhaustion that this was it. Death was going to happen again, and it was going to be soon.

In October 2017 my dad passed away. This time around we were ‘ready’ – as much as you ever can be – and because I’d met death before, I reasoned it might be easier.

Nope.

Coping with my dad’s death has been an entirely new experience. Now I feel rudderless: with no parents or siblings I am officially the only living member of my family, and my entire identity feels irrevocably different.

And yet? As a daughter mourning her mother then her father, I know just how common this scenario actually is – and the importance of understanding how to navigate grief.

What I’ve learned about grief

The vast majority of us will have to face the death of our parents: I’ve just been dealt it earlier in life than most. So now I’m writing about the ways I’ve seen my grief and tried my best to tame it, because if I can help just one person dealing with something similar it’ll be worth the work.

And if you are reading this from a place of grief, I’m so sorry.

I see you. I’m here for you. And I promise you it’s going to get better.

There are laws that follow death

When my mum died I wasn’t responsible for any of the ‘death-admin’ – but I had to do everything for my dad. Luckily he was a very pragmatic person, so we’d gone through all his finances beforehand (what bank accounts he had, how much was in them, which direct debits came out of which accounts etc) and it saved me a huge amount of stress.

To keep track, I kept a document open on my laptop which was added to daily, and also had a notebook where I jotted down every important bit of information from numerous phone calls. I also recorded a lot of calls with an app on my phone, because I knew I’d forget virtually everything the minute I hung up.

That’s due to the shock. There’s a lot you’re expected to be able to do, all of which feels like a joke. But the most important legal practicalities which need to be done are these:

Getting a death certificate from a doctor

Registering the death at the local registry office

Deciding whether or not to see ‘the body’

 Finding a funeral director (and paying them a huge amount of money)

Choosing a funeral date & time and telling everyone

Contacting the banks and utility providers to let them know

Finding the will

Arranging a funeral is both ridiculous and an oddly useful distraction 

Making funeral decisions feels utterly surreal. This person was alive just days ago and now someone is asking you about coffin wood colours – but the quicker you get this organised and off your plate, the better. These decisions are one-time-only, which is a relief.

The biggest issues to face:

Burial or cremation?

Open casket or not? (this isn’t too common in the UK)

Religious service or not?

Who’s going to speak at the funeral? Readings, eulogy etc

Will there be a wake? If so, where/when/do you need to reserve a space?

Remember that you’re absolutely allowed to ask for help with all of these decisions. At one point I was so overwhelmed when someone started pressuring me about which hymns to choose for my dad’s service – so I asked a family friend (who knows her hymns) to give me a list of five and I chose my three favourites. Same with funeral readings: I knew I wanted to do my dad’s eulogy and knew who should do the readings but I didn’t know what – so I just asked them to decide.

This rings true for needing physical support during this time too. Ask someone to go with you to all these places — the funeral home, the church to plan the service, the graveyard, the banks. It’s worth having a second pair of ears digesting all the info you’re given, because grief is a great memory zapper.

After the funeral is over, time begins to feel somewhat warped

This is perhaps when true realisation begins to set in: that this person you loved has actually gone. There are days which seem to disappear, and minutes which feel like hours. You might find yourself in the kitchen and not remember how you got there.

This is grief beginning to show itself.

It can be scary, all-encompassing, overwhelming – a whole host of buzzwords which never quite fit, and also WHO CARES because you can’t believe what’s happening to you.

People do care. You care. You’re going to be nicer to yourself now than you’ve ever been. And you’re absolutely going to get through this.

Identify your support network and guard it fiercely

In any recovery process, a good support network is invaluable. With no parents I feel acutely vulnerable, and sometimes I worry that my friends can never replicate the love my parents gave me.

But they’re my friends for a reason. They know and love me in a different way to my parents. They’re able to share the emotional weight of supporting me, and they can buoy me up in ways I don’t expect.

They’re able to help with the unforeseen admin that starts to pop up. Unexpected phone calls from that one distant relative you forgot to tell, who’s devastated they missed the funeral; the car insurance company who claim they’re still owed money and demand to speak to your late father.

However, some people are unsure if you’re in need of their help. If these friends and family somehow aren’t aware you regard them as part of your support system, tell them!

Try to assuage any feelings of guilt – you deserve ANYTHING that makes you happy right now

The first few months after Dad’s death I spent more on Deliveroo than I think I ever have. My ability to buy groceries, much less cook them, went totally out of the window – but I gave myself a complete free pass.

Comfort food and online shopping are two things I can recommend for a shallow rush of endorphins on a regular basis. Just avoid looking at your bank balance for a while (and when you do, remember it’s just money. You’ll earn it back eventually).

Other helpful ‘happy-making’ activities could be incense, candles, new bedding, softer lighting: basically anything to make your living space as comfortable and nurturing as possible.

Your emotions will be all over the place. They are all valid. Allow them to exist

Your mind and body don’t actually have the resilience or capacity to always dwell on death. Much like when you break a bone and don’t feel the pain for a while, there will be whole hours or even days when you’re operating on a relatively normal level.

That’s usually when the phone rings and you hear a grieving voice say, “Oh darling, how ARE you…”

Remember: you do not owe anyone your sadness. This is your process to deal with in whatever way you can – so don’t feel compelled or pressured to act how they’re expecting.

Conversely, I flew into a completely unexpected rage when a poor girl at our university bar spilled a pint of Guinness on my new Ugg boots. It was three months after my mum died, and I was furious — but even as I screamed, I knew full well that she was just a scapegoat for the anger I felt at Mum’s death.

Back then, I didn’t know about displaced emotion. Now, I’m aware that sudden waves of sadness, anger, fear, and even pain will strike at unexpected moments. The best thing to do is try and ride them out, knowing they’ll eventually subside.

Grief can be a physical experience

After my mum’s death, strange fears I’d never had before suddenly started to manifest. I was scared of staircases because I became convinced I couldn’t hold my balance and I was going to fall. A lack of control was a huge thing for me, because I hadn’t been able to control my mum dying.

Since Dad’s death, I’ve also gone through periods of insomnia, exhaustion, regular anxiety attacks and heart-thumping panic in my chest. My ‘fight or flight’ mode is constantly primed: I jump at loud noises, start crying at turbulence on planes and my memory regularly fails me. My hair even started turning white soon after my mum died (I secretly feel like I’m becoming Rogue from X-Men so it’s all good).

It makes sense when you understand that grieving uses up a huge amount of energy. Our minds go through trauma after a death,  so it makes sense that our bodies do too.  However, if all these factors happen at once, you might think you’re going mad. That’s ok. You’re probably not – but if you think you’re really dealing with mental instability, go to a doctor and see what they suggest.

Grief is such an emotional event that your mind is totally thrown off course. It can take a long time to get back to something resembling yourself again.

Know where your safe spaces are

For me, a ‘safe space’ means knowing where I can cry without judgement or embarrassment. Usually it’s when I’m in my family house; most often, it’s when I’m alone.

But I also have keys to the house of the family I grew up with. There are two cemeteries and a gorgeous park all within a five minute walking distance from my house, and I know the benches I like to sit on for a moment of calm.

And I know how to recognise that rising feeling of panic when I’m on a bus or a train. I know that finding somewhere quiet, green, and open is going to make me feel a little better.

Mantras are surprisingly useful

When Dad was ill, his fantastic carer kept telling me to take things ‘slowly by slowly’. My mum’s best friend often told me to ‘breathe deep’. A friend’s partner said I was now faced with ‘a new normal’.

All these phrases have supported me more than I could have ever expected: small little slogans which stand strong amidst the mess of emotion in my mind. When I feel myself beginning to spiral out, one of my own inventions is to say, ‘Right now, I feel/want/need…‘ It helps to ground me in the present moment and not get overwhelmed with infinite future possibilities.

Establish a secret vocabulary with your closest people…

Distressingly, it’s very hard to articulate what you want or need when you’re in the middle of ‘it’ — especially when ‘it’ could be any number of scenarios when you suddenly feel grief-stricken and overwhelmed. Coming up with a vocabulary that your closest people understand can be hugely helpful.

At a time when you’re not too upset, tell them that when you send a text saying, “I’m not OK”, you really need an urgent response. Come up with code words and phrases: a friend told me they use a number system so they can say, “I’m at a seven right now” and people understand the significance and severity of that.

…But don’t feel bad if you can’t write, or talk, or even express yourself at all

I count myself as lucky, because talking about death (and all the emotions which go with it) comes really naturally to me and makes me feel better.

But I also know many people who haven’t been able to voice their overwhelming death-related feelings. And that’s absolutely fine too.

During the year before my dad’s death I was journalling all the time, as it helped me process what was happening. As soon as he died? I stopped, and didn’t write about my feelings for months. I couldn’t: it was too raw, and too painful. Even writing this article has been difficult on my more grief-stricken days.

Like everything with grief, your desire to talk about it can change from moment to moment.

Actively ask for distractions

If you’re a fundamentally sociable person, being around your friends and family as much as possible is a wonderful way to minimise some of the grief. But many people often have no clue how to behave towards the grieving (like a girl at my uni who ignored me for a month after my mum died, even though we lived in the same house) – and others feel awkwardly obligated to talk about death when they know what’s happened.

I’ve become more bolshy when it comes to dictating the conversation. If I’m in the mood to talk about it, fine. If not? I actively say, “Actually I’d much prefer talking about something happier if that’s ok.” You can see the relief in people’s eyes when they realise you’ve taken the reins!

Allow yourself space to properly cry

I mean this in both a mental and a physical sense. Despite being pretty used to crying in front of my friends by now, I still can’t fully let go unless I’m alone — and occasionally I need to. I visualise it like a tap being turned on and off: when the crying starts, sometimes the tap only opens halfway (usually when I’m around people and I get a little self conscious), and I often slowly turn it off before it’s ready.

But when I properly open the tap? That kind of crying – that animalistic, guttural, close-to-vomiting kind of crying – truly feels like being wrung out. In a good way. Crying is a cathartic experience, but like an animal in pain, I’m very conscious that for me to fully exorcise this intensity of grieving and mourning, it NEEDS to happen in private.

Passive sensory overload can be really helpful… 

This is the classiest way I could think of to describe the serious amount of Netflix binging which has happened since October 2017.

I’ve binge-watched everything from prison dramas (Orange Is The New Black) and apocalyptic zombie outbreaks (Walking Dead) to gory hospital soap operas (Grey’s Anatomy) and violent drug-fuelled (Breaking Bad).

Bizarrely, watching constant death on TV has a few therapeutic effects. It numbs me to the concept; it reminds me that thousands of people die every day (whether fictionally or in real life); and it allows me a confined space of time to cry. For ten minutes, script writers and cast actively want their viewer to be crying (whether at the scene or at your own personal issues), but then the scene changes and suddenly my sadness lifts again.

… But avoiding social media is often a good idea too

If you’ve struggled with mental health issues outside of bereavement, your phone and its multitude of apps can be really triggering. Maybe people online seem absurdly happy when you’re not, or nobody’s reaching out to your subtle hints that you’re not OK.

When you’re acutely vulnerable, self-protection should be your main focus. So when you feel yourself getting more upset from looking at a screen, get rid of it. Read a book, have a bath, meditate, sit in the sunshine – anything which lets you connect with yourself a bit, and focus on what’s right for you in that moment.

Movement and exercise really helps

The cliched phrases are annoyingly true: when you’re feeling awful, getting outside and moving your body can actually do a world of good. I’ve stop-started Couch to 5k multiple times, but even if I hate the idea of getting into running clothes and reaching the park, I do feel happier once I’m actually moving my feet.

That said, when I’m deep in the midst of grieving, proactive sport is often too much for me to face. That’s when the smallest amount of effort, practiced with a ton of self-care and compassion, is just as good. During a few big crying sessions I’ve managed to put a jacket on and walk around the block while it was raining – which was strangely satisfying while tears still rolled down my face.

Eyes closed, heart open, soul ready

For a long time, I’ve felt as if something was missing in my life. I attributed this to grief: I assumed my mum’s death had shaped me irrevocably, marked me out as different and separate from others. I didn’t know if this feeling would ever change. I assumed it wouldn’t. Yet during this past week, spent on retreat at @quarterlifehealthproject, I honestly feel that my life has changed. For the first time, I both witnessed and was intrinsically part of the sheer power which comes from a group of fiercely vulnerable women sharing their stories and emotions with complete openness and honesty. In yoga, meditation and intuitive movement we rose together, moved together, and turned inward together. We danced wildly in thunderstorms, connected in silence, and held space for each other in sharing circles and fire rituals. In just six short days, we became connected. We became sisters, in the truest, oldest sense of the word – and that’s exactly what I didn’t know I was looking for. Women, we are wise, strong, and so very powerful. Please never forget how much magic you hold inside yourselves

A post shared by Flora The Explorer (@florabaker) on Apr 24, 2018 at 12:59pm PDT

Observe the trajectory of your grief

At some point you might start to see a pattern to how your grief moves. It’s a bizarre sensation: barely there for weeks on end and then suddenly, one day, BAM! You can barely move for the enormity of it; can barely breathe for crying; can’t imagine how you ever felt OK before this.

Remember that you felt alright before, and you will do again. This is going to pass.

In my mind, the path of grief looks like a series of peaks (good days) and troughs (bad days). At first the troughs last way longer and the peaks are tiny moments, but gradually you’ll have longer peaks and shorter troughs.

If there’s a pattern to it, try to use your better days for organisation. There’s so much potential help on offer when you’re grieving if you know where to look.

Find a therapist or bereavement counsellor who you trust

Talking therapy has really helped me, yet I barely knew about its potential benefits when my mum died. My university offered me counselling but the woman I met with a couple of times only made me feel worse, so I stopped going.

My issue with therapy (which people often neglect to tell you) is there’s no guarantee that the first therapist you meet should be the one you stick with.

It took me until 2015, seven years and one mini-breakdown after my mum’s death, to finally seek out a therapist on my own. I went privately because I really needed help that exact minute, but here are the most common options:

Therapy through the NHS: go to your local GP’s office and talk about your options. The good news is these services are free, but they might involve long waiting times.

Therapy through your local council: I applied through my council’s website and received a call from a support worker, who then referred me to an online CBT course (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy).

Therapy through a charity or hospice: my dad was at a fantastic hospice and they offered both of us sessions with a family worker, both during his decline and after his death. Charities like Cruse and Marie Curie also offer bereavement counselling.

Private therapy: If you’re willing to pay for therapy, there are probably hundreds of therapists in your local area. I used counselling-directory.org.uk and read through profiles until I found a few I liked, then sent them an email explaining my backstory and went on from there!

If you’re not confident about meeting face-to-face, there are a number of helplines (all UK based) which you can phone up for a chat. They include:

Mind: 0300 123 3393 (or text 86463)

Cruse Bereavement Care: 0844 477 9400

Marie Curie: 0800 090 2309

Anxiety UK: 03444 775 774

Samaritans: 116 123 (helpline is open 24 hours)

Involuntary membership in the ‘Dead Parents Club’ is a weirdly helpful thing

A strange positive to grief is that it brings unlikely people together. I’ve discovered so many acquaintances who’ve also lost parents, and we’ve been able to meet up for coffee (or, you know, much alcohol) and compare notes on how inappropriate everyone who isn’t grieving can be.

I’ve also had so many intense, personal and vulnerable conversations with people I’ve met mere moments before, simply because I learn they’re members of the DPC too.

For me, it’s felt really healthy to hear about death from multiple perspectives – and it’s got me out of the house on the days when I felt I otherwise couldn’t leave. It’s also a huge relief to sometimes skip past all the niceties you have to use around non-grieving people and dive right into the intense stuff with someone who gets it.

Keep the person you’re grieving close to you with their possessions

Although you wouldn’t know it from her love of garish plastic bracelets, my mum also wore lots of the same kind of jewellery as I do, so I was already borrowing her necklaces and earrings before she died. Now her cardigans, scarves and leather handbags have also become permanent fixtures in my wardrobe – so much so that I often forget what used to be hers, until someone asks where something came from.

It meant that the first weeks after my dad’s death I was usually wrapped in his cosy brown cardigan with the holey sleeves, because I already knew it would make me feel better.

Organise your material and virtual memories

Along with jewellery and clothes, my parents left me with a wealth of photos, letters, birthday cards, to-do lists and handwritten gift tags – many of which now decorate my house and make me smile when I see them.

But what about all the virtual memories I want to preserve? During my years of long-term travel my Dad and I would email all the time, so I have a vast collection of our correspondence which I’ve put into its own folder. After his death, I went through his email inbox (which felt only somewhat invasive) and forwarded various emails to my own inbox.

Why? Because email addresses, social media accounts and phone numbers will eventually be cut off by the service providers – and it’s usually earlier than you think. The last voicemail my mum left me vanished after a few weeks, and I never thought to try and save it until it was too late.

Luckily, my dad had also transferred hours of home video onto DVDs so I still have my mum’s voice safe (she was usually the one holding the camcorder, so sadly there isn’t as much of her on film.)

I’d recommend backing up their photos, phones, email accounts and anything else tech-related onto external hard-drives. It’s a devastating nightmare when something goes wrong.

Grief is not linear. The ‘stages of grief’ aren’t the rulebook

The Kubler Ross stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, fear, acceptance) are supposedly chronological, but in my experience they definitely don’t go in order: it’s not like you only feel fear once you’ve stopped feeling anger.

One day I’ll be exhausted, the next I’ll be so furious it scares me. Two more days of ambivalence, perhaps even happiness, and then suddenly I’ll be sobbing again.

Grief is not a linear process. The easiest way to describe it is like a series of waves. Peaks and troughs. They ebb and flow, some days stronger than others. It always recedes, but it always comes back.

Devastatingly, that’s it for life. It’s always going to be there – but you do learn to grow around the grief. That’s one of the few benefits to having already navigated the loss of one parent when I lost the second: even in the depths of sadness, there’s a faint awareness that it does get easier.

You’ll re-visualise your life as ‘before’ and ‘after’ the death

This fracture, this split, will likely colour everything you do. Everything you are. Everything you’re still to be. But their death will also become a type of yardstick against which much of your life can be measured.

When I’ve been casually dating a guy and I’ve mentioned my mum’s death and they’ve suddenly wanted nothing more to do with me? That’s the ‘Dead Mum Yardstick’, sorting out the wheat from the chaff, and I’m strangely grateful I’ve got that.

You’ll hear them and think about them more than you ever did when they were alive

My dreams are filled with my parents. Sometimes my dad has bizarrely recovered and wants to come home, leaving me annoyed that I got rid of his hospital-style bed and there’s boxes all over his bedroom floor. Sometimes my mum’s death was all a big misunderstanding, and I happily fall back into a dream lifestyle which has recurred for so many years that it’s achingly familiar.

For months after my mum died, I saw her everywhere. Her hands held the railings of tube carriages; her buoyant hair waltzed past me in a crowd. She was an actress, and occasionally I see someone on the TV screen who could so easily be my mum (with a little squinting) that I can barely breathe.

I spend a long time terrified that I’ll forget them both. But if my overtly detailed dreams are anything to go by, those memories aren’t going anywhere.

You’re allowed to talk about them as much as you want to

When my mum died, I received dozens of messages from people I’d gone to school with and hadn’t seen for years. “Your mum was always so happy and friendly!” they said, “and I’ll never forget how she took us to that Busted concert even though we had a GCSE mock exam the next day!”

Memories like this; memories I’d forgotten, which belong to other people? They’re absolute gold dust. They help to strengthen the picture I have of her – and they remind me that so many others loved my parents the way I did.

It’s as simple as bringing them up in conversation, but it’s also possible to actively ask people for memories about them. Via Facebook, I’ve reached out to girls my mum was at boarding school with and been told stories and sent old photos in return.

Every day you’re coping (even if it doesn’t feel like it)

It’s so easy to pressurise yourself into thinking that “I should have dealt with this by now”. That’s normal. Grief is something completely non-relatable until you’re thrown headlong into it.

A therapist told me that grief is traumatic on a cellular level. Every single cell has to register what has happened to it; every cell has to absorb the blunt force of that trauma, and learn how to rebuild itself. It’s exhausting. It’s all-encompassing. It’s almost like you’ve been pushed in front of a truck and now have to spend months in intensive care — except this isn’t a visibly physical trauma, so it’s harder to explain.

The Victorians used to wear black for a full year to let strangers know they were in mourning. When I’ve had inadvertent arguments with supermarket staff who are oblivious to the reason why I’m getting stressed over scanning food at the till, I half-wish that mourning garb was still a custom today.

Only you know your grief…

One of the best pieces of wisdom I’ve heard about the grieving process is that it’s yours, and yours alone. My best friend unknowingly echoed this one day when I was panicking at an Underground station.

“None of us know what you’re going through – we can’t!” She said, hugging me tight. “We’ll just be here for you, as best we can.”

There is no right, wrong, recommended or ill-advised way to grieve. Not really. In fact, many people reading this may think half of my advice isn’t appropriate for them at all! This is just a small part of my own journey through grief.

My biggest realisation through the aftermath of two deaths is to listen to your body. Be aware of what you truly feel you need, and follow that internal wisdom. Don’t let anyone tell you it’s been ‘long enough’. This is your journey: nobody else needs to understand it but you.

… But your grief is NOT who you are

Please try to not let your grief define you. I’ve been struggling with this ever since my mum died, and doubly so now that Dad’s gone too. But you are your own person, irrespective of this terrible loss you’ve suffered. Grief has happened to you, but it doesn’t make you who you are.

In fact, these losses have the uncanny ability to shape you into a better, stronger version of yourself.

I realise now that my mum’s death has unequivocally shaped who I am. If she hadn’t died when I was twenty, I would have made so many different choices in life that I can’t imagine what I’d be like now. But because she did die, I became a traveller. I became a writer. I became passionate about expressing my feelings, and investigating why I feel the way I do.

Moreover, I know deep down that both my beautiful, hilarious, ever-loving parents would hate their deaths to affect me so negatively.

You get to dictate the rest of your life

It’s easy to feel alone when those who loved you most are gone. But you’re not. Their love still existed. You still knew them.

So. I may be an adult orphan now – and you might be too. But we’re still here. We’re still living, fiercely and passionately, with every fibre of our being. We might be sobbing occasionally – because that’s what grief does to us – but we’re doing them proud.

We’re living, in spite of our loss. We’re living because of them, and because we loved them. That’s all we need to do.

Now it’s over to you. If you’ve had experience with grief, what are the ways you deal with it? 

The post Both My Parents Died Before I Turned 30. Here’s How I Deal With Grief. appeared first on .

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The four I’s that maximise investability.

Read time: 7 min 15 seconds – ish.

Increasingly I believe that entrepreneurship can be taught.

And importantly, learnt.

My blog posts usually focus on the repeat behaviours common to successful entrepreneurs. I work hard to translate those observations into practical actions that anyone can do.

This post is different – it focuses on identifying the key characteristics on which those behaviours of success depend.

There are several traits common to successful entrepreneurs, including (but not limited to): inventiveness; imagination; opportunism; and charisma.

I’ve chosen to focus on the trait that is arguably the most important of all: investability – the ability to raise funding.

Access to finance is commonly the challenge that provokes the most questions; causes the most problems; and seems the hardest to fix.

However, some people are better at securing backing than others. Some people seem to be able to raise more money more quickly than others. And that led me to ask:

What are the most important characteristics that enable great entrepreneurs to land investment when others get stuck?

I’m not talking about the specific actions that they take – for example, what slides they include in their pitch deck. I’m talking about the qualities and attributes that successful entrepreneurs possess that fuel their ability to positively influence investment.

I’ve identified many characteristics common to entrepreneurs that successfully raise finance. I’ve distilled those attributes in order to identify which characteristics I believe to be the most important. I narrowed it to four that to my mind are the most powerfully influential – four that are the most vital.

As an investor, in my view the four characteristics common to the most investable entrepreneurs are:

Initiative

Intuition

Instinct

Inevitability

Bringing each one of those four characteristics to life . . .

Initiative:

A common characteristic belonging to the most investable entrepreneurs is their initiative. Doing what needs to be done before being asked. Combined with correctly choosing the most important thing that needs doing.

Brilliant entrepreneurs are activists, not talkers. They take action. They get investment because they get things done.

When others get stuck, entrepreneurs get stuck-in.

Successful entrepreneurs take the initiative. Which means that they tend to lead rather than wait to react. They are on the front-foot.

The force of entrepreneurial initiative often comes across as a powerful sense of urgency. It can feel as though time is running out. Successful entrepreneurs often appear impatient, intolerant even.

Entrepreneurial initiative is often misread and misinterpreted. Two common misconceptions are:

Fearlessness

And a lack of attention to detail.

In the debate on whether entrepreneurialism is nature or nurture, one persuasive argument that entrepreneurialism can’t be learnt is a belief that (whether male or female) entrepreneurs have “more balls” than the rest of us.

I think that analysis is inaccurate. I do not believe that entrepreneurs are immune to fear. My view is that successful entrepreneurs possess so much initiative that they are compelled to press-on despite their fear.

It is also not true that successful entrepreneurs have no capacity for detail. It is simply that entrepreneurial initiative creates a need for progress that is greater than the capacity to get immersed in detail.

Some of the world’s most famous entrepreneurs are equally famous for their ability to descend into the most microscopic level of detail. However, if you want to engage an entrepreneur in this level of detail, my advice is, pick your moment wisely.

Multiplying your initiative:

To develop the power of your initiative I recommend reading my previous post: The 4 D’s of Exceptional Leaders: Decisive; Definitive; Directive; Declarative.

Intuition:

To my mind, intuition is singularly the most important characteristic vital to entrepreneurial success. Therefore it is equally vital to being investable.

Entrepreneurial intuition is the gift of being able to predict and forecast outcomes accurately based on experience and feeling rather than via conscious reasoning, quantification, validation and analysis.

Intuition is a superpower - it is the commercial equivalent of a subconscious sixth sense.

I am convinced that both the speed and quality of a leader’s decision making is fundamentally enabled by their intuitive intelligence.

The possession of good intuition provides a foundation from which to make good quality decisions, consistently.

Intuition is especially important to start-ups and early stage ventures because these companies simply don’t have the time, resources, capacity or money to indulge in extensive de-risking and analysis. Something that corporates would be wise to learn.

Successful entrepreneurs have to rely-on (and vitally, act-on) what their gut tells them. Brilliant entrepreneurs are hard-wired to tune-in to their gut. They know how to interpret the invaluable messages that their gut tells them. They know how to translate those messages into clear decisive actions. Invariably the right actions.

One thing that I worry about is that not enough is being done to teach kids how to harness the power of their intuition. Intuition is not on the curriculum.

Unlocking the power of your intuition:

Tune-in to your gut. When you feel uncomfortable, don’t ignore it. Decipher what it is telling you. Act on it. Speak it (literally).

Successful entrepreneurs take care to acknowledge and bank their successes in order to build a solid foundation of confidence that enables them to trust their feelings.

Be astutely observational. Hangout with your customers. Really look. Really listen.

Beware that intuitive strength is not an excuse to avoid good governance and due diligence. Know which corners cannot be cut.

Recognise that not everyone will share or trust your intuitive sense. Avoid unnecessary friction; misalignment; being overly assertive. Find more effective ways to communicate and share your intuition. You are an entrepreneur, not the messiah. It is not incumbent on anyone to believe your intuition. It is incumbent on you to persuade them. Even if they are your subordinates.

The collective intuition of a group invariably multiplies the power of the intuition belonging to the individuals in the group.

Instinct:

One thing that investors especially value is pace. Instinct is a vital asset with which to accelerate progress. To accelerate from start-up to scale-up.

It is not simply that brilliant entrepreneurs are receptive and fast to act – it is that often they do so unthinkingly. It is in their nature. And they are not troubled by it. Whereas, people who are lack this instinctive characteristic tend to wrestle with their responses. They need time and space to reflect, to think, to plan.

Good instinct enables super-fast response, and efficient progress. It can enhance productivity which is key to maximising shareholder value.

Igniting your instinct:

Think of instinct as a programmable auto-response. Then realise that you are able to programme how you respond.

Training your instinct is about reducing cognitive drag; reducing the processing time; speeding up the response mechanism. It’s about figuring out how to automate your response subconsciously, and immediately.

Repetition is a highly effective technique to programme (and re-programme) instinctive actions and reactions.

Recognise that natural human responses, like anger, are actually a choice. You can choose to over-ride these reactions and choose more positive responses instead.

Good instinct is not “knee-jerk”.

Inevitability:

I said earlier that intuition is the most important characteristic that underpins entrepreneurial success. However, for me personally, ‘inevitability’ is the most investable characteristic. From my perspective, it is the most compelling.

Allow me to explain.

When entrepreneurs describe their ventures, the most investable ones are not describing a concept, an idea or a fantasy – what they are describing is inevitable. There is no doubt what-so-ever that they will achieve the outcome that they intend.

Their vision is as real and tangible as the computer on which I am writing this blog.

Build your own inevitability:

Be punctual.

Surround yourself with brilliant talent.

Establish an outstanding track-record of proven results.

Anchor your ideas on a foundation of accurate customer insight.

Systematically evidence market appetite.

Focus on distribution/sales.

Be authentic.

Have bankable integrity that people are prepared to vouch for.

Deliver promises.

If you are interested to read about ventures in my personal portfolio that embody these characteristics, then please check-out:

www.howz.com

www.yoti.com

www.wrisk.co  Interestingly, Wrisk are currently raising funding on the crowdfunding platform, Seedrs - here’s a link to a vid’ of me talking about that.

Finally, as I mentioned earlier, these four “I’s” – Initiative, Intuition, Instinct, Inevitability are not the only characteristics that underpin entrepreneurial success. But they are the characteristics that in my opinion maximise investability.

Below is a (not exhaustive) list of some of the other characteristics that I’ve also observed. Entrepreneurs are also often:

Insightful: Good entrepreneurs are acutely observational, and translate insights into opportunities.

Insatiable: Entrepreneurs are restless and relentless. They are unstoppable and not easily satisfied.

Inciters: Entrepreneurs are inciters. They are igniters, protagonists and provocateurs.

Infectious: Entrepreneur’s enthusiasm is contagious.

Influential: Entrepreneurs make people believe.

Intentional: Entrepreneurs are full of purpose. (They are purposeful).

Interventionalist: Entrepreneurs get stuck-in. They get hands-on and take practical steps to progress.

Intrepid: Entrepreneurs are often in command of their own fear.

Ingenious: It’s not the great entrepreneurs are clever, what makes them special is the originality of their inventiveness