#and many apologies to shaw for this trauma

[neathyingenue]

🎲 forrrrrr,,,twitch and silvia?? (sorry silvia)

I rolled 32--a kiss while someone is watching. (with apologies to @zeebreezin)

[pretend-writer]

Down Below (Chapter 71)

Summary: After being sent down on Earth with the other prisoners from the Ark, Y/N Reyes faces series of events and learns about survival. With new things happening around her, she is now starting a new chapter in her life.

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader, John Murphy x reader, Raven Reyes x sister!reader

Word Count: 3.1k words

Warning: swearing, injuries

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It had been 6 years since we've been back on the ship; at least that was how it felt like. The Red Sun, the journey through the forest, it took so long and my body was so exhausted. It was a relief that I was finally back to our temporary home.

We got back "home", not expecting anything that we saw. Everyone was out of cryo, other than McCreary's men. They've kept all criminals in cryo except for one.

'What the hell is going on?' Bellamy said, curious as we all walked into the crowd of people that were in the cafeteria.

As we squeezed in between everyone, there was Octavia, groaning while she laid on the ground with blood all over her body.

'Trying to help your sister but she's stubborn.' Diyoza took her hand out for Octavia to grab. She instead ignored her, trying to get up on her own. 'See? Stubborn.'

'Why are you out of your pod?' Bellamy asked.

'You're asking me? Someone took me out, why else would I be out here.'

Raven came through the crowd, 'I got her out. Octavia got jumped by Wonkru and she was fighting them back. I didn't know what to do so I got Diyoza to help me.'

'Well, you could go back because we cannot have you running around the ship.'

'I stopped the fight didn't I? Octavia could've died, Bellamy. People are upset about Blodreina and showed no mercy. I helped her.'

'Now you can help us by leaving. We're trying to find a new home at Sanctum with these people down on the ground and they can't know we have criminals with us.'

My brows furrowed, confused how we never really talked about what we were doing next. 'Uhm. Did we even agree to stay there with those people?'

Sure, they helped Murphy but we don't know what they were capable of nor did we know who these people were. I was all for building our community again but not with strangers we knew nothing about.

'Yeah they seem a bit... odd.' Shaw added. 'I mean they were too perfect. Their fancy clothes, their mannerism, I don't know I just don't fully trust them.'

'You're the one talking.' Bellamy mumbled, rolling his eyes.

'And you're innocent in all of this Bellamy Blake?' Diyoza walked towards him, 'We are all criminals here, one way or another. We killed to survive, sacrificed our loved ones, killed some to avoid the deaths of many. If not, we witnessed every murder and haven't spoken up about it. We are all guilty of something.'

Bellamy chuckled, 'Whether you have convinced others or not you're never going to change my mind. You're leaving either way.'

'I'm pregnant. How am I supposed to survive in the woods with nothing?' No one had ever mentioned that Diyoza was pregnant, it could've been obvious the way her belly was out but I was too busy to stare at her child. Not to mention we were fighting for our lives back on Earth. 

'Is that really necessary Bellamy?' Raven spoke up. 'We don't have to get rid of anybody.'

'We have a chance to live in a decent environment, with a supporting community with food and water. How are we supposed to pass that up?'

Diyoza shook her head, 'You know what. Do as you please, I don't want to be a part of this mess anyways.'

Watching her walk away, I stood in front of Bellamy. 'You're okay with letting her go? Letting her live off in a woods where we don't even know what happens down there.'

'She can deal.'

I shook my head, glaring at him as I wondered what in the world made him this way. 'Who even are you?'

After glaring at Bellamy I started to chase after Diyoza and ran through the hallway. 'Diyoza, wait. Don't go.'

She kept on walking, eventually ended up at by the door where the exit was. 'Your boyfriend doesn't want me here. I don't want to be somewhere I'm not wanted.'

'He's not my boyfriend.'

'Trouble in paradise huh?'

I bit my lip, 'He's beside the point. But some of us want you here, at least I do. Heck, we need you here. There's these people down there and we can't figure them out. It’s just something about them that feels odd. Then there's this Red Sun and-'

'The Red Sun?'

'This thing on the ground that messes with your head and-' I figured that after they dropped us off, they went back up for safety. Which made sense why they weren't affected by The Red Sun. ‘It’s just a mess okay?’ 

'Hm sounds like I can't help you with that one. Sorry but I’m not a brain surgeon.'

'Okay, fine but you're smart, reliable and capable of everything. Just stay. Please.'

Diyoza paused, staring at me in silence for a while before she spoke up again. 'Why do you want me here so bad? After all I've done.'

'Honestly, I don't know.' I paused for a second, thinking about why exactly was I defending the woman that wanted to destroy our clan. 'If you wanted to kill Wonkru, you would've done it but you didn't. Meanwhile when McCreary stepped into your shoes, we lost so many of us. I feel like you're not completely a bad person.'

'You're a weird one huh.' Diyoza laughed, 'I was one of the most wanted mass murderer in the world and you said I'm not a bad person.'

'People change and I think you have. I just wished that people would see that part of you instead of letting you go because of your past.'

Diyoza nodded, 'You have a good heart. You know that? No wonder why that boy is in love with you.'

'Well, that boy screwed everything up. I've tried, all these years with him and nothing has been working between us.'

'You know, when we had Clarke hostage back when we first landed on Earth, the first thing Bellamy had asked was to dig up that bloody underground of yours to come save you. He wouldn't let us do anything else. Said that you were in critical condition when the doctors found you outside six years ago during the radiation, worried that you didn't make it from getting exposed.'

My eyes widened, shocked to hear these information from her. 'Ah, I didn't know that.'

'He really wouldn't shut up about you. Said that he couldn't live with out you and that you made him a better person. He wanted to talk to you about everything that had happened at The Ring while you were down here. Then wanted to apologize for something he'd done up there, he started to dig through that fallen tower over that hatch with his bare hands, poor boy. Bellamy seemed crazy but it showed how much he cared about you.'

I didn't know what to think after what I had heard from Diyoza. It was surprising to hear, especially knowing how it all went down after that. It would've never occurred to me that he felt so strongly about seeing me, the way he approached me after our reunion.

He had acted like nothing happened, instead Bellamy asked so many questions as to what happened in the bunker. If he had been honest with me from the start, just as how Diyoza said, maybe it could've all been different.

But who was I to say, I was never honest with him about the Dark Year either.

'Anyways kiddo, it's time for me to go.' Diyoza smiled, but it seemed like a sad one. 'What do your people say, "May we meet again" right?'

I nodded, smiling back at her. 'Yeah. May we meet again.'

Diyoza pushed the button to open the ship, as I watched her hop off and slowly walk into the uncharted world. We've only covered a small portion of the moon, who knows what was out there. I knew she could take care of herself but I was scared for her.

As Diyoza disappeared into the woods, I heard bickering from behind. It was Octavia and Bellamy; mostly Bellamy yelling at his sister.

'Why did you think it was okay to pick a fight with those people? Now look at you.' Bellamy snickered.

Octavia yelled back, 'So you think it's a good idea to throw me off the ship too?'

'Wait, what?' I already thought Bellamy was crazy for kicking Diyoza out. She was a fighter, a great one at that and she knew the way around tough situations. She would've been a reliable person to have on our side and now all of the sudden he had decided to kick his own sister out too.

'Reyes, stay out of this. I'm serious.' Bellamy flared his nose, not looking at my direction at all.

'Bellamy, how am I supposed to live in the woods? I don't know what's out there.' Octavia seemed terrified and scared; The same eyes I saw when the Dark Year began.

He shook his head, 'You can catch up with Diyoza. You both would know what to do.'

'This is fucking crazy.' I cut in between the both of them, facing Bellamy. 'Are you really going to leave Octavia out there?'

'Y/N, it's okay. There's no convincing with him, his mind is made up.' Octavia bit her lip, eyes watering as she stared at her brother. 'I-I just can't believe you're actually doing this.'

Bellamy kept his mouth shut, just staring at her as she slowly backed away from us. She looked over at me and smiled.

Octavia seemed as though she already made peace with leaving us but I didn't. Despite what happened between us the last few weeks before cryo, she was someone that was close to my heart. She helped me through tough times, starting from my trauma at Mount Weather to being by my side when I had no one at the bunker.

She was my best friend, someone I needed by my side throughout everything. I didn’t want her to go but knowing the stubbornness in the Blake family, I knew that Bellamy and Octavia had made their decision.

'Y/N, thanks for everything. I'm sorry I said those words to you when we were marching to the gorge, you know I didn't mean it. I appreciate everything you've done for me at the bunker.’ Her tears filled her eyes, approaching me as she opened her arms. 

‘It's me and you forever, Octavia.' I hugged her tightly, crying into her shoulders.

'You and me, always.' She smiled as she wiped her eyes, glanced at her brother before she turned around and walked away. 

He closed the door to the ship as soon as Octavia took off, her jogging away as she chased Diyoza down the forest. Not even acknowledging that she may die out there, not even saying their possible last goodbyes.

'You're unbelievable.' I wouldn't have thought Bellamy would go so low to a point where he would abandon his own sister.

'And I told you to not butt in our business.'

'Octavia is my best friend, of course I'm going to butt in. For all we know, we'll never see her again. Would you be able to live with yourself if we see her dead in the middle of the woods one day?'

It hurt to see him act this way, I had no idea why Bellamy chose to do something he didn’t have to do at all. His mind was probably going crazy, just as how mine was when I was at the bunker.

He was out of control, every decision he had made was started to affect other people's lives including his sister’s. After not seeing Octavia for six years, I didn't know why he chose to let go of her again.

‘We are not discussing about Octavia.’ Bellamy rolled his eyes, ‘My sister, my responsibility. My rules.’

As he turned to walk away from me, I pulled his hand intensely. Bellamy lost his balance as he faced back at me, ‘You’re going to bring her back here. Now.’

‘Reyes whatever you’re trying to do, you need to stop.’ Bellamy’s eyes seemed lost, confused, sad yet angry. I’ve never seen him like this before, even on his worst days I was with him before Priamfaya. It was as if I didn’t know him anymore. ‘You can go chase after her, I don’t care.’

‘You know she won’t listen to me. She needs you to go for her.’

‘She needed to leave, now let me go.’ He shook his arm, trying to get away from my grip but I didn’t let him. Instead, I held his arm tighter.

We stared at each other, Bellamy studying my facial expression and wondering why I was so against all of this. I was angry at his betrayal towards his sister, the way he’d been handling everything so far. I hated what he turned into; or perhaps this was the real Bellamy he kept hidden this whole time.

I didn’t know what came over me, I was upset, infuriated about everything about him that I pushed Bellamy to the ground. He fell hard, not expecting me to act the way I did. He immediately reacted, getting on top of me as he finally gained control.

‘Why are you doing this?’ Bellamy questioned as he sat on top of me. ‘Why are you so angry about something that’s not about you?’

‘It is about me, Bellamy!’ I yelled, squeezing through a space I found between his legs and my body and crawled out of his grip. As I got up, I kicked him to the ground causing him to fall on his back again. ‘She’s my friend, someone that was there for me when I was at my worse. And then you... you-’

Bellamy got up, breathing heavily as he grabbed onto my wrist. ‘I’m what?’

‘You just continue to hurt people, keep hurting me.’ It was humiliating that I was crying over the same damn thing that we’ve continuously discussing since we reunited.

It was just a cycle of telling him how I felt, how to fix a situation and he wouldn’t listen. Everything was getting worse, considering that we had bigger issues in the picture starting with these random people we knew nothing of. Instead, Bellamy wanted to get rid of his sister and a pregnant woman into the woods.

'But here you are, trying to pick a fight with me. Verbally and now physically. What does that make you?'

'I'm trying to help you understand what I'm feeling.' Talking to him didn't work, it never had and it never will. Now I had to face him, literally face him and show him how tough it had been. 

Bellamy pulled me in closer, gripping me tighter to make sure I won't escape this time. 'You've been clear about it, I just don't agree with you. Not anymore.'

'Of course you don't. So then you decide to treat me like crap and walk all over me when I'm trying to talk to you, despite what you've done at The Ring with Echo.'

‘And Murphy just treats you so right, is that it?’

Biting my lip, I tried to stop my tears from falling. Why was he treating me the way he was, pulling me in and trying to get me back and then pushing me away, making me feel bad about everything?

‘He does. And unlike you, he never made me cry.’

Bellamy's nose flared, hurt by the words that came out of my mouth but trying not to show it. It was obvious though, I've known him long enough to read him easily.

While his grip loosened, I pulled my arm away. Before we were able to exchanged our last words, I looked at Bellamy and walked away back to the others.

It was hard to understand him now, he would say one thing and do the exact opposite. I wish I knew what made him this way, perhaps something had happened while he was at The Ring.

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‘We don’t know what’s going to happen to Kane.’ Raven sighed as we sat next to him.  'Abby and Jackson did everything they could, it's just a matter of when he's going to wake up.'

It felt uneasy watching Kane laying there, he almost seemed lifeless. 'He needs to wake up, I need him to.'

After Octavia leaving us, after John practically dying during the Red Sun and being in a terrible condition after those people managed to fix him, it felt like people were slowly slipping away from my hands.

Hearing Kane's side of the story about the Dark Year made me feel better, realizing that he was in pain just as I was. At the end of the day, even with all the shit that we both have been through, he was my father. And I needed him back.

'He'll wake up, Kane's strong just as you are.' Raven rubbed my arm, 'How are you holding up though? I saw Bellamy kicked Octavia out. What's going on with him?'

'I wish I knew. He's been acting weird lately.'

Raven chuckled. 'Probably jealous of you and Murphy. They wouldn't stop fighting at The Ring, Bellamy locked himself in his room at one point. I don't know, this might be hitting him hard.'

'But he started it. I was ready to be with him again, or at least start slow like we said.' Everything changed when I found out about Echo, realizing that he was bickering about my mistakes when he was hiding his own issues.

It was more than betrayal I felt when he turned his back on me. It wasn't even the kiss that I was angry about; it was him acting as if he did no wrong, that I was the problem that our relationship had fallen. He made me think that because of my mistakes, I've lost his trust. When in reality, we've both failed in our part of keeping our promise. But he made sure to only blame me.

'He was a mess up there, Y/N. I've never seen him so absent, so empty.' Raven added, 'Bellamy really lost it when he heard you barely made it to the bunker.'

'Why are you defending him?'

'I'm not. It's just- he went through a lot too is what I'm trying to say. You had your shit down at the bunker, Bellamy had his up at the Ring.'

I sighed, getting confused all over again. I couldn't lie, it was easier to hate Bellamy instead of dealing with the feeling and the confusion that I had. I wish that we had talked everything out, about the time we were apart from each other. 

'Why are you telling me this now?'

'Honestly, I thought he snapped out of it when we got back to Earth when he had hope to see you again. Then after seeing him before we went to cryo and he seemed fine. But now, he's spiraling again. Just like he was at The Ring.'

As I looked over at Kane laying on his bed, I took a deep breath and buried my head into my arms as I leaned in. This was all too much; Bellamy, John, Marcus being in this state and then dealing with these new people.

All I wanted was to live normal again, live peacefully amongst ourselves. I had hoped that when we got off Earth we can start over again just as how Monty said when he said his last goodbye.

Of course, that wasn't the case. Not at all.

[polymathemawrites]

Hand Holds - Part 1/?

cw: wow typical violence, rogue nonsense, mentioned trauma, mathias being mathias

No beta here, this doesn’t follow the canonical plotline for them because I do what I want, if I never finish this please forgive me I am a flake

Read under the cut for the story 

He watches Fairwind work on the deck of the Middenwake, muscles shifting under the linen of his shirt, his coat thrown somewhere and not on him for once, not surprising considering the work Mathias has been watching him do for the last bit of time. Heavy ropes coil and shift, and he's doing something with the sails that the Spymaster does not pretend to understand even a little bit. The lights onboard the ship illuminate him better than the setting sun, but even then Mathias would have been able to see the familiar frame just fine. Even with his wandering focus he can still feel someone watching him in turn and seeing as it's not Fairwind, he looks down from his dark little alcove to the deck proper to see what he expected to see - Shandris Feathermoon watching him, better than the Commander at least.

To stop what he is doing would be to admit guilt, so he turns his attention away from her and back to the Captain of the Middenwake, hip shifting to rest cocked against the wall. He doesn't hear her come, no surprise there, only knows she is there when she lets him know, the exhalation of a sigh.

"Humans have such odd courtship rituals."

"I'm not courting him."

She leans against the wall next to him, her arms crossing her chest, nearly mimicking his own stance, "Are you not?"

He does not want to be having this conversation and definitely not with Feathermoon.

Leaving is conceding ground, again - guilt he isn't going to admit. "I would be far more up front about it, if I were."

"So you've been standing up here, watching him for an hour, for no reason?"

Mathias turns to level her with a look that would have sent trainees in Old Town running, but he doesn't expect it to do much to her, and it doesn't. Partial commander of their forces here, and he himself too for that matter, not much could have cowed the sentinel, and certainly not one human a fraction of her life-span. "He's easy on the eyes." It's in itself a damning confession but there are few who know him by name that do not know his predilictions. It had been a political move mostly, no one would ravel him up in their machinations for marriage plots to better their station if he was confirmed to be unwedable because he was unlikely to produce and heir.

He could swear she rolls her eyes at him. "Odd, what did I say? Why do you not just go offer him your bed?" She motions toward the Middenwake, "He would accept, if that is what worries you."

Nope, nope - not having this conversation. He takes a steady grip of the rail and swings himself up and over, landing on silent feet on the bottom deck, startling a champion on her way to report to Commander Wyrmbane. He sidesteps around the woman with an apology, catching a glimpse of movement from the deck of the Middenwake he spurs himself faster and takes the gangplank, only to hear the footfalls of a night elf doing nothing to hide herself behind him.

Cursing under his breath he swerves rounding the dock, hoping to lose her in the crush of people outside the harbormaster's office but as easily as he weaves through the crowd, so does she. Night elves and their damnable grace, it took him an entire twenty years to learn this. "Are you running from me, or from yourself?"

"I would appreciate it immensely if you minded your own business, Feathermoon. Do you not have enough to do, would you like me to set you up a target practice range, find someone who needs killing?" They break from the press of people, hitting the ramp that leads up and along, but right as he moves to round the corner, he realizes his mistake, too close to the edge, nowhere to go, he runs right into the large form of a Kul Tiran sailor.

He's seconds away from breaking the steadying hold - hands on his arms, before he realizes the surprised face looking down at him is none other than the focus of his last hour's wandering gaze. "Captain." He only just sounds this side of breathless which is embarrassing enough.

"Aye Spymaster, you're going at a right clip." His grin makes Mathias' stomach do unfortunate flips, "Were you coming to see me?"

"He was." Feathermoon pipes up behind him.

Oh that damndable elf and her meddling, this is what he gets for abandoning his paperwork. "I wished to hear your report on the Azerite shipment from earlier today, first hand. I heard there was a dragon spotted?" He does break the hold now, easily stepping back but the heat of the Captain's hands remain burning on his bare skin beneath his pauldrons.

An admirable cover, he pretends he doesn't hear Shandris' sigh to the side.

Fairwind seems to only just have noticed Shandris and he does as passable a salute he seems able, nothing at all respectful about it, and his easy grin ruins the whole pantomime. "Were you coming to hear me tell all about the dragon too, General?"

She shakes her head in the negative, bouncing on her heels in a way he's seen her do when she's at ease, an oddly childish movement for a woman so very old. It just reminds him of how different night elves are to humans, and he wonders how old she actually is, not just in terms of years but in terms of her people's maturity. His wandering thoughts are interrupted by the sweeping and dramatic bow that Fairwind gives her.

"Then do you mind if I steal the Spymaster? It's not often he comes to talk to me of his own volition you see, and I was hoping I could convince him to get a bit of kip with me."

Food. Kip was food, Mathias opens his mouth to deny the invitation, but Shandris is quicker.

"Of course Captain, and well you should - I have not seen Master Shaw eat all day."

"Like a bird he is." Flynn spins on his heel, throwing a look back at them - mostly at Shaw. "Coming Spymaster? I have some victuals in my cabin you might find enjoyable."

"I'm sure he will." Shandris Feathermoon bounces on her heels again. Damned woman.

He easily catches up with Fairwind, following him the short distance to the Middenwake, berthed as it was directly across from the Wind's Redemption. "Have you really had nothing to eat?" Fairwind's voice sounds soft with concern.

"I skipped lunch, although General Feathermoon wasn't there to see me do so." He's annoyed at that, she'd guessed and it had been correctly, which grated on him. That she probably paid close attention to his routine to know the truth of it.

"You do that too often and I'll be able to throw you around."

The glare he levels Fairwind with lacks teeth, "You would be sorely pressed to try."

He finds where the man had put his coat once they're in the Captain's quarters on the ship, slung over the back of the chair seated at the man's very messy desk. The window is open to let in the breeze and also the sounds of Boralus outside. Lighting a number of lanterns and also putting wood in the stove, Fairwind bids him to sit in-between tasks, and Mathias obliges him by perching on the only other chair in the room not piled with things.

"So the dragon-" is how the story begins and Fairwind is a consumate storyteller, Mathias finds himself enjoying the journey despite the little barbs he puts in to tell the man to hurry up with it. He doesn't hurry up with it anyway, and so Mathias has been plied with a large number of hard meats, savory cheeses, and crusty bread, as well as a bottle of wine, "And then we had to avoid the Horde chasing us halfway back to friendly waters."

"That's the part I want to hear more about." It's been an hour maybe, there is nothing but darkness outside and the weight upon his shoulders has gradually lifted with the application of wine and company. "Did they open fire on you?"

"Oh no, no. We were a good bit out from them, it would have been a waste of cannonballs, if I were to take a guess I'd assume they wanted to see if we knew any other islands in the immediate area."

A blade's edge of anxiety leaves him then, and he doesn't even realize it was there until it is gone. "Glad to hear it."

When did it happen, he wonders on his way back to his berth on the Wind's Redemption. When did he begin to fall for Captain Fairwind? Was it the treasury? Before? Was it the man's docier on his desk? In the past it had been easy to bury it, send the offending person away, or himself away. But Fairwind wasn't one of his and he had nowhere to go to escape this slow descent into familiarity. He should push away, he knows. Too much at stake and more - he is terrified of the release in it. To let go of that control and what does he have but himself to master? Too many variables and one can never control them, but himself - he was good at that. At denial and the chains of servitude. He was born for this, bred to serve the Kings of Stormwind in blade and body.

But looking at the light coming from the Captain's quarters on the Middenwake stirs something in him. Dangerous as a knife to the throat it is a hunger inside of him for something more than he had been made for. He knew where that got him in the past, it bloodied his hands and broke his heart, it resulted in a man's head on his desk and the dagger at his side instead of the man who it had belonged to. What was right and what was moral? Not for him to determine, that was the work of greater men. Ripples in a pond and Mathias was the man who monitored them, sent them in the right direction when needed. He was not meant for soft things, for a warm body to come home to, or in this case - to be the warm body to return to. He was no man's home, and never would he be, as much as he might ache for it.

He looks up the gangplank and sees Shandris Feathermoon's back and he turns on his heel, something in him aching too much to be prodded and poked at right now. His mind is far away and he pulls it back, reins it in with the spur of his own physicality. He sets off at speed, kicking off the high wall, his gloved hands finding perfect grooves in the old harbor wall to pull himself up the distance. There is an exhalation of breath behind and below him, a vendor gathering their wares for the day, but he is gone before they even fully register he'd been there and likely their surprise will bleed into disbelief for he is nothing but a shadow. He is running the length of the wall then, high but not yet high enough. Age and strife has worn the brick work - nothing like Stormwind's pristine harbor wall, it's gleaming white masonry - so when he jumps gaps he's able to actually breathe without the weight of guilt in every step, and that freedom causes each leap to carry him further, like a bird nearly in flight. Too long grounded for a roof-walker, too long at desks and buried under bureaucracy.

He takes the gap from the wall to the rooftops as if he is weightless, barely do his feet meet the tiles before he's off again, running the length of the roof's crest on the strongest part of the structure. When he jumps the next gap he looks down to see the market below for that fleeting second, the milling merchantiers and the travelers from all corners of Azeroth, with him above them all.

He's passed the trade's district, passed the Middenwake now too, he's scaling the upper level of the bridge toward Mariner's Row when his lungs turn to fire. He pushes further, further, a snarl as he forces air into iron barrel of his aching chest. One long wide gap and he soars. The landing is rough, he rolls through it and pushes himself up, staggers forward, on, on, he's not done yet. Shandris' words come back to him, 'Are you running from me or from yourself?' He flings himself forward, off the bridge, only to catch his hands against the old stone, the leather beneath them burning as he slides, down and down - but it's enough friction to slow his descent.

On his feet he shakes his hands out, casually looking up to meet the stare of the guard stationed a few feet from where he'd landed. The man has his mouth hanging open in shock. Mathias pushes the hair falling forward onto his face back. "Just testing the structural integrity of the bridge." He murmurs, turning back towards the way he came.

Luck, or something like it, is with him when he gets back to the Wind's Redemption. The only people on deck are Wyrmbane and a couple of Alliance Champions all three of them focused on the campaign map. He moves to slip past them only for the paladin to look up and catch his eye, and before Mathias can nod and dismiss himself, the man is speaking.

"Master Shaw, these two have some information you might like to hear."

There is nothing but darkness and stars above and yet the work is never done so he comes to stand by the table instead of vanishing into the hold - as much as he wanted to just curl up with a pot of tea and his paperwork. One of them is a Ren'dorei in cloth and the other a human in leathers and he leans against the table with one hip, arms crossed over his chest.

"Master Shaw," the Ren'dorei man bows with the customary flourish of his ilk that Mathias still had trouble determining was sarcastic or not, but the man's words didn't betray any disrespect as he continued, "When my partner and I were flying over toward Drustvar we saw some suspicious Horde activity in the region between Tiragarde and the coast over there."

Here the human man took up the thread, "They had a landin' part right along the coast almost up to Fletcher's Hollow." The man had a thick Gilnean accent, "We couldn't see how many there were, but it was likely enough to give someone up there trouble."

Commander Wyrmbane looked to him, "It doesn't appear to be a full incursion." There was an unspoken request for input at this point and Mathias leaned over to look at the map, tracking where Wyrmbane had put a pin in to denote the Horde sighting. The little cove was protected enough by mountains and more, and he could only imagine the havoc that might be wrought by a raiding part with a good foothold there.

"I'll send scouts." But what he really meant was that he was going to go down, pack an overnight bag, and go out himself. "Can you tell me anything about the individuals you saw?"

"I know one of 'em was an orc. There was also a couple of goblins, or extra large green mice, we were fairly high up, I'm afraid." The Gilnean man rubbed his bearded chin, "Saw a lot of crates."

Mathias excused himself after reassuring the commander he'd have something to report to Wyrmbane about come the next day. Finally slipping away to below deck he went to his office and then pushed through the door to his private quarters behind. Lighting the lamp he hung it up over his bed and began to arrange his pack. Poisons, a gnomish spyglass, and a small ration would hold him for the night. When he came back on deck the only one out was the night watch guard on duty and he gave the woman a nod as he took himself down the gangplank again.

Stopping to fill his canteen at the fountain in town and slip in a bit of cleansing powder, he let the sound of night-time revelry from the tavern nearby pour over him. It would have been easy to assign an agent to the task, there were a number of them off-duty tonight, probably finding their pleasures and daily relief in that very tavern. But the thought of the cold air against his face, the thrill of flight, and the promise of a mission to get him out of his head was too tempting.

The gryphonmaster greeted him with a wave, hands full of straw, in the middle of packing it down onto the nest of the gryphon standing nearby. The dark blue and red creature greeted him too, with a headbutt to the shoulder that would have knocked him over had he not braced himself for it. He sunk his fingers into her feathers and gave her a good scritch. "She'll miss you when you've gone, Spymaster Shaw."

"Doubt that will happen anytime soon." The war felt like it would go on forever, certainly he'd been in Boralus more than he'd been in Stormwind for the past months. "I'll need her overnight if she's rested and fed."

"Shadowtalon just had her sup, so you'll be doin' me a favor taking her out. She'll only want to fly after that meal, I wasn't looking forward to have to fluff up her nest for hours to try and get her to settle."

Drawing away from petting under her beak, Mathias took himself to saddling the gryphon, "There's a girl, we'll get you up in the clouds soon." Glancing toward the other nests he noted that one of them was noticeably empty. "When did Cadet Fordragon leave?"

"Oh 'bout an hour ago, took off toward the south."

He hummed a soft sound and slipped effortlessly into the saddle, already Shadowtalon's body was tensed beneath him so eager to take wing. With a final nod exchanged he gave her the pressure of his knees and then she was off, strong wings buffeting the ground and knocking straw about, before they were zipping up into the cold night sky. While all the gryphons he'd ridden in Boralus had been exceptionally well trained, there were two he had a fondness for, depending on where it was in Kul Tiras he needed to travel. There is a duality in the gryphons he favours too, ebon and snowy-white, both good for different cover. But for tonight's trip Shadowtalon's ebon coat would disguise him best, and that's exactly as Mathias preferred it to be.

Tiragarde unfolded beneath him, the long edge of it's coastline and the lights of various townships. He was barely at the height he liked best to travel at when the first sign of trouble became apparent. Smoke rising up from the south, near the mountains that cut off the main body of the isle from Freehold. The amount of it was reminiscent of a forest fire or a town burning and he banked Shadowtalon back down low to skin treetops, the air currents holding them steady. The source of the smoke became clear soon enough as they rose over the crest of a hill, the little hunter's lodge tucked away on the edge of the mountains was being attacked. With no sight of backup from Bridgeport in view he leaned his weight forward and Shadowtalon swooped evenly toward the ground. A less trained gryphon would have balked at the heat and smoke in the air but she just shrieked shrilly, a call for battle and blood. They hit the ground running and she bowled over a man about to strike down one of the lodge's hunters with his bully club. With an effortless motion, Mathias dismounted and then clucked his tongue and pointed toward the treeline. The look of distaste showed in her deep brown eyes but she fled the battle as directed, if she ended up hurt he'd never be able to rent a gryphon in Boralus again.

The hunter with her broken crossbow scrambled to her feet and then kicked the club away from the downed man, Mathias caught sight of her removing her skinning knife from her belt before he was turning, already slipping into the shadows.

He worked best in the dark and the fires from the inn set ablaze and various tent structures only aided in the shifting chaos of shadows, helping to even further obscure him. Humans against humans always put a bad taste in his mouth, but it was easy enough to determine between sides here. The hunters and traders of the lodge wore traveling leathers or hunting gear and were also well warmed against the falling snow - the raiders in contrast looked like burly dock workers and were trying their best to loot during the ensuing chaos caused. Ashvane dockworkers, Mathias guessed. Out of work and on the wrong side of the war.

Shadow stepping behind a truly massive mountain of a man, he struck sure with his blade into the man's lower back. Swift and sharp, he hit with a kidney shot before kicking the man in the back, only managing to stagger him to begin with thanks to his blade work. Even still it didn't prove enough to put the man down and he rounded a circle, swinging his sword wide. Easily Mathias dodged back, and the next blow he easily parried and swept to the side with the cross of his daggers. "Little Alliance dog!" Spat out along with blood and frustration, and Mathias slid under another angry swing. The crimson bloom of flowing blood was spreading through the man's shirt now, but his adrenaline was keeping him going. Soon enough even that wouldn't save him though, Mathias merely needed to wait him out.

He didn't have the patience for that tonight, not with the smoke catching in his throat and the necessity of ending this soon before the fires could do any more damage. Fielding another blow he caught it with his blades but instead of bracing himself he let the blow carry him smoothly sideways, knocking the man off balance. As he raged and stumbled forward, Mathias followed after him and with one economically placed swipe, he opened the man's throat up, the arterial spray hitting another raider in the face - likely the man had meant to aid his friend, only to then be bathed in the man's blood.

Mathias watched as terror set into the man's eyes as he watched the corpse hit the ground and lay unmoving. The scream that ripped out of that man was one that Mathias has heard many times before. Loss, fury, fear, hoplessness. He braced himself for the impact of blade but instead the man turned and ran, fleeing for the treeline. Before he even made it three yard there was a crossbolt in his back, and then two more.

The battle was over, the raiders were trying to flee, and mostly failing. The workers of the lodge had set up a chain of buckets from the nearby stream to put out the fires. He's in the middle of cleaning his blades when a well built woman with greying hair comes toward him. "Well you came down like a very pointy avenging angel. Alanna Holton, my thanks for taking out their leader."

He took her offered hand and shakes it after sheathing his blades, "Mathias Shaw."

With the widening of her eyes he can tell the name is recognized. "Wait here, please Spymaster. I've got an inn fire to put out." She was off then, rushing on to help her workers organize.

Taking himself to the treeline he was barely in range of the underbrush when Shadowtalon trampled over a berry bush to reach him, butting her head into his chest with enough force to make him catch himself or risk falling over. "There there girl, you did well."

Holton finds him in the middle of watering and feeding Shadowtalon to calm her from the excitement, tucked in next to a lightly singed caravan near the Gryphon master's stand. "Thank you for your aid again, Spymaster. We've got some help coming in from Boralus now. Is there anything we can do for you, or were you just sight-seeing?"

With Shadowtalon beak deep in chicken innards, he considers the downtime this little sidetrack is going to cost. While swift and feisty, Shadowtalon was also prone to battle-lust, and he didn't much favor the idea of taking her on a covert scouting mission with her feathers ruffled like this. She might try and divebomb the Horde and that would not suit his needs at all.

"I was scouting something along the Drustvar's edge, but I'll need to wait now for my gryphon to recover."

Carefully reaching out the middle-aged woman gave Shadowtalon a pat, holding her hand there she was obviously testing the mood of the beast. With his own hand buried in the soft feathers under her cheek he could already feel what she was looking for, the fine thrum of energy and a creature well worked up. "This one of Boralus' Gryphons?" She asked and he nodded in turn, "I'll have my man tether her to a line and send her flying to wear her out for you and then bed her down. I'd offer you our gryphon on loan but we sent him off to Boralus to call for aid and he's down for his own recovery."

"Thank you, that will have to do."

"The inn isn't likely to collapse in on itself and the fires all out now, you're hardly dressed for the weather, Master Shaw, please go settle yourself by the hearth while we take care of your gryphon." She smiled at him and gave him a bow before she was off, her shouted orders carrying across to workers and hunters alike, with a tone that commanded to be followed.

It was not until he was in the quiet of the inn that the actual chill of the outside air hit him. With the heat of the room around him closing in like a firm blanket he found himself biting down a shiver. Sweat from activity and also the abated adrenaline left him trembling and he settled down near the hearth of the fireplace, sinking into a chair with a cushion settled atop it. Around him was the bustle of many being tended to. Bandages and burn salves, a lone priest doing his best to take care of the ones worse off. He watches, letting the scene roll over him, only to find a steaming mug shoved into his hands by one of the workers. Taking a whiff proved the beverage to be hot cocoa and he sipped at it, leaning himself back to then settle the warmth of the mug over his chest.

He'd have to go on foot, likely. Which meant sending word to Wrymbane about his change of plans. Pulling his map out he balanced his mug on one knee and planned the best route to take. The Old Drust road would carry him through to Vigil Hill, and from there he could cut over to the coast. On foot it would take a number of hours all told unless he wanted to run the entire way, which he did not - only now regretting the roof-top run he'd taken after dinner with Fl- Captain Fairwind.

Bringing out his writing kit he pens first a missive to Wyrmbane and then begins the more laborious process of encrypting messages to his agents in Boralus. Thrice his mug is refilled as he works, while the bustle of the tiny inn flows over him. The fireplace was kept blazing and in no time the cold that had permeated him fled to be replaced by bone-deep warmth and contentment, he would not relish leaving his place before the fire when it was time to go.

"Shift switch!" The strong commanding voice of Holton filled up the inn after some time and Mathias looked up to see the tired forms of Boralus dockworkers and guards come in, sooty and wet. To his surprise among them was a familiar form, Fairwind's sure frame coming to slump against a wall, charming smile alighting on the lady to hand him a mug identical to Mathias' own. And as if feeling the weight of his gaze, Flynn's attention turned from the inn worker to meet Mathias and hold, a look of pleased surprise passing over his ever-expressive face. Despite the way he'd leaned on the wall looking like a cat drug from the Stormwind canals he bounded up to Mathias' chair like an energetic puppy. His cocoa splashed over his sooty knuckles as he plopped himself on the stones of the hearth.

"Fancy meeting you here, Master Shaw, come often?" Fairwind batted his lashes at him and Mathias applied himself to sealing his letters. "Shouldn't you be asleep on top of your paperwork or something?"

"There's something I needed to check up on along the Drustvar coast." Draining his mug he handed it to Fairwind who was tricked into taking it, before standing.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Fairwind asked, peering into the empty mug. Someone was trying to put a blanket around his shoulders but he was too busy scrambling up after Mathias to let them do it properly so they gave up on him.

"Whatever you'd like." He isn't much surprised to find Fairwind following his steps out, it was too much to ask that the man be exhausted from helping out, at least too exhausted to hound him.

[omnivorousshipper]

Heyyyy! Can we have The Shaw siblings moving in with their mother and finding out how different life is than with their father. You can add a sprinkle of ✨past trauma✨ if you'd like.

Hey! I think I've done a similar prompt to these a long time ago, but I'm not sure if I'll be able to find it so I can find it for you

Btw. I'm making some lore here. Mama Shaw's first right hand man is name Jules, while second right hand man (so when the Sibs are adults) is named Jeffery and would be played by Colin Salmon (an amazing actor)

Warning: slapping, child abuse

~~~

When Deckard had answered the door one day, he had been shocked to see his mother standing there, a dangerous smile spreading over her face as she took in his bruised face. He has to wonder what she'd do if she found about the bruises and cuts on his back

She had given him a hug, a box of sweets, and asked where his father was. When he said the pub, she had asked if he and his siblings would like to go out for dinner. This had shocked Deckard. His parents had never taken him and his siblings out to eat before

Well, he could remember eating at a restaurant when he was really little, so probably before Owen was born. So, he had readily agreed and rushed to get Hattie and Owen ready

Luckily, the opportunity to do something made them behave as Deckard brushed their hair and got them into their favorite dresses

Dinner was an amazing affair, even if Deckard had to keep reaching over and whipping his siblings' faces of ice cream afterwards

Their mother seemed happy to talk to them and asked all about their school and hobbies. But Deckard couldn't help but see the dark glint in her eyes when none of the siblings talked about their father

When they had arrived home, several men were standing outside, but their mother simply ushered them inside. Standing in the living room had been another man and their father

"Ah, Jules. It looks like you've found my wayward husband." They mother had said smoothly, voice like silk wrapped around a knife. Deckard tightened his gripe on his siblings' hands. "Why don't you take the children upstairs while I have a talk with their father."

Deckard didn't trust this Jules person, but he smiled kindly at them as he gently coaxed them up the stairs. He had a small radio on him and let Owen play with it, the sound loud enough for Deckard not to hear any distinct words out of the shouting below them

Both Owen and Hattie had fallen asleep by the time their mother had come up stairs. Deckard had gotten them into his own bed as he talked with Jules. The man was very knowledgeable about knives

"Dex?" His mother called. She had changed clothes and her face looked recently washed. But his eyes still narrowed on the few drops of blood resting at the base of her neck, even though he couldn't see any cuts on her

"Yes, mum?"

"I want you to help your brother and sister pack tomorrow. I think it's time I let you three spend more time at your grandfather's farm."

Deckard frowned but nodded anyway

---

It had been half a year since that day and Deckard still hadn't gotten used to living in the country. His brother and sister might enjoy running around the large fields and getting dirty, but Deckard found himself missing the busy streets of London

Their grandfather's farm house had gotten a huge improvement as their mother had knocked down the original house and rebuilt it to be bigger and more spacious. Their grandfather was happy to have more room for his grandchildren. Especially with how rambunctious they could be. And with all the parties their mother seemed to enjoy throwing

Which, she was having one at the moment. She had firmly told them to stay out of sight and away from her guests. Deckard had no trouble following that order, but his siblings, that was a different story

He had been so absorbed in a book, he hadn't heard Hattie sneak out of his room. Owen was still absorbed in the football game he was listening to while she had grown bores

Hissing under his breath, Deckard snuck downstairs with her and hoped he would find her before their mother. He finally spotted her at the end of the hallway, just about to peek into the dinning room

He gently grabbed her elbow and whispered

"Hatts, we need to go back upstairs!"

"But I'm bored!" She whined as he pulled her back towards the stairs

"Oh? Now, who would you two be?" A loud voice called out, making the siblings freeze. Deckard swore he almost swallowed his tongue

Turning around, he saw many of his mother's guests peering out of the dinning room to look at them. Their mother looked livid

"My sister's kids." She lied easily. "You know she's always been found of babes."

"You're lucky to be an aunt to the cutest kids!" A woman cooed and waved at them. Deckard smiled politely and nodded

"Sorry, we need to get back to bed." He apologized. "Busy day at school."

With that, he dragged Hattie upstairs and back into his room. He could only hope they hadn't ruined the evening

---

Two hours later, with the guests gone and Owen and Hattie in bed, Deckard was called to his mother's study. She leaned against her large desk and narrowed her eyes as he stood in front of her, head bowed

"Deckard, I remember giving you explicit orders tonight. What were they?"

"Stay out of sight and be quiet." He mumbled

"And then, why did you and sister interrupt my meeting?"

"I didn't mean to," he sulked, raising his head to meet her eyes. That was the wrong move

His head snapped to the side as she slapped his cheek. A sharp gasp left his lips. It wasn't that the slap hurt necessarily; it stung, but he had experienced worse.

It was the shock that his mother had hit him that sent him nearly into tears

"When I give you an order, Deckard, I expect you to follow it to the letter. Understood?"

It took him a few moments to find his voice

"Yes, mum."

"When I tell you to keep your siblings in line, I mean it." She snapped

"Yes, mum."

"Make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Yes, mum."

"Good. Now get out of here."

Deckard didn't waste a second leaving the office, hand rubbing his cheek and ignoring the tears streaming down the stinging skin

~~~

I hope you enjoyed friend!

[omegangrins]

Chibnall, Children, Choice and Consequence

Allow me to introduce a companion piece to A Treatise on the Doctor:

It's pretty simple:

Chibnall knows what he's doing and is playing a long game to show how the Doctor needs to take more responsibility.

Let me start off with my favorite examples. That's right, plural.

Every single villain 13 faces is never defeated, merely pushed away from causing them any immediate problems. Tim Shaw being the prime example.

1&10. Seriously, Tim Shaw. Her plan was to use his own bombs on him and then teleport him off the planet. Even without Ranskoor Av Kolos, the Doctor should have thought to check in on him. Especially after The Ghost Monument showed the Stenza were a greater threat than she knew. She still hasn't even checked up on WHAT THE HELL THE STENZA ARE! They sound worse than Daleks but naw, let's go rain-bathing in the upper tropics of Canstano instead.

2. Ghost Monument. We saw the END of an interuniversal race. What the fuck is the beginning that got them there? Who is Illyn and how and why did he orchestrate a super race?

3. Krasko. Sent back in time. Really, Doc? Not gonna take a look at the device and see where Ryan sent the prick so you can double check that he's not gonna cause anymore damage?

4. President Trump analog. Ooooo, you looked at him menacingly, Doc, that'll show him!! Not like he's gonna KEEP DOING ILLEGAL SHIT LIKE THIS.

5. The Pting. She literally shunted it off ship to be dealt with by someone else BUT DOESN'T GO BACK TO BE THAT SOMEONE ELSE ONCE SHE HAS HER TARDIS. That's like leaving a living nuke floating around after sweeping it under the rug while you fly off to Paris.

6. The Pakistani-Indian conflict still happens and millions still die. Not her fault but still....

7. Kerblam. Sure, Charlie's terrorism was solved but not the underlying problem that led to it. Humans still can't work because corporations like profits over people.

8. Similar to the Punjab, how you gonna solve sexism, classism and all the -isms?

9. WHY WAS THE SOLITRACT THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE??!! It's been around since before the universe. Why'd it decide to come back now? It's a whole universe trying to hug our universe to death. Maaaaaaybe we should check out why.

11. She's gets a pass on the Dalek. Fucking impossible to eradicate them.

12. The Master!!! Finally she checks up on something after the adventures... and it's horrible. With everything gone to shit in her absence. Seeing a pattern yet?

And Barton? And the Cassaven? They didn't disappear into smoke.

13. Multiple Earths being multiply fucked. Remember when I said the Doctor couldn't solve racism, classism, sexism, or any of the other -isms? Starting to look like she needs to TRY.

14. The Skithra FLY OFF after getting hit by a laser beam. That kind of thing tends to piss people off. Even if they're idiots using other's technology.

15. Jack. The Judoon. The Ruth Doctor. All things I'd start checking out if I had a time machine BUT

16. WE CAN'T cause the TARDIS emergency alert is going off and we need to hurry up and run and solve this problem before we run out of time in our TIME AND SPACE MACHINE. Leading to another problem the Doctor could help solve but won't. Plastic and over-consumption.

17. Oh yeah, let's trap two Eternals from another universe in the same place. There's NO WAY that could ever turn out bad.

18,19,20. And again. Cyberium. Pushed off Shelley onto herself and onto Ashad and onto The Master.

That's almost 20 "enemies" the Doctor still needs to deal with.

Oh, not to mention that they let UNIT go defunct because they didn't have the forethought to ask if they needed any money in their alien fighting budget. After asking for an office, a desk, and a job. Kinda funny that way, aren't they?

I hope by now you've gotten the idea that this is VERY deliberate. This is Chibnall laying down some very heavy pipe to smack the Doctor like a clothesline. There isn't a one of these situations that can't come around to bite her in the ass.

Barton, Roberts, Skithra. These are all very loose strands for a time traveller like the Doctor to get tripped up on. Chibnall's past episodes prove it. They're all about the Doctor learning how to take responsibility.

42: The Doctor almost gets Martha killed and almost gets himself killed trying to fix it.

The Hungry Earth: The Doctor (a thousand year old "adult") tells Elliot (a 10 year old kid) that "Sure it's totally fine to go get your headphones while we prepare for an approaching unknown alien force." And 11 rightfully gets his ass chewed for it by the child's mother when the kid goes missing because OF COURSE THAT'S WHAT HAPPENS, JACKASS!

Cold Blood: I could write an entire essay about the Doctor's guilt over the Silurian/Human conflicts they've witnessed, but I don't need to. Because every single Silurian centered episode written in the new era is from Chris Chibnall. And you can feel the sad knowledge of Classic Who spill through. He KNOWS how many times the Doctor has fucked up with the Silurians (about 8 times in television format. And it's rough everytime. Rough.) and he writes those episodes like an apology on behalf of the whole human race. And the Doctor. You know why people are put off by Warriors of the Deep? 5 releases a gas that melts the Silurians. And though it's cheesy, the idea and execution is still horrible.

Add to that if the Doctor hadn't stopped to check the crack, then Rory wouldn't have waited and been around to be shot then absorbed by the time crack.

Power of Three: An entire episode about how the Doctor has a problem slowing down and really taking account of the lives of their companions.

Dinosaurs on a Spaceship: The Doctor actually tries to be responsible and pick the right people for a job. For once. But gets angry when they realize it's too late and there's another bunch of Silurians they failed to save. Classic!

Like I said, if you can't see the pattern, you're not paying enough attention to your responsibilites.

Which leads me to the why.

When you fly around time and space for thousands of years, you develop a few duties of care along the way. In every situation, you're the oldest. Technically the only adult in terms of experience. You have a responsibility to act a little less rude and be a bit more aware than needing cue cards to tell you that you should be sad about things around you. And that's the purpose of 13. She's unlucky but learning. Like 12 telling himself something with his face he couldn't say out loud, 13's instincts are leading her to a new place for the Doctor: being a caring, responsible person. Not so much laughing hard or running fast, but being kind. It's the one thing they recognized as a problem in themselves when seeing 1. Being a Doctor is about being kinder than that. Just because you HAVE to saw someone's leg off, that doesn't mean you can't wait a little and comfort them before you do it.

You wanna know what gave me every faith in Chibnall showrunning Doctor Who? 13 staying for Grace's funeral.

Do you understand how unprecedented that is? This is the same person who never said Goodbye to Jo Grant as she got married and fucked off into the night. The same Doctor who said, "I don't do domestic.", did it with Rose a regeneration later, and then closed himself off to everyone but a married couple he felt guilty about who ended up birthing his wife. Have you any idea the number of funerals the Doctor should have the common decency to sit through? This many.

So for 13 to stay around for the death of a woman she has only just met and not only that, BUT call out Ryan's father for not doing the same, it shows tremendous character growth. It's taken millennia but they're still changing.

Something similar happens with Rosa and The Witchfinders. Realizing that there a lot of companions who have been in situations that are sometimes worse than aliens, but they still manage to make it through. So she needs to buck it up and persevere for everyone else.

That's where her anger comes from, and really it's one of my favorite traits on her. It reminds me of 7. Someone impossibly old and impossibly kind saying to hell with it and at least having some fun with the evils who drag us through the universe. And just like Cartmel planned for 7, 13's past will come to haunt her.

That's where children come in. Most of us are crying babies to the Doctor.

There's this thing you notice most in British shows about answering the question directly as asked. Someone says "Are you sure?", you answer "Sure". That's a direct acknowledgement that you heard the question, understood it, and processed it enough to respond in a manner directly correlating to the question asked. Yas and Graham got it and said "Sure" but Ryan missed it and said "Deffo". This is like Elliot with the headphones. The Doctor should have immediately been like, "Okay, Ryan, it's obvious that you're still dealing with the trauma of your grandmother's death and probably not processing things on a logical level. I said "Are you sure?" Not "Are you deffo?" Because we are most definitely not deffo, Ryan. Graham, you wanna help here?"

I'm being sarcastic for points sake but you understand the idea. The Doctor knows better and has a responsibility as such. She should've really sat down with Ryan and Graham and seen if there was a better way to process their grief.

Because I'm fairly certain that "Deffo" is gonna lead to Ryan's death and Graham's cancer resurging as time cancer (I don't know what time cancer is. I just know it's bad.)

And that is gonna piss Yas off. Which will give you all that character you think she's missing (she isn't. Her character is in her subtleties and silences.). That's WHY her character is a police officer (like how does no else see that the man who wrote Broadchurch wrote an inspector character companion?) Imagine you're Yaz and you see the Doctor flying around in a big, magic box that says POLICE. As a fellow officer, you're gonna expect some basic safety protocols.

Like do a background check on everyone flying in the TARDIS to know whether they're stable enough (mentally, physically, emotionally) for time and space travel. It's no picnic. These people are going to go through hell. A little vetting and planning like Time Heist or Dinosaurs on a Spaceship goes a long way.

Secondly, full fucking disclosure.

"Oh. I can't die because I change my body. Oh. I have arch enemies that will try to kill and torture us any chance they get. Oh. My home planet is full of the biggest assholes in the universe and I'm including my arch enemies."

Third, police like to do this thing called "check-ups" where they go back to the scene of the crime in order to see if there is any more information that can be gleaned which you might not notice when you are busy running around trying not to be killed... Like, the Doctor has the perfect machine to do this with, but nope. Adventure done, run to the next place!!

These are all things you'd expect any reasonable person to do and say when taking others flying off into time and space and "helping". Even if they are an idiot passing through and learning. Especially when you consider the Doctor is vastly older and more experienced than everyone they encounter. They SHOULD know better. And they've got the lifespan to slow down. It's not like they need to be in a hurry because they're going to die at any moment like humans. The Doctor could easily stay for tea and it would be less than a drop in their lifespan.

Now, as usually is the case when I make these theories, I have a parts 1,2,3,4 and 6. There's allways this 5th piece I miss but I manage to get at the end.

But the 6th piece is the Timeless Child. The Doctor isn't a Time Lord anymore. They're not beholden to those people and ideas anymore. Even moreso, those people basically raped her childhood for their own gain so it's not like you'd really listen to them and their "policy of non-intervention".

I'm sensing a coming Trial of a Time Lord season (even believing these two seasons are the opening statement and preliminary evidence of the trial itself) wherein the Doctor finally gets the turnaround 6 deserved. A Trial of the Time Lords, if you will.

"In all my travels through time and space I have battled against evil, against power-mad conspirators. I should have stayed here! The oldest civilization: decadent, degenerate and rotten to the core! Power mad conspirators? Daleks, Sontarans, Cybermen — they're still in the nursery compared to us! Ten million years of absolute power: that's what it takes to be really corrupt!"

This is what it's all coming down to. Chibnall's takedown of the Time Lords. And The Master is going to play the most crucial role of all.

They're going to be revealed as an Ux alongside the Doctor and show how the only constants they have in this universe are each other and it's about damn time they work together and tell these high collars to eat Schitt while they explore every star and planet they can find.

Come on, the episode is called The Timeless "Children". If it was just the Doctor it'd be called "The Timeless Child". The Master says as much with the misdirect line, "built on the lie of the Timeless Child." since we see two kids playing in that flashback.

"Since always. Since the Cloister Wars, since the night he stole the moon and the president's wife, since he was a little girl. One of those was a lie, can you guess which one?"

Now we know which one was a lie, we know the Master HAS known the Doctor since they were a little girl. THAT little girl...

But this is all just speculation. It's not like Chris Chibnall could have been thinking about this for the past 40 years and was given a blank slate to do whatever he wanted for five years on his favorite TV show. If y'all want to think he took those reigns and is choosing to make things worse...

Well then you don't know much about responsibility.

I'll let the man himself tell you about it.

"Very early in my career,” says Chibnall, “someone told me that you learn more from a failure than you do from a success. And then I lived out that phrase for a year in Los Angeles. I learned that I would not work that way again or be put in that situation again.” The essential lesson was: “You either have to be in total control of a show or working with people who share your vision and will work with you to achieve it. Also, never work with 13 executive producers.

“Camelot was the classic case of too many cooks. It wasn’t a harmonious set-up and I think that does manifest itself on screen.

“I had a fantastic cast but you have to be free to tell the story you want to tell in the way that you want to tell it. What ended up on screen was not what I wanted and so it is a blemish on my CV.”

Credit to @thirteenthdoc

“You immortals - so entitled, so spoiled. You never clear up after yourselves and you always leave stuff lying around.” - Thirteenth Doctor in Can You Hear Me?

[cassnottiel]

(i hope im not sending too many prompts, i have so many deke feels after tonight so im throwing them at you, if its too much ignore me!!) maybe something where deke accidently talks about his childhood a bit to fitzsimmons? like, an expansion of what we know in canon and how horrible it was. like (forgive me if im wrong my s5 memory isnt perfect lol) but im pretty sure he was a slave for a huge part of his life and that isnt spoken about much

Jemma Simmons was having as good of a day she could, having just time traveled and being a fugitive of the law, hiding in a huge underground bunker nobody knew about.

Her day got immensely worse when she entered the Lighthouse lab and saw the teams newest member, and her grandson from the future, digging a knife into his own arm.

"Deke!"  Jemma rushed forward, grabbing a towel and going to take the knife away from him.

Deke Shaw looked up, breaking his concentrated grimace with a slightly curious look.  "What?"

"What are you doing?"  Jemma wrapped his bloody wrist with the towel.

"I'm taking my metric out."  Deke set his knife down.  "Is that supposed to be a big deal?"

Jemma furrowed her brow, carefully pulled the bloody towel away and inspected the cut.  Sure enough, the circular metric was gone.  The work was careful and delicate, and there wasn't as much blood as there should have been for an inexperienced cut.

"I thought you were hurting yourself."  She said quietly.  "I'm sorry."

Deke awkwardly wiped his bloody left hand on his pants.  "It's fine, don't worry."

"Where did you learn to do this with such precision?" Jemma leaned down to look at the cut more carefully.  It looked like it was made by an experienced surgeon.

Deke shrugged and grabbed a roll of bandages from the table next to him.  "I picked it up as a kid.  My mom was kind of like the doctor of the Lighthouse."

"This is amazing work."  Jemma complimented.  "But, doesn't it hurt?"

"Not really, no."  Deke shook his head and started unrolling the bandages.  "I have a high pain tolerance."

Jemma quickly grabbed the bandages and started wrapping his wrist for him.  "Really?"  She looked at him with concern.  "Since when?"

Deke carelessly wiped the blood off the blade of his version of Fitzs multi tool with a small smile.  "Oh, you know.  The Kree weren't exactly benevolent leaders."  He retracted the blade and put the knife in his pocket, smiling like he just made a hilarious joke.

Jemmas hands froze as she thought about the implications behind that statement.  Deke took the opportunity to finish wrapping his wrist and start walking out.  

"Bye, Nana!"  He called cheerfully over his shoulder as he crossed the threshold of the door.

- - -

Fitz sighed and slammed his fist on the door.  Locked.  All the system updates that locked down the Lighthouse were getting very annoying.

"What's wrong?"  Deke Shaw, Fitzs overeager grandson from the future, was leaning against the concrete wall.

"Bloody door's locked again."  Fitzs frustration was abundant in his voice.  "I need to get to the other end of the level."  He held up a satchel full of papers he needed to get to the lab.

Deke smiled.  "I can help."  He walked over to the vent on the floor, slid his fingers between the grates and pulled.  He set it against the wall and gestured to the new hole in the wall.  "Do you have a problem with small spaces?"

Fitz stared.  "You want me to crawl through the vent?"

"I know my way through the whole vent system, I can get you anywhere you need to go."  Deke crouched down and looked through the dark tunnel, then up at his grandfather.  "Unless you want to wait?"

Fitz sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, then gestured to the vent.  "Lead the way."

The vent shafts were larger than Fitz thought they would be, not quite wide enough for the two men to sit side by side, but tall enough for them to sit comfortably.  But, they did not sit.  Fitz could barely keep up with Deke, despite only being a few years older.

"Deke, slow down."  Fitz called ahead, leaning back on his heals.  

Deke stopped and turned around.  "Sorry."  He said sheepishly and crawled back to Fitz.  

"Why are you in such a rush?"  Fitz cracked his stiff neck.

"Force of habit, sorry."  Deke apologized again.  "I'm usually running when I'm in here."

That set off an alarm bell in Fitzs mind.  "Running?"

"Yeah," Deke said like he wasn't talking about something important, "the Blues had some sort of vendetta against me or something.  I think people made bets on how far I could go without getting caught."  Fitz stared in shock.  "My record is four levels."

"Were you okay when that happened?"  Fitz asked carefully.

"No, of course not."  Deke turned his head away.  "Let's get going, you said you have something important, right?"

He did not wait for an answer, just started off in the direction that would lead to the lab.  Fitz sighed, filed away that information to talk to his wife about later, and followed his grandson

- - -

"Ta-da!"  Deke kicked the grate of the vent out and climbed out.  He stood up and spread his arms out to show off his feat of navigation.

"Thank you, Deke."  Fitz tossed his satchel to his grandson before climbing out and fixing the vent cover over the gaping hole.  "I think I'll just wait next time."

Deke shrugged and handed the satchel over.  "I get that.  I usually only used the vents if I was in real danger."

"But you . . ." Fitz frowned, "you memorized the whole layout?"

"You've seen this place in eighty years."  Deke started casually walking to the lab.  "You know how often 'real danger' is."

Fitz stood frozen for a few seconds, staring at the back of his grandsons head.  Then, he practically ran to the lab.

"Jemma," Fitz ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the open door, "has Deke said anything that's made you concerned in the time you've known him?"

Jemma looked up from what she was doing, worry flitting across her face.  "What did he tell you?"

"Did you know that our grandson has the ventilation schematics memorized?"  Fitz walked forward and lowered his voice.  "Just in case he needed to run from the Kree."  

Jemmas eyes widened.  "Oh, my God."

"What did he tell you?"  Fitz sat on one of the cots, the papers of research all but forgotten at his side.

"I found him digging his own metric out of his arm with a knife."  Jemma leaned in, like this conversation was a secret to keep from the rest of the base.  "But it didn't seem to hurt him, he told me he has a high pain tolerance."  She sighed.  "He implied the Kree would hurt him regularly, and he said it like it was no big deal."

Fitz sighed and scratched his neck. "What should we do?"  He looked up his wife.  "He shouldn't live in this world and expect it to be just like his."

Jemma nodded.  "None of us are really qualified to act as therapists, but we should talk to him."

"I know this isn't the place I grew up in."  

Both Fitz and Simmons spun around to look at the source of the voice.  Deke was standing in the door.

"Deke!"  Jemma stepped forward, as if to act like she wasn't just talking about him.

"I'm not naive."  Deke continued.  "I know this isn't the Lighthouse I'm used to."

Fitz put his hands up in a placating manor.  "We never m--"

"I don't make a big deal out of my past because I don't want you guys to make a big deal out of it."  Deke cut Fitz off.  "I know my childhood was messed up.  Believe me, I know."

"Why don't you want us to make a big deal about it?"  Jemma asked.  "You went through Hell."

"Yeah."  Deke nodded.  "I did.  But this isn't the same place, and I want to move on with my life."

"Deke," Fitz started calmly, "it's not that easy."

"You can't just bottle everything away and expect to be fine."  Jemma added.  

"I'm very good at compartmentalizing."  Deke crossed his arms.

"Compartmentalization isn't good for you."  Fitz said.  "Trust me, it's not."

Deke sighed.  "If you knew what it was like to grow up in this place, you wouldn't want to think about it either."

Jemma walked over and placed her hand on her grandsons shoulder.  "There are some things in life you have to face to move past."

"I am moving past things."  Deke said stubbornly.  "I'm making new, better memories where all the bad things in my life happened."

"Trauma doesn't work like that, Deke."  Fitz said as gently as he could.

Deke ran both his hands through his hair with a deep sigh.  "I shouldn't have said anything."  He stood up and turned to the door.

"Deke, wait."  Jemma grabbed his left arm.  "You don't have to forget everything about your past or reinvent yourself."

"But I want to."  Deke said very clearly.  "Kasius owned me, and I don't want to feel like his property anymore."

Jemma made sure keep her voice calm, she didn't want to escalate this.  "We've seen what he did, we know--"

"No, you don't know."  Deke snapped.  "He literally owned me.  After my dad was sent to the surface, Kasius and Sinara wanted to groom me into one of their deaf servants."

Jemma and Fitz looked at each other, then back at their grandson.

"You know what it's like."  He looked to Jemma.  "Having that-- that-- that thing in my ear is one of the worst things that's ever happened to me."

"You've had it?"  Jemmas voice went quiet.  "How old were you?"

"I was fourteen."  The fire in Dekes eyes never dampened.  "So, forgive me if I want to forget that part of my life."

"Deke," Fitz said slowly, reaching out, "you don't need to keep going, we understand."

Deke sighed again, more aggressively, showing the frustration he was feeling.  "Do you?"  He asked.  "You all were there for a few weeks, maybe.  I was born there, raised there.  I spent the first twenty-eight years of my life in that apocalyptic hellscape!"  He gestured wildly around the room.  "And I'm still here!  Even when there's a rest of the world out there, I'm here, in the place I watched my whole family die."

"Deke . . ." neither grandparent knew how to handle this.  It seemed that this was the first time he got to really talk about his past traumas in a serious way.

Deke sat down on one of the cots tiredly.  "I watched you both die."  He whispered, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"What?!"  Jemma was at his side in seconds, Fitz not far behind.

"When I was nine, Kasius got rid of everyone who believed in the prophecy.  All the smart people."  Deke forced himself to steady his breath and closed his eyes.  "They killed everyone in the middle of the Exchange, to make an example."  He looked up at Jemma, then Fitz, then at the concrete floor.  "They took my mom, and my moms parents."

"I--" Fitz clenched his fists at his side.  "I'm sorry, Deke."  He said quietly.  He lifted his hand and carefully, comfortingly, rubbed Dekes back between the shoulder blades.

"We're going to make sure that world will never exist."  Jemma promised.  "So the next version of you to exist will never go through that."

Suddenly, Deke threw his arms around Jemma and Fitz.  He pulled them into a tight hug and finally let the tears he had been holding in for God knows how long fall.  Deke buried his face in the soft fabric of Fitz shirt as his shuddering breaths shook his whole frame.  Both grandparents immediately returned the hug.  It was a hug from a child who had lost his family too young, had been alone for too long.

As unconventional as this new family was, they loved each other.  And this family kept their promises, no matter how far they need to go.

[w0wcatsstuff]

Levi Fanfic

I’ve been writing a fic about my fav shorty, Levi Ackerman! It’s called ‘Treacherous’. This is the first chapter! If you’d like to read more check either of the links in my bio :3 Or I could keep posting here if you guys like it? :3 Please leave feedback, I love constructive criticism! 

Summary: Levi and Ava grew up in the underground together, until Levi left leaving Ava lost and confused with her only friend. Now, Levi is Captain Levi, humanity's best solider, and Ava is a doctor who tends to the wounded scouts and citizens inside Wall Rose. They've avoided each other until they couldn't any longer.

Lots of angst, but lots of smut and feelings eventually!

“Dr. Shaw...Dr.Shaw..AVA!” Hands abruptly shook her awake and Ava blinked her eyes open. Sunlight filled the dusty room. Her assistant, Madeline, stood in front of her, an anxious look on her face.

“What is it Madline?” She asked, rolling away from the young girl, letting her eyes shut again. Just a few more minutes of sleep, please. She was tired, she was always tired, that was the life of a doctor inside the walls. When she wasn’t treating the injured scouts she was making house calls and taking care of the sick citizens. It was her and Madeline’s responsible to keep the city healthy. 

“The scouts have returned from their mission beyond the walls. There’s going to be injuries.”

“Of course there are,” Ava grumbled. “I’ll be down in a few minutes, get the clinic ready please.”

“Of course, Ma’am,” Madeline replied and Ava listened to her walk away and the door shut.

She sighed as she sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep away from her tired eyes. Just another day. She told herself, forcing herself out of her bed. She headed to the bathroom that was connected to her private quarters and splashed her face with cold water hoping it would wash the drowsiness away. The reflection in the mirror was not her favorite. Her face was pale and dark circles were under her green eyes. When she was younger, still learning her trade, her eyes had some sort of sparkle to them, but that was years ago. She raked her fingers through her tangled brown hair, trying to tame the knots, before pulling it up into a ponytail away from her face. She headed back to her room, stripping out of her night clothes and pulling on a pair of dark pants, a light weight  grey blouse, and a simple pair of boots. The last thing she needed was her apron, which was somehow still white despite the amount of blood it would end up covered in after treating the returning scouts. How many times has Madeline replaced this without me noticing? She wondered, tying the apron behind her. 

When Ava made it down to the clinic Madeline had already finished setting things up in anticipation of the scouts that were shortly going to be arriving. Beds were made with clean sheets, their table was filled with medicines, bandages and operating tools. Hopefully we don't need those today. Most of the time their operations on returning scouts were pointless; too much blood was lost or infection had already set in their bodies for too long. Ava had given up hope on saving the wounded years ago, how could you remain hopeful after seeing dozens of people with limbs ripped off and not being able to save 80% of them? Madeline was still determined; she’d work herself to tears trying to save those clearly marked for dead. She was still young, only 17. When Ava was her age she had the same hopeful spirit. 

“They’ll be here soon,” Madeline told her, her voice shaking with nerves.

She’s too young to see this much death. Ava nodded, brushing a loose piece of hair from her eyes. “Are we prepared?”

“As much as we can be,” Madeline replied. “We’re low on antibiotics.”

“Of course we are,” Ava sighed. “The inner city wont send us anymore. They think it’s a waste to use on the scouts.”

“So do you..”

Ava arched an eyebrow looking at her assistant. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve already decided their fate before they’ve arrived. You don’t think any of them will make it,” Madeline’s dark eyes broke away from Ava’s gaze.

“I’ve treated enough returning scouts to know what to expect at this point,” Ava replied curtly. “If you really want to pursue being a doctor you should accept the reality of the situation. These aren’t our normal house calls, or treating the rich folks in the inner walls, Madeline. These are the scouts who go out and face the titans. They come back broken and in missing pieces.”

“Yes, but-” The door to the clinic burst open cutting off Madeline’s reply, which Ava was more than thankful for. 

“Doctor!” A breathless scout was in the doorway. “We have injured troops.”

“Of course,” Ava nodded at the scout, “Lets get them in here and I’ll see what I can do. Bring those with the worst injuries first.” 

The next few hours were filled with blood, and of course, death. A man without a leg who was practically dead when he hit her table. One death. A skinny female scout who’d been trampled by horses and suffering from massive internal bleeding; Ava didn’t even know how she had held on long enough to make it here alive, but she didn’t last much longer. Two deaths.  Another female scout whose ODM gear had failed and resulted in her falling from the trees, had a head injury and a broken leg was unconscious when Ava saw her. Depending on how bad her head injury was, she might survive, but again, she might not. The worst was a young man missing both a leg and an arm. Titans had ripped him apart and Ava couldn’t help but wonder how he survived at all..or didn’t get eaten. As she pulled the makeshift bandages off what remained of his limbs the stink of infection filled the clinic. Madline looked as if she was going to be sick and tears were welling in her dark eyes.

“Madline, if you need to step away,” Ava started but was cut short.

“No. I need to do this.”

“We’re going to have to amputate, to his shoulder and top of his thigh. That might save him, but we can’t tell how far the infection has spread. If it’s in his blood there’s nothing we can do without antibiotics.”

“We have antibiotics,” Madeline’s dark eyes looked up at her. 

“The ones we have aren’t strong enough, not for something like this. And I’m not willing to waste what little we have hoping for a miracle.”

“Dr. Shaw! We have to try!” The tears were back.

Dammit, she’s too soft for this.

“If he even survives the amputation, Madeline. I know we don’t have any sedatives left, the trauma alone could shock his body and kill him.”

“You’re hopeless!”

“No, I’m a doctor,” Ava snapped back, “I’ve treated injuries like this before and I’m being realistic.”

Both of their words were pointless, as the man on their operating table had stopped breathing. Now the tears broke free from Madeline’s eyes and streamed down her face. Ava sighed, pulling the white sheet over the dead scout’s face. 

“Go home, Madeline. I’ll get someone to come retrieve the dead,” Ava’s voice was emotionless. 

Madeline hurried out of the clinic without speaking another word. Four scouts brought to her and only one survived, and that one's fate wasn’t even guaranteed. Ava walked to the sink, scrubbing the blood off her stained hands. The scent of blood, death and infection still lingered in the air. The door to the clinic opened and Ava sighed.

“Madeline, I told you to go home,” She snapped.

“Dr. Shaw,” The voice sent a chill down her spine and her heart stopped for a moment.

No, it can’t be. Ava turned to face her guest, keeping her lips pressed  in a straight line. 

“Captain Levi,” She said shortly, eyeing the man standing in front of her. 

“How many survived?” His grey eyes looked around the room, stopping on the sheet covered scout.

“One,” She wiped her wet hands on her blood stained apron. “And she isn’t a guarantee. She has head trauma, I don’t know if she’ll wake up.” 

“One,” The permanent frown on his face seemed to deepened, if possible. “Aren’t you supposed to be a doctor? Why didn’t you save them?”

Ava blinked at him, trying to contain her anger. “I can’t replace torn off limbs or magically cure internal bleeding, Captain,” She snapped. “Maybe you should control your squad better and I wouldn’t have so many dead on my hands.” His eyes met hers and she could see the anger in them. Before he had the chance to reply she snapped at him again. “Have someone come get these bodies out of my clinic. I don’t want them rotting and disease to spread.”

“Doctor,” He started.

“You can leave, Captain,” She dismissed him, turning her back to Levi.

“Ava, when are you going to let this grudge of yours go?” His voice sounded softer and that only made the anger inside her grow.

“Grudge?” She laughed in disbelief, “Oh, I don’t know, Levi. When are you going to apologize for running off with your Uncle Kenny and leaving your friends behind to fend for themselves?” When she turned back to face him she thought for a moment she saw pain on his face. “And, it’s Doctor, not Ava, you lost the right to call me that a long time ago. Now, please leave my clinic.”

The pain she thought she saw on Levi’s face disappeared and he glared at her. “Of course, Doctor,” He practically spat the word before turning and leaving, slamming the door behind him.

[queernuck]

I Will Not Apologize To Morgan Reilly, He Owes Me One

Initially, audio from a referee’s hot mic seemed to pick up Morgan Rielly calling the referee a “fucking faggot” which was understandably was frowned upon. After investigating further, listening to the audio, the NHL concluded that if Reilly’s voice appeared on the tape at all, it was either him saying to “rag” the puck (holding on to it rather than passing) or another player saying it as Reilly said “fucking” thus coming through crosstalk as something that sounded like the words “fucking faggots”. However, Reilly himself is not who I want to talk about. Rather, the response is far more important, more interesting, more a part of what makes hockey so. repulsive.

The exoneration follows a sort of Žižek-esque pattern: the initial vocalization, the transition from offensive language to finding of a supposed non-offense deconstruction of the article, and finally and the resolution that makes it such that even if there had been an offense, it would have been always-already forgiven due to the harsh language other players use at all levels of the sport. that the way the discourse began was in fact concentrated on hoping, practically begging for a way to excuse what seemed like a player clearly using a slur, and that has only been doubled-down on when it turned out he may not have used them. by being able to distance someone so quickly and completely from such a suspicion was far more important than considering what it would mean if such a thing could not be done. 

Reilly himself has gone on record saying that he understands the response, maintained that he did not say whatever may have gotten caught by the mic, but that he understands the reasoning behind the magnitude many approached the matter with. However, very few of those who have defended him acknowledge this, unless it is to support the notion that he is magnanimous, infallible, that he deserves a level of praise that is, frankly, absurd. At a basic level, he is being commended for not using a slur, for not getting caught being homophobic. He is being commended for the kind of action that should be common, that barely even qualifies as a step toward opposing homophobia in hockey. However, for the incredibly reactionary culture of hockey, this symbolic gesture (or lack thereof) allows them to claim that this is common, is the normal state of affairs, and that not only are similar slurs merely missed by the microphone, but that this itself is okay. 

Hockey fans as a whole tend to be reactionary, with those who are not outright racists, homophobes, misogynists, and general bigots often tacitly or openly accepting that said by those who are. While there has been some success with Hockey Is For Everyone and the You Can Play foundation, that this effort seems “internal” to hockey, was started by a prominent hockey family and grew fastest within hockey implies a certain nature to it, that it will not strive to change the fundamental culture at hand. Players like Andrew Shaw being named “You Can Play” ambassadors after being caught using slurs are phenomenal examples of this. Moreover, the incredible whiteness of hockey means that its culture is more than happy to reproduce white supremacist cultural notions: JT Brown received death threats for protesting police brutality, and teams such as the Colorado Avalanche have used fascist imagery such as the “thin blue line” flag in supposed support for law enforcement, although the value of such displays in keeping black fans away from the game is not to be underestimated. The way that begrudging respect paired with racialized readings of trauma and violence are applied to NFL teams by hockey players, along with a wholesale rejection of the NBA, shows rather clearly just how players are related to by their audiences. They are fetish-objects of a long-gone Great White Hope, one that still resonates in the NHL even if nowhere else. That the colonial narratives of gender and sexuality coupled with it join to form a hegemonic concept of the game, envision it in relation to settler-colonial identities in small towns across the nation, ponds frozen over and striated by skate blades as a kind of process of claimancy and the belonging of settlers in towns such as these, the general absence of high-profile Indigenous and First Nations players from the NHL (with few exceptions) and the way that hockey culture often crosses over with lacrosse (itself a sport that has been deeply appropriated and sublimated by white settler culture) means that being a hockey player is taking part in the creation of a white supremacist identity.

Whether or not he called someone a fucking faggot on the bench at this point in time, I would guess that Morgan Reilly has used the word before toward an opponent. And it is not in spite of his character as a hockey player, but rather as a result of it; he gets assumed to be a homophobe because NHL players are overwhelmingly likely to be racist, homophobic, reactionary people. Out of the Big Four leagues, hockey players are frankly just some of the absolute worst thanks to the insular, white supremacist culture that surrounds hockey as a whole. Homophobia is a major part of that, even in places where people pretend that treating gay men as fetish-objects or passing references to lesbians that they don’t even cheer for are enough to exonerate them from their homophobia. While that hot mic may not have caught anything, even the most dedicated of hockey fans defending Reilly acknowledge that something similar could have easily transpired, and they are forced to do that because of the basic culture of hockey.

hockey culture and hockey fans fucking suck. fuck hockey.

[dontcrybecauseitsoverr]

i had a perfect relationship. i had liked her and thougut she was goals from the start of moving up here in august. she was funky, peppy, aesthetic, cute and just. i liked her a lot. she had a bf since 14. and everyone has a highschool sweet heart in maine it seems. but it was abusive, and not good, stealing , the most horrible treatment. like. she’s at class at a hospital and her her snap maps is glitched and shows her on a street corner. and he KNOWS she’s at work, studying to be nurse. and he’s belittling her that she’s a fucking hooker working the corner good for nothing. i didnt talk to her for months. maybe a reply on story here or there talked about snow tubing. until one day in may 19’ we started talking, hard. when she was away on a trip to florida. so easy time to talk. no boy to be there. while they on the out of the relationship. and what nice ass guy comes in to play? who’s also hot af and shit! meee. broke up bout a month later, and we started kinda stuff a month later. then made official like another month. one night in september , she wasn’t responding and she was very sick at the time, i thougut she passed out from maine, with kidney infection and i drive over to make sure she’s not dead or some shit to location at mcdonald’s. and theyre ptfo in the front seats. it was some insurance issue bc he was so dumb in life her parents provided everything. i knew no cheating bc she was in horrible pain. so i didn’t really feel that bad about it and i’ve dealt with some shit before and made it though and were all okay. she had a very sincere apology i beleive. so i thougut id be ok. and i did. also much wasn’t going for me still then so as i knew. one time i was told she was in an amottos with him holding hands. but i still don’t know about that one, as that girl was jealous and wanted to fuck. but jul also hated amottos so like i was like nah. i don’t want to know if she did or not because it doesn’t matter. time goes on we flourish, have fun, no issues at all. 0. then november she had a bad breakdown, really bad. stopped seeing me. started to get real shady. used work as excuse to not see me late, and was with him. only saw me like once a week. barely spent a night. and then went back to ex. and also rehab i believe for mental issues. we ended stuff few days after christmas. got cheated and was broken. i’d say to 0. never got closure. i saw her once at a gas station in feb. and them walking into kfc and she had my purple pants i bought her on. i never stopped thinking about her, and had all my trauma issues daily. always wanted her back. as it felt whole. the tale of juliet shaw.

3am yesteday i receive a text “you were right” from a green text, 207. i knew instantly who it was. now i don’t know anyone with androids, or someone who wouldn’t be in my contacts at 3am as well. i could have just deleted the text, and went on with life. but i sat and decided to respond. it has been so long. i assumed stuff was over. i asked her if i did anything to cause it, she said no, which i believe. i asked her why she did. and she said her brain. and lost weight really skinny now, bad brains. it’s sad, but i’m just glad she’s gone from him. ive have gone though so many different scenarios about how if i’d meet her again, or if she did do something like this. and i decided to talk..bc what else do i have to lose? my college is fine. i’ll have associates. i have 0 anyone interested in me. just two times i’ve hu this year. so what’s the worst that can happen. she’s in such a shit state too. left the relationship months ago she says, but didn’t wanna talk about it , but i assume it went really bad, and she’s broken and wants to get back with me. we’ve been apart longer than we were together. 7 months known 11 months apart now. the problem is, no one would support. my family saw me break down into my moms arms that she went back to ex. they would be pissed like they were mayson. she wouldn’t be allowed in the house most likely. but my mom cheated on dad, and theyre still together. but what do i feel to think? it’s not like she would make the mistake again, she agreed we were perfect, and i know it was. i’m the main character in my life. what am i to do? she was, still is the girl of dreams here. we did everything together. i’d rather make this work in maine than just go off to a college and fuck and stuff. and never had quarrels about our relationship. did random things. loved to drive. smoked. sex was the best ever. if i tread the water and see really what’s up, i should go. i already felt better now that i got some closure and that she just came back. it’s as if she knows what is here and good and yeah. it doesn’t sit right with me to just push away and not do anything about it. that’s really not who i was raised as. granted my mom would, but i can’t. legit have 0 ppl going for me, nothing on tinder bumble anything. clssses former. gonna be like sorry. i feel no self worth too, bad. i even rn got anxiety sending her pics right now of myself, even tho i’ve never been happier with my looks. just maybe wouldn’t be enough somehow. but look at it just from the standpoint of me. right now i got over it, mostly. and right now i can have it back? feels like the move to do. i worked so hard for it before, enough that she came back, feel like that just says something worth it. so i get over the issues, and then get to have the girl i loved forever back? sounds good to me....worth the risk bc i still can just gtfo anytime to another state. but also could be in an apt in portland. go to USM. get some lined pants, my coat. bundle up. and be with the girl of my dreams? maybe. i knew if i keep talking to her, it’ll go back to us dating. which will make me happy. and then if so prob marriage. if we end up together for a year, or more so. and i have to be like to mom and dad i’m sorry i did this though and came back. it’s been smooth and not a single issue. guess we’ll see. contact back to juls 💜 bc why not just go back in full steam. only way to go i feel. cant just be friends. she even said she wanted to keep talking so. all the time listening to Folklore falling asleep. to The One all the night. and but it woulda been fun, if you woulda been the one. o7

[musesonawhim]

about Clarke Griffin

previously written on bearingitforthem

characters I’d like for her to interact with: primarily Bellamy since I'm bringing her back to change what canon did, and also because I will only have a few versions of the other characters, since I write Clarke a bit canon divergent and fighting back when antagonized by friends and I'm not sure of how many roleplayers will accept that. But I’d like to write with Raven, Murphy, Echo, Emori, Madi, Abby, Octavia, Diyoza roleplayers who don’t hate Clarke and would like to basically write aus/canon divergences and less depressing/fighty things? 

icons: none for now

starter call here

canon divergences/my hot takes, which I need you to read before signing up to this:

-I won’t write any of that s7 super depressing stuff, I will only write things that lead to a happy ending. That by the way includes AUs where Praimfaya didn’t happen (Madi came into her life eventually in some other ways), where she got into the ring, where someone else stayed with her in the meadow, where season 5 was actually solved in some peaceful way, basically anything that doesn’t involve constant big plots and pain and focuses more on characters and healing. 

-I don't write her when in the middle of being in love with Lexa because I don't ship them. There might be threads where Clarke didn't forgive her or at least decided to play nice to keep peace but didn't develop romantic feelings for her, not after Finn and Mount Weather, though of course if we write threads set later on the relationship happened. But Finn will be mentioned as much as Lexa when it comes to past loves, they both broke her heart when still alive and while one was ripped from her by accident, the other had to be killed by her to save everyone else. Both are big traumas.  

-That said, Clarke is still bisexual. Beside having fallen in love with Lexa by default when we write threads after s3 and having hooked up with Nylah, she feels attraction for both men and women even in universes where we skip Clarke staying in Polis and she and Lexa don’t make up. Clarke loving Bellamy in most threads doesn't erase the fact that she's bisexual. Going to be honest, Murphy/Clarke is my guilty ship so if you ever think you could be interested in a big au that would lead to it let me know.

-Wells was incredibly important to her, and she mourns him for years and remembers him fondly after Praimfaya, mentioning him every now and then because platonic love is just as important as romance, and Wells was there her whole life, her best friend.

-Blood doesn't make family and Madi is Clarke's daughter even if obviously there are no legal documents involved. She took a child in and raised her for six years. Madi comes first. She's still a child, one not raised to be a warrior, much less a commander, and Clarke will ALWAYS have a problem with the flame being put in her head and with the attempted kidnapping so Madi could lead an army, if we write that happening.

-unlike in canon, when Raven, Echo, Shaw, and Murphy will bring up Clarke's past mistakes, she'll bring up theirs, and same with Bellamy even if not always and not as readily since she feels so guilty for the pain she caused him. When accused of not being loyal, she will also bring up the attempted kidnapping of Madi. When she apologizes to Bellamy over leaving him behind she means it, although she actually didn't have much of a choice seeing as Octavia canonically did not give her one and in fact sent a man to kill them both as well, proving that she was right in wanting to run. However she also expects Bellamy to regret giving Madi the flame, and will eventually bring it up again seeing as it led to horrible things happening to the child and Clarke is not a saint who can always bite her tongue.

-Other times Clarke will still be ready to take/accept full blame and 'be the bad guy'. That's just who she is and I'm not fully erasing it. She did 'bear it' so the others wouldn't have to.

-I'm not writing anything that has to do with her reunion with Bellamy in s7 nor after unless it's Clarke getting through him and convincing him to come back to their side. But we can skip it altogether and rewrite that season. In fact, we can rewrite any season. I'm also a fan of happiness if you are interested in those threads, and hurt/comfort, threads where someone is temporarily injured, and similar clichés that won't destroy any chance of a happy ending.  

triggers you’ll find in her threads: Clarke has almost committed suicide several times and PTSD. However, unless she finds herself once again alone on a planet and about to die of thirst and hunger, or unless she’s under toxins again, I don’t predict her attempting it again. Her PTSD isn’t going anywhere unless Jackson turns out to be an amazing therapist and pharmacist. 

Now you don't need to read this part, but here are SOME ideas of what we could rewrite together if you are a Bellamy:

-season 3, Clarke actually returning to the camp/being found by Bellamy. She's still traumatized and blaming herself and has become the gruff hunter we saw deal with Nilah, so she might actually come and go without warning but slowly reopen up to him

-season 3 in which she didn’t stay in Polis but Kane replaced her/no mess with Pike or she did stay but nothing happened with Lexa, it was a political move and nothing more  

-season 4 there is no second end of the world coming and Clarke needs space again to deal with all traumas. She and other delinquents including Bellamy, or simply she and Bellamy take Becca's place. This is connected to my wish for happiness, domestic threads, and hurt/comfort, injures and so on

-season 4 when there is an end of the world coming and Clarke makes it back and goes to the ring. bonus: maybe Madi was found and brought to Polis early on during the ALIE situation and Clarke managed to bond with her before the end of the season, so she's coming with her

-season 4 where there is an end of the world and a second dose of night blood formula. Bellamy took it too so he could run back to get Clarke or earlier on. In any case he stays behind too and they are stuck on Earth together.

-season 5 in which Bellamy got ALL the radio calls Clarke sent but couldn't answer and when he manages to come down to earth it's also to look for her.

-season 5 same as above but maybe he comes back earlier or the Diyoza situation goes down more easily, point is: they can all settle down on earth again instead of having to run around without a second to breathe

-season 5 Clarke doesn't leave him behind but drives the car in their tent and takes Bellamy back because in this circumstances it's doable to do so and he's still there (she's furious though)

-season 6 in which Russel and company aren't body snatchers and let them stay, so they can finally build a life and deal with the past

-season 6 happens like before but there is no anomaly taking Octavia away again/Bellamy doesn't disappear and they deal with everything that has happened while making a new life instead of the season 7 we got

-season 7 is in the making but threads where Bellamy was simply kept in a cell, or he went through that adventure but talking to Clarke brought him back to himself  

-anything except putting Clarke in the position of having to choose between letting Bellamy live and tell Cadogan about Madi or saving Madi, because I find IC that she chose the latter unless he tells her he won’t say a word and mean it.

[whorchataaa]

Dysfunctional Families and Their Psychological Effects

When the lockdown protocols were enforced earlier this year, our freedom, routine and responsibilities within households were disrupted. Along with this, increased uncertainty, financial stress and burden of care have lowered our window of tolerance. For many, it has opened old wounds and led to persistent conflict at home. Children are forced to experience strained family interactions, day in and day out, without the solace of distraction and distance. 

There is a great degree of variability in how interactions and behaviors occur within homes, and the pattern of these interactions form the core of our family dynamic (Harkonen, 2017). Families have a unique set of dynamics that affect the way each member thinks and relates to themselves, others and the world around them. Several factors including the nature of parent’s relationship, personality of family members, events (divorce, death, unemployment), culture and ethnicity (including beliefs about gender roles), influence these dynamics. The list is endless, and it is no surprise that growing up in an open, supportive environment is the exception, rather than the norm. 

It’s important to disclaim that the idea of a perfect parent/family is a myth. Parents are human, flawed and experiencing their own concerns. Most children can deal with an occasional angry outburst, as long as there is love and understanding to counter it. In “functional” families, parents strive to create an environment in which everyone feels safe, heard, loved and respected. Households are often characterized by low conflict, high levels of support and open communication (Shaw, 2014). This helps children navigate physical, emotional and social difficulties when they are young, and has lasting impacts as they transition into adulthood.

Alternatively, growing up in a dysfunctional family can leave children emotionally scarred, and affect them throughout their lives. Hurtful family environments may include the following (Hall, 2017):

Aggression: Behaviors typified by belittlement, domination, lies and control.

Limited affection: The absence of physical or verbal affirmations of love, empathy and time spent together.

Neglect: No attention paid to another and discomfort around family members.

Addiction: Parents having compulsions relating to work, drugs, alcohol, sex and gambling.

Violence: Threat and use of physical and sexual abuse.

For children, families constitute their entire reality. When they are young, parents are godlike; without them they would be unloved, unprotected, unhoused and unfed, living in a constant state of terror, knowing they will be unable to survive alone. Children are forced to accommodate and enable chaotic, unstable/unpredictable and unhealthy behaviors of parents (Nelson, 2019).

Unfortunately, children don’t have the sophistication to understand and verbalize their experiences, discriminate between healthy and unhealthy behaviors and make sense of it all. They may interpret the situation to fit the belief of normalcy, further perpetuating the dysfunction (e.g., “No, I wasn’t beaten. I was just spanked” or “My father isn’t violent; it’s just his way”). They may even accept responsibility for violence, to fit their reality. The more they do this, the greater is their likelihood of misinterpreting themselves and developing negative self-concepts (e.g., “I had it coming. I was not a good kid”). 

During their younger years, children form certain beliefs and carry them, unchallenged, into adulthood. These beliefs are influenced by their parents’ actions and statements and are often internalized, for instance, “children should respect their parents no matter what,” “it’s my way or no way” or “children should be seen, not heard.” This forms the soil from which toxic behavior grows and may be communicated directly or disguised as words of advice, expressed in terms of “shoulds”, “oughts” and “supposed tos.”

Spoken beliefs are tangible but can be wrestled with. For instance, a parental belief that divorce is wrong, might keep a daughter in a loveless marriage, however, this can be challenged. Unspoken beliefs are more complicated; they exist below our level of awareness and dictate basic assumptions of life (Gowman, 2018). They may be implied by childhood experiences, for example, how your father treated your mother or how they treated you, encouraging you to believe ideas such as “women are inferior to men” or “children should sacrifice themselves for their parents.”

As with beliefs there are unspoken rules, pulling invisible strings and demanding blind obedience, e.g., “don’t lead your own life,” “don’t be more successful than your father,” “don’t be happier than your mother” or “don’t abandon me.” Loyalty to our family binds us to these beliefs and rules. There may be a marked gap between parents’ expectations/demands and what children want for themselves. Unfortunately, our unconscious pressure to obey almost always overshadows our conscious needs and desires, and leads to self-destructive and defeating behaviors (Forward, 1989).

There is variability in dysfunctional familial interactions — and in the kinds, severity and regularity of their dysfunction. Children may experience the following: 

Being forced to take sides during parental conflict.

Experiencing “reality shifting” (what is said contradicts what is happening).

Being criticized or ignored for their feelings and thoughts.

Having parents who are inappropriately intrusive/involved or distant/uninvolved.

Having excessive demands placed on their time, friends or behaviors — or, conversely, receive no guidelines or structure.

Experiencing rejection or preferential treatment.

Being encouraged to use alcohol/drugs.

Being physically beating.

Abuse and neglect affect the child’s ability to trust the world, others and themselves. Additionally, they grow up without a frame of reference for what is normal and healthy. They may develop traits that they struggle with throughout their adult lives, and the effects are many. They may not know how to live without chaos and conflict (this becomes a lifestyle pattern) and get bored easily (Lechnyr, 2020). Children robbed of their childhood have to “grow up too fast.” As a result, they are disconnected from their needs and face difficulty asking for help (Cikanavicious, 2019). Children, who were constantly ridiculed, grow up to judge themselves harshly, lie and constantly seek approval and affirmation. Children may fear abandonment, believe they are unlovable/not good enough and feel lonely/misunderstood. As adults, they face difficulty with forming professional, social and romantic bonds, and are viewed as submissive, controlling, overwhelming or even detached in relationships (Ubaidi, 2016). To numb their feelings, they may abuse drugs or alcohol and engage in other risky behaviors (e.g., reckless driving, unsafe sex) (Watson et al., 2013). 

Perhaps most serious of all, these individuals continue the cycle by developing their own parenting problems and reinforcing the dysfunctional dynamic (Bray, 1995). Being aware of the dysfunctional patterns of our past and how they affect how we think and act in the present is the critical first step.  

Name painful or difficult childhood experiences.

Recognize you have power over your life.

Identify behaviors and beliefs you would like to change.

Be assertive, set boundaries and practice non-attachment.

Find a support network.

Seek psychological help.

For parents:

Heal from your own trauma.

Be kind, honest and open-minded — and listen.

Create an environment of respect, safety and privacy.

Model healthy behavior and practice accountability.

Give clear guidelines and factual information.

Learn how to apologize.

Be gentle with teasing, sarcasm, etc.

Allow children to change and grow.

Enforce rules that guide behavior but do not regulate one’s emotional and intellectual life.

Spend time together as a family.

Know when to ask for help.

  References:

Härkönen, J., Bernardi, F. & Boertien, D. (2017). Family Dynamics and Child Outcomes: An Overview of Research and Open Questions. Eur J Population 33, 163–184. https://ift.tt/2Ybl1Nw

Shaw, A. (2014). The Family Environment and Adolescent Well-Being [blog post]. Retrieved from https://ift.tt/2V9xnEb

Dorrance Hall, E. (2017). Why Family Hurt Is So Painful Four reasons why family hurt can be more painful than hurt from others [blog post]. Retrieved from https://ift.tt/3hF1bSo

Nelson, A. (2019). Understanding Fear and Self-Blame Symptoms for Child Sexual Abuse Victims in Treatment: An Interaction of Youth Age, Perpetrator Type, and Treatment Time Period. Honors Theses, University of Nebraska-Lincoln. 89. https://ift.tt/2N7ye3y

Gowman, V. (2019). When Children Believe “I Am Wrong”: The Impact Developmental Trauma Has on Belief Systems and Identity [blog post]. Retrieved from https://ift.tt/2C9lK9k

Forward, S., & Buck, C. (1989). Toxic Parents: Overcoming Their Hurtful Legacy and Reclaiming Your Life. NY, NY: Bantam.

Cikanavicius, D. (2019). The Effects of Trauma from “Growing up Too Fast” [blog post]. Retrieved from https://blogs.psychcentral.com/psychology-self/2019/12/trauma-growing-up-fast/

Al Ubaidi, B.A. (2017). Cost of Growing up in Dysfunctional Family. J Fam Med Dis Prev, 3(3): 059. doi.org/10.23937/2469-5793/1510059

Lechnyr, D. (2020). Wait, I’m not Crazy?! Adults Who Grew Up in Dysfunctional Families [blog post]. Retrieved from https://ift.tt/37DLRAY

Al Odhayani, A., Watson, W. J., & Watson, L. (2013). Behavioural consequences of child abuse. Canadian family physician Medecin de famille canadien, 59(8), 831–836.

Bray, J.H. (1995). 3. Assessing Family Health And Distress: An Intergenerational-Systemic Perspective [Family Assessment]. Lincoln, NB: Buros-Nebraska Series on Measurement and Testing. Retrieved from https://ift.tt/3fBCF34

from https://ift.tt/2N5vlAl Check out https://peterlegyel.wordpress.com/

[ashley-unicorn]

Dysfunctional Families and Their Psychological Effects

When the lockdown protocols were enforced earlier this year, our freedom, routine and responsibilities within households were disrupted. Along with this, increased uncertainty, financial stress and burden of care have lowered our window of tolerance. For many, it has opened old wounds and led to persistent conflict at home. Children are forced to experience strained family interactions, day in and day out, without the solace of distraction and distance. 

There is a great degree of variability in how interactions and behaviors occur within homes, and the pattern of these interactions form the core of our family dynamic (Harkonen, 2017). Families have a unique set of dynamics that affect the way each member thinks and relates to themselves, others and the world around them. Several factors including the nature of parent’s relationship, personality of family members, events (divorce, death, unemployment), culture and ethnicity (including beliefs about gender roles), influence these dynamics. The list is endless, and it is no surprise that growing up in an open, supportive environment is the exception, rather than the norm. 

It’s important to disclaim that the idea of a perfect parent/family is a myth. Parents are human, flawed and experiencing their own concerns. Most children can deal with an occasional angry outburst, as long as there is love and understanding to counter it. In “functional” families, parents strive to create an environment in which everyone feels safe, heard, loved and respected. Households are often characterized by low conflict, high levels of support and open communication (Shaw, 2014). This helps children navigate physical, emotional and social difficulties when they are young, and has lasting impacts as they transition into adulthood.

Alternatively, growing up in a dysfunctional family can leave children emotionally scarred, and affect them throughout their lives. Hurtful family environments may include the following (Hall, 2017):

Aggression: Behaviors typified by belittlement, domination, lies and control.

Limited affection: The absence of physical or verbal affirmations of love, empathy and time spent together.

Neglect: No attention paid to another and discomfort around family members.

Addiction: Parents having compulsions relating to work, drugs, alcohol, sex and gambling.

Violence: Threat and use of physical and sexual abuse.

For children, families constitute their entire reality. When they are young, parents are godlike; without them they would be unloved, unprotected, unhoused and unfed, living in a constant state of terror, knowing they will be unable to survive alone. Children are forced to accommodate and enable chaotic, unstable/unpredictable and unhealthy behaviors of parents (Nelson, 2019).

Unfortunately, children don’t have the sophistication to understand and verbalize their experiences, discriminate between healthy and unhealthy behaviors and make sense of it all. They may interpret the situation to fit the belief of normalcy, further perpetuating the dysfunction (e.g., “No, I wasn’t beaten. I was just spanked” or “My father isn’t violent; it’s just his way”). They may even accept responsibility for violence, to fit their reality. The more they do this, the greater is their likelihood of misinterpreting themselves and developing negative self-concepts (e.g., “I had it coming. I was not a good kid”). 

During their younger years, children form certain beliefs and carry them, unchallenged, into adulthood. These beliefs are influenced by their parents’ actions and statements and are often internalized, for instance, “children should respect their parents no matter what,” “it’s my way or no way” or “children should be seen, not heard.” This forms the soil from which toxic behavior grows and may be communicated directly or disguised as words of advice, expressed in terms of “shoulds”, “oughts” and “supposed tos.”

Spoken beliefs are tangible but can be wrestled with. For instance, a parental belief that divorce is wrong, might keep a daughter in a loveless marriage, however, this can be challenged. Unspoken beliefs are more complicated; they exist below our level of awareness and dictate basic assumptions of life (Gowman, 2018). They may be implied by childhood experiences, for example, how your father treated your mother or how they treated you, encouraging you to believe ideas such as “women are inferior to men” or “children should sacrifice themselves for their parents.”

As with beliefs there are unspoken rules, pulling invisible strings and demanding blind obedience, e.g., “don’t lead your own life,” “don’t be more successful than your father,” “don’t be happier than your mother” or “don’t abandon me.” Loyalty to our family binds us to these beliefs and rules. There may be a marked gap between parents’ expectations/demands and what children want for themselves. Unfortunately, our unconscious pressure to obey almost always overshadows our conscious needs and desires, and leads to self-destructive and defeating behaviors (Forward, 1989).

There is variability in dysfunctional familial interactions — and in the kinds, severity and regularity of their dysfunction. Children may experience the following: 

Being forced to take sides during parental conflict.

Experiencing “reality shifting” (what is said contradicts what is happening).

Being criticized or ignored for their feelings and thoughts.

Having parents who are inappropriately intrusive/involved or distant/uninvolved.

Having excessive demands placed on their time, friends or behaviors — or, conversely, receive no guidelines or structure.

Experiencing rejection or preferential treatment.

Being encouraged to use alcohol/drugs.

Being physically beating.

Abuse and neglect affect the child’s ability to trust the world, others and themselves. Additionally, they grow up without a frame of reference for what is normal and healthy. They may develop traits that they struggle with throughout their adult lives, and the effects are many. They may not know how to live without chaos and conflict (this becomes a lifestyle pattern) and get bored easily (Lechnyr, 2020). Children robbed of their childhood have to “grow up too fast.” As a result, they are disconnected from their needs and face difficulty asking for help (Cikanavicious, 2019). Children, who were constantly ridiculed, grow up to judge themselves harshly, lie and constantly seek approval and affirmation. Children may fear abandonment, believe they are unlovable/not good enough and feel lonely/misunderstood. As adults, they face difficulty with forming professional, social and romantic bonds, and are viewed as submissive, controlling, overwhelming or even detached in relationships (Ubaidi, 2016). To numb their feelings, they may abuse drugs or alcohol and engage in other risky behaviors (e.g., reckless driving, unsafe sex) (Watson et al., 2013). 

Perhaps most serious of all, these individuals continue the cycle by developing their own parenting problems and reinforcing the dysfunctional dynamic (Bray, 1995). Being aware of the dysfunctional patterns of our past and how they affect how we think and act in the present is the critical first step.  

Name painful or difficult childhood experiences.

Recognize you have power over your life.

Identify behaviors and beliefs you would like to change.

Be assertive, set boundaries and practice non-attachment.

Find a support network.

Seek psychological help.

For parents:

Heal from your own trauma.

Be kind, honest and open-minded — and listen.

Create an environment of respect, safety and privacy.

Model healthy behavior and practice accountability.

Give clear guidelines and factual information.

Learn how to apologize.

Be gentle with teasing, sarcasm, etc.

Allow children to change and grow.

Enforce rules that guide behavior but do not regulate one’s emotional and intellectual life.

Spend time together as a family.

Know when to ask for help.

  References:

Härkönen, J., Bernardi, F. & Boertien, D. (2017). Family Dynamics and Child Outcomes: An Overview of Research and Open Questions. Eur J Population 33, 163–184. https://ift.tt/2Ybl1Nw

Shaw, A. (2014). The Family Environment and Adolescent Well-Being [blog post]. Retrieved from https://ift.tt/2V9xnEb

Dorrance Hall, E. (2017). Why Family Hurt Is So Painful Four reasons why family hurt can be more painful than hurt from others [blog post]. Retrieved from https://ift.tt/3hF1bSo

Nelson, A. (2019). Understanding Fear and Self-Blame Symptoms for Child Sexual Abuse Victims in Treatment: An Interaction of Youth Age, Perpetrator Type, and Treatment Time Period. Honors Theses, University of Nebraska-Lincoln. 89. https://ift.tt/2N7ye3y

Gowman, V. (2019). When Children Believe “I Am Wrong”: The Impact Developmental Trauma Has on Belief Systems and Identity [blog post]. Retrieved from https://ift.tt/2C9lK9k

Forward, S., & Buck, C. (1989). Toxic Parents: Overcoming Their Hurtful Legacy and Reclaiming Your Life. NY, NY: Bantam.

Cikanavicius, D. (2019). The Effects of Trauma from “Growing up Too Fast” [blog post]. Retrieved from https://blogs.psychcentral.com/psychology-self/2019/12/trauma-growing-up-fast/

Al Ubaidi, B.A. (2017). Cost of Growing up in Dysfunctional Family. J Fam Med Dis Prev, 3(3): 059. doi.org/10.23937/2469-5793/1510059

Lechnyr, D. (2020). Wait, I’m not Crazy?! Adults Who Grew Up in Dysfunctional Families [blog post]. Retrieved from https://ift.tt/37DLRAY

Al Odhayani, A., Watson, W. J., & Watson, L. (2013). Behavioural consequences of child abuse. Canadian family physician Medecin de famille canadien, 59(8), 831–836.

Bray, J.H. (1995). 3. Assessing Family Health And Distress: An Intergenerational-Systemic Perspective [Family Assessment]. Lincoln, NB: Buros-Nebraska Series on Measurement and Testing. Retrieved from https://ift.tt/3fBCF34

from https://ift.tt/2N5vlAl Check out https://daniejadkins.wordpress.com/

[brentrogers]

Dysfunctional Families and Their Psychological Effects

When the lockdown protocols were enforced earlier this year, our freedom, routine and responsibilities within households were disrupted. Along with this, increased uncertainty, financial stress and burden of care have lowered our window of tolerance. For many, it has opened old wounds and led to persistent conflict at home. Children are forced to experience strained family interactions, day in and day out, without the solace of distraction and distance. 

There is a great degree of variability in how interactions and behaviors occur within homes, and the pattern of these interactions form the core of our family dynamic (Harkonen, 2017). Families have a unique set of dynamics that affect the way each member thinks and relates to themselves, others and the world around them. Several factors including the nature of parent’s relationship, personality of family members, events (divorce, death, unemployment), culture and ethnicity (including beliefs about gender roles), influence these dynamics. The list is endless, and it is no surprise that growing up in an open, supportive environment is the exception, rather than the norm. 

It’s important to disclaim that the idea of a perfect parent/family is a myth. Parents are human, flawed and experiencing their own concerns. Most children can deal with an occasional angry outburst, as long as there is love and understanding to counter it. In “functional” families, parents strive to create an environment in which everyone feels safe, heard, loved and respected. Households are often characterized by low conflict, high levels of support and open communication (Shaw, 2014). This helps children navigate physical, emotional and social difficulties when they are young, and has lasting impacts as they transition into adulthood.

Alternatively, growing up in a dysfunctional family can leave children emotionally scarred, and affect them throughout their lives. Hurtful family environments may include the following (Hall, 2017):

Aggression: Behaviors typified by belittlement, domination, lies and control.

Limited affection: The absence of physical or verbal affirmations of love, empathy and time spent together.

Neglect: No attention paid to another and discomfort around family members.

Addiction: Parents having compulsions relating to work, drugs, alcohol, sex and gambling.

Violence: Threat and use of physical and sexual abuse.

For children, families constitute their entire reality. When they are young, parents are godlike; without them they would be unloved, unprotected, unhoused and unfed, living in a constant state of terror, knowing they will be unable to survive alone. Children are forced to accommodate and enable chaotic, unstable/unpredictable and unhealthy behaviors of parents (Nelson, 2019).

Unfortunately, children don’t have the sophistication to understand and verbalize their experiences, discriminate between healthy and unhealthy behaviors and make sense of it all. They may interpret the situation to fit the belief of normalcy, further perpetuating the dysfunction (e.g., “No, I wasn’t beaten. I was just spanked” or “My father isn’t violent; it’s just his way”). They may even accept responsibility for violence, to fit their reality. The more they do this, the greater is their likelihood of misinterpreting themselves and developing negative self-concepts (e.g., “I had it coming. I was not a good kid”). 

During their younger years, children form certain beliefs and carry them, unchallenged, into adulthood. These beliefs are influenced by their parents’ actions and statements and are often internalized, for instance, “children should respect their parents no matter what,” “it’s my way or no way” or “children should be seen, not heard.” This forms the soil from which toxic behavior grows and may be communicated directly or disguised as words of advice, expressed in terms of “shoulds”, “oughts” and “supposed tos.”

Spoken beliefs are tangible but can be wrestled with. For instance, a parental belief that divorce is wrong, might keep a daughter in a loveless marriage, however, this can be challenged. Unspoken beliefs are more complicated; they exist below our level of awareness and dictate basic assumptions of life (Gowman, 2018). They may be implied by childhood experiences, for example, how your father treated your mother or how they treated you, encouraging you to believe ideas such as “women are inferior to men” or “children should sacrifice themselves for their parents.”

As with beliefs there are unspoken rules, pulling invisible strings and demanding blind obedience, e.g., “don’t lead your own life,” “don’t be more successful than your father,” “don’t be happier than your mother” or “don’t abandon me.” Loyalty to our family binds us to these beliefs and rules. There may be a marked gap between parents’ expectations/demands and what children want for themselves. Unfortunately, our unconscious pressure to obey almost always overshadows our conscious needs and desires, and leads to self-destructive and defeating behaviors (Forward, 1989).

There is variability in dysfunctional familial interactions — and in the kinds, severity and regularity of their dysfunction. Children may experience the following: 

Being forced to take sides during parental conflict.

Experiencing “reality shifting” (what is said contradicts what is happening).

Being criticized or ignored for their feelings and thoughts.

Having parents who are inappropriately intrusive/involved or distant/uninvolved.

Having excessive demands placed on their time, friends or behaviors — or, conversely, receive no guidelines or structure.

Experiencing rejection or preferential treatment.

Being encouraged to use alcohol/drugs.

Being physically beating.

Abuse and neglect affect the child’s ability to trust the world, others and themselves. Additionally, they grow up without a frame of reference for what is normal and healthy. They may develop traits that they struggle with throughout their adult lives, and the effects are many. They may not know how to live without chaos and conflict (this becomes a lifestyle pattern) and get bored easily (Lechnyr, 2020). Children robbed of their childhood have to “grow up too fast.” As a result, they are disconnected from their needs and face difficulty asking for help (Cikanavicious, 2019). Children, who were constantly ridiculed, grow up to judge themselves harshly, lie and constantly seek approval and affirmation. Children may fear abandonment, believe they are unlovable/not good enough and feel lonely/misunderstood. As adults, they face difficulty with forming professional, social and romantic bonds, and are viewed as submissive, controlling, overwhelming or even detached in relationships (Ubaidi, 2016). To numb their feelings, they may abuse drugs or alcohol and engage in other risky behaviors (e.g., reckless driving, unsafe sex) (Watson et al., 2013). 

Perhaps most serious of all, these individuals continue the cycle by developing their own parenting problems and reinforcing the dysfunctional dynamic (Bray, 1995). Being aware of the dysfunctional patterns of our past and how they affect how we think and act in the present is the critical first step.  

Name painful or difficult childhood experiences.

Recognize you have power over your life.

Identify behaviors and beliefs you would like to change.

Be assertive, set boundaries and practice non-attachment.

Find a support network.

Seek psychological help.

For parents:

Heal from your own trauma.

Be kind, honest and open-minded — and listen.

Create an environment of respect, safety and privacy.

Model healthy behavior and practice accountability.

Give clear guidelines and factual information.

Learn how to apologize.

Be gentle with teasing, sarcasm, etc.

Allow children to change and grow.

Enforce rules that guide behavior but do not regulate one’s emotional and intellectual life.

Spend time together as a family.

Know when to ask for help.

  References:

Härkönen, J., Bernardi, F. & Boertien, D. (2017). Family Dynamics and Child Outcomes: An Overview of Research and Open Questions. Eur J Population 33, 163–184. https://ift.tt/2Ybl1Nw

Shaw, A. (2014). The Family Environment and Adolescent Well-Being [blog post]. Retrieved from https://ift.tt/2V9xnEb

Dorrance Hall, E. (2017). Why Family Hurt Is So Painful Four reasons why family hurt can be more painful than hurt from others [blog post]. Retrieved from https://ift.tt/3hF1bSo

Nelson, A. (2019). Understanding Fear and Self-Blame Symptoms for Child Sexual Abuse Victims in Treatment: An Interaction of Youth Age, Perpetrator Type, and Treatment Time Period. Honors Theses, University of Nebraska-Lincoln. 89. https://ift.tt/2N7ye3y

Gowman, V. (2019). When Children Believe “I Am Wrong”: The Impact Developmental Trauma Has on Belief Systems and Identity [blog post]. Retrieved from https://ift.tt/2C9lK9k

Forward, S., & Buck, C. (1989). Toxic Parents: Overcoming Their Hurtful Legacy and Reclaiming Your Life. NY, NY: Bantam.

Cikanavicius, D. (2019). The Effects of Trauma from “Growing up Too Fast” [blog post]. Retrieved from https://blogs.psychcentral.com/psychology-self/2019/12/trauma-growing-up-fast/

Al Ubaidi, B.A. (2017). Cost of Growing up in Dysfunctional Family. J Fam Med Dis Prev, 3(3): 059. doi.org/10.23937/2469-5793/1510059

Lechnyr, D. (2020). Wait, I’m not Crazy?! Adults Who Grew Up in Dysfunctional Families [blog post]. Retrieved from https://ift.tt/37DLRAY

Al Odhayani, A., Watson, W. J., & Watson, L. (2013). Behavioural consequences of child abuse. Canadian family physician Medecin de famille canadien, 59(8), 831–836.

Bray, J.H. (1995). 3. Assessing Family Health And Distress: An Intergenerational-Systemic Perspective [Family Assessment]. Lincoln, NB: Buros-Nebraska Series on Measurement and Testing. Retrieved from https://ift.tt/3fBCF34

Dysfunctional Families and Their Psychological Effects syndicated from

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Freedom: The Dignity of our Own Choice

There was a time in my life when I felt defined by how others treated me. I carried around what had happened to me, which continued to hurt me and also limit my progress. But it wasn’t who I really was. The thing that made a difference in how I felt about myself was realizing my own power to choose.  The scriptures call this freedom the “agency” of man, or the ability to “act” and not merely “to be acted upon.”  The Declaration of Independence describes it as part of an unalienable endowment from our Creator.  But how can this be true?  We all experience times when other people’s choices “act upon” us, when our freedom is restricted or altogether taken away.

I have come to learn that God’s plan helps us to be free from the inside out, making us powerful agents in our own story.  In other words, our very souls have sovereignty.  His is not a plan of “freedom from” something else, but of “freedom to act in the dignity of our own choice.”  I would like to share several experiences that helped me to declare my independence.  The first was to forgive and the second was to actively accept responsibility for my own actions.

Image: @kyleledeboer

My growing-up years were blessed by loving, devoted parents, but they were also pockmarked by the sadness and division of divorce, the confusion and anguish of sexual abuse, and the defensive posture resulting from conflict I could not control.  Even after I left home, I felt trapped by the effects of my experiences, long after the direct harm was past.  I went away to college, attended counseling, and began to get some perspective on my situation.  With perspective came a great deal of anger.  I could sense that my Heavenly Father was leading and teaching me, but I didn’t know where to put all the hurt and blame.

During a church mission to The Netherlands, I met and served many people, both the Dutch and the refugees they hosted, who were recovering from the effects of war.  The broader the world became to me, the more I saw that my struggles were not unique; they were but a drop in the vast ocean of human suffering.  It all felt so overwhelming at times.  Where was God in all of this?  Didn’t He care how His children were hurting each other?

It came to a head one day when I was looking out the window from a city bus. I saw a frustrated and tired mom yell fiercely at her son for doing something.  When she turned her back to keep walking, the boy turned to his younger brother and hit him in the face.  Such a small moment.  Such an insignificant, mundane occurrence, but I sat there and cried.  The smallest boy was so confused and hurt.  I just wanted to jump off the bus and hug him.

The things is, these were not bad people.  They seemed representative to me of how we are all hurting, plagued by insecurities, failing energies, and unmet needs.  But our response to these deficits can trickle down and have terrible consequences in the lives of others.  How can we ever be truly free if all we do is react to the triggers of conflict, selfishness and competition all around us?

This experience helped me to see that things are more complex than the “good guy” and the “bad guy.” I began to think about the mom and the older brother.  Surely the mom wasn’t a bad mom.  Just an ordinary one at the end of a long day.  And the older brother seemed to be trying to find power in his life, perhaps the only way he knew how.   Maybe those who had hurt me when I was young had been hurt somehow, too.  I know that there is no excuse for the abuse of another person.  (And please don’t read anything I write today to lead you to believe that you should stay in or enable an abusive relationship!)  But with the gradations of human experience playing out before my eyes, I began to feel an ounce of compassion for the “bad guys” in my story.

Image: @kyleledeboer

When I got home from my mission, I had the opportunity to share my feelings with my mom on a quiet day before Christmas.  Hugging me, she told me how sorry she was.  I realized that I had craved an apology.  I had wanted someone to recognize my pain and make amends.  But it also wasn’t what I really needed.  An apology could never change what had happened or restore what I had lost.  It would never be enough.

As I had that thought, the story of Jacob and Esau came to my mind.  I had just been reading in my scriptures of how  Esau runs to meet Jacob, and embraces him, and falls on his neck, and kisses him after years apart.  And whereas both had been struggling with the heart-breaking deficits and wounds in their relationship, they both take the opportunity to say, “I have enough.”

I suddenly felt how very true those words were.  Things would never be the same as they were before I was hurt, but I had enough to move forward.  As with Jacob and Esau, the grace of Christ had played out over a number of years, mending wounds and opening up a space for compassion and forgiveness. I thought of my heartache in context of all I had seen and learned on my mission and felt a kind of crossroads open up in my heart.  I could either continue to harbor anger and bitterness from my past or I could try to find a way to let it completely go.

All in the space of that hug, I chose to believe in Christ’s ability to heal, restore, and execute fair judgment in this whole mess of a mortal life.  I gave up the fight for restitution and my demand for an explanation.  I took a breath and I leaned into my mom’s neck, as I had wanted to so many times as a little girl, and I let the tears go.  I made my choice.  I wanted peace more than payment.

Image: @kyleledeboer

When I returned to college a few weeks later, I began dating a really cute guy (whom I would eventually marry).  I really liked him, so I was devastated when we started to have conflict over a silly wedding date.  It seemed so trivial, but it eventually took us to the brink of how much we trusted each other.  My fiancé broke up with me and said something like: “Don’t worry.  I don’t blame you.  I know you come from a rough past.”  And then left.  The state.  I was so mad!  Who was this self-righteous guy that thought he could condescend from his perch of a perfect past to tell me that he didn’t blame me?!

After I took some time to cool down and cry a little (okay, a lot), I realized that the reason it bugged me so badly was because I didn’t want to be held hostage by my past.  I wasn’t actually mad at him – just angry that my past had followed me this far and had the power to steal more joy.  I had taken some pretty major steps to move forward, but I was still considered broken.  And then it occurred to me that I had been carrying my past around like a badge.  It had been my identity.  But I did not actually want to be defined by what had happened in my life or by what others thought of me.  I would rather be defined by my own choices.

When my boyfriend came back to town, we had a lot to work through.  Paramount on my list was having a conversation about my accountability.  I told him that he should expect me to be responsible for the mistakes I had made, so we could work through and learn from them the way we would work through his mistakes.  In order to step out of the shadow of my past, I needed to be accountable for my actions.  Said George Bernard Shaw: “Liberty means responsibility.”  And in gospel terms, responsibility means repentance.  I knew that I was not responsible for the abuse and conflict I had suffered when I was young.  But I also knew that it would require humility and sensitivity to the Spirit to avoid repeating some of the destructive patterns I had seen modeled in my childhood home.

I sit at my desk now, having just gotten off the phone, laughing with my mom, and having kissed my husband as he went back to his office for a late night of work.  I am truly amazed at how free I feel from all of the trauma I carried around for so long.  I have released my claim on payment and have instead laid claim to my own future.  In some ways, carrying the resentment and blame for my past was like wearing an old, worn-out coat.  It never really kept me warm, but it was familiar.  Casting it off left me feeling vulnerable and uncertain.  But I also felt free.  Free to leave behind the confusion, fear, and anger and move toward a life that is now full of a great deal of joy.    I’m sure I still have a lot to learn, but I think God might look at me and think, “She’s finally beginning to see.”

Image: @kyleledeboer

Earlier I asked the question: Where was God in all of this?  Now I can see Him in all of it.  As painful as it often was, He didn’t pluck me out of the world and hold me in His arms, like I so badly wanted.  He didn’t strike down the “bad guys” or force an apology.  He didn’t deliver mercy or justice when I demanded them.  But He did – He does – deliver.  Through the years, He gave me the ability to administer mercy and justice in my own life, although it was the reverse of what I thought I wanted.  He enlivened my soul with compassion (forgiveness) and a sense of my own strength (accountability).  This ability – this power – was the freedom I was looking for.  He didn’t change the way the world works, but He did change me.

I feel grateful for the difficulties I have gone through, because they have helped me to realize my own power to choose.   True freedom is power within myself, an active “independence of mind.”  It is the freedom of self-determination, the freedom inherent in my soul, no matter my circumstances.  It is the ability to “stand fast,” to recognize the gradations in light and dark and to choose the light, regardless of the choices of others.

I realize that not all of you may be able to identify with my experiences when I was growing up.  But we all reach similar crossroads as I have.  In our interactions with others, as bumpy as they sometimes may be, it is given unto us to choose.  No one can compel us to forgive.  No one can force a change of heart.  But in these acts, we are truly free.  Forgiveness and repentance seem now to be two sides of the same coin – to release what we cannot control with grace and to claim what we must control with humility.  Both are acts of freedom.  And both are possible because of Christ, the One who has made us free.

Freedom: The Dignity of our Own Choice posted first on http://ift.tt/2ulDYg7

[hellogreenweb]

Freedom: The Dignity of our Own Choice

There was a time in my life when I felt defined by how others treated me. I carried around what had happened to me, which continued to hurt me and also limit my progress. But it wasn’t who I really was. The thing that made a difference in how I felt about myself was realizing my own power to choose.  The scriptures call this freedom the “agency” of man, or the ability to “act” and not merely “to be acted upon.”  The Declaration of Independence describes it as part of an unalienable endowment from our Creator.  But how can this be true?  We all experience times when other people’s choices “act upon” us, when our freedom is restricted or altogether taken away.

I have come to learn that God’s plan helps us to be free from the inside out, making us powerful agents in our own story.  In other words, our very souls have sovereignty.  His is not a plan of “freedom from” something else, but of “freedom to act in the dignity of our own choice.”  I would like to share several experiences that helped me to declare my independence.  The first was to forgive and the second was to actively accept responsibility for my own actions.

Image: @kyleledeboer

My growing-up years were blessed by loving, devoted parents, but they were also pockmarked by the sadness and division of divorce, the confusion and anguish of sexual abuse, and the defensive posture resulting from conflict I could not control.  Even after I left home, I felt trapped by the effects of my experiences, long after the direct harm was past.  I went away to college, attended counseling, and began to get some perspective on my situation.  With perspective came a great deal of anger.  I could sense that my Heavenly Father was leading and teaching me, but I didn’t know where to put all the hurt and blame.

During a church mission to The Netherlands, I met and served many people, both the Dutch and the refugees they hosted, who were recovering from the effects of war.  The broader the world became to me, the more I saw that my struggles were not unique; they were but a drop in the vast ocean of human suffering.  It all felt so overwhelming at times.  Where was God in all of this?  Didn’t He care how His children were hurting each other?

It came to a head one day when I was looking out the window from a city bus. I saw a frustrated and tired mom yell fiercely at her son for doing something.  When she turned her back to keep walking, the boy turned to his younger brother and hit him in the face.  Such a small moment.  Such an insignificant, mundane occurrence, but I sat there and cried.  The smallest boy was so confused and hurt.  I just wanted to jump off the bus and hug him.

The things is, these were not bad people.  They seemed representative to me of how we are all hurting, plagued by insecurities, failing energies, and unmet needs.  But our response to these deficits can trickle down and have terrible consequences in the lives of others.  How can we ever be truly free if all we do is react to the triggers of conflict, selfishness and competition all around us?

This experience helped me to see that things are more complex than the “good guy” and the “bad guy.” I began to think about the mom and the older brother.  Surely the mom wasn’t a bad mom.  Just an ordinary one at the end of a long day.  And the older brother seemed to be trying to find power in his life, perhaps the only way he knew how.   Maybe those who had hurt me when I was young had been hurt somehow, too.  I know that there is no excuse for the abuse of another person.  (And please don’t read anything I write today to lead you to believe that you should stay in or enable an abusive relationship!)  But with the gradations of human experience playing out before my eyes, I began to feel an ounce of compassion for the “bad guys” in my story.

Image: @kyleledeboer

When I got home from my mission, I had the opportunity to share my feelings with my mom on a quiet day before Christmas.  Hugging me, she told me how sorry she was.  I realized that I had craved an apology.  I had wanted someone to recognize my pain and make amends.  But it also wasn’t what I really needed.  An apology could never change what had happened or restore what I had lost.  It would never be enough.

As I had that thought, the story of Jacob and Esau came to my mind.  I had just been reading in my scriptures of how  Esau runs to meet Jacob, and embraces him, and falls on his neck, and kisses him after years apart.  And whereas both had been struggling with the heart-breaking deficits and wounds in their relationship, they both take the opportunity to say, “I have enough.”

I suddenly felt how very true those words were.  Things would never be the same as they were before I was hurt, but I had enough to move forward.  As with Jacob and Esau, the grace of Christ had played out over a number of years, mending wounds and opening up a space for compassion and forgiveness. I thought of my heartache in context of all I had seen and learned on my mission and felt a kind of crossroads open up in my heart.  I could either continue to harbor anger and bitterness from my past or I could try to find a way to let it completely go.

All in the space of that hug, I chose to believe in Christ’s ability to heal, restore, and execute fair judgment in this whole mess of a mortal life.  I gave up the fight for restitution and my demand for an explanation.  I took a breath and I leaned into my mom’s neck, as I had wanted to so many times as a little girl, and I let the tears go.  I made my choice.  I wanted peace more than payment.

Image: @kyleledeboer

When I returned to college a few weeks later, I began dating a really cute guy (whom I would eventually marry).  I really liked him, so I was devastated when we started to have conflict over a silly wedding date.  It seemed so trivial, but it eventually took us to the brink of how much we trusted each other.  My fiancé broke up with me and said something like: “Don’t worry.  I don’t blame you.  I know you come from a rough past.”  And then left.  The state.  I was so mad!  Who was this self-righteous guy that thought he could condescend from his perch of a perfect past to tell me that he didn’t blame me?!

After I took some time to cool down and cry a little (okay, a lot), I realized that the reason it bugged me so badly was because I didn’t want to be held hostage by my past.  I wasn’t actually mad at him – just angry that my past had followed me this far and had the power to steal more joy.  I had taken some pretty major steps to move forward, but I was still considered broken.  And then it occurred to me that I had been carrying my past around like a badge.  It had been my identity.  But I did not actually want to be defined by what had happened in my life or by what others thought of me.  I would rather be defined by my own choices.

When my boyfriend came back to town, we had a lot to work through.  Paramount on my list was having a conversation about my accountability.  I told him that he should expect me to be responsible for the mistakes I had made, so we could work through and learn from them the way we would work through his mistakes.  In order to step out of the shadow of my past, I needed to be accountable for my actions.  Said George Bernard Shaw: “Liberty means responsibility.”  And in gospel terms, responsibility means repentance.  I knew that I was not responsible for the abuse and conflict I had suffered when I was young.  But I also knew that it would require humility and sensitivity to the Spirit to avoid repeating some of the destructive patterns I had seen modeled in my childhood home.

I sit at my desk now, having just gotten off the phone, laughing with my mom, and having kissed my husband as he went back to his office for a late night of work.  I am truly amazed at how free I feel from all of the trauma I carried around for so long.  I have released my claim on payment and have instead laid claim to my own future.  In some ways, carrying the resentment and blame for my past was like wearing an old, worn-out coat.  It never really kept me warm, but it was familiar.  Casting it off left me feeling vulnerable and uncertain.  But I also felt free.  Free to leave behind the confusion, fear, and anger and move toward a life that is now full of a great deal of joy.    I’m sure I still have a lot to learn, but I think God might look at me and think, “She’s finally beginning to see.”

Image: @kyleledeboer

Earlier I asked the question: Where was God in all of this?  Now I can see Him in all of it.  As painful as it often was, He didn’t pluck me out of the world and hold me in His arms, like I so badly wanted.  He didn’t strike down the “bad guys” or force an apology.  He didn’t deliver mercy or justice when I demanded them.  But He did – He does – deliver.  Through the years, He gave me the ability to administer mercy and justice in my own life, although it was the reverse of what I thought I wanted.  He enlivened my soul with compassion (forgiveness) and a sense of my own strength (accountability).  This ability – this power – was the freedom I was looking for.  He didn’t change the way the world works, but He did change me.

I feel grateful for the difficulties I have gone through, because they have helped me to realize my own power to choose.   True freedom is power within myself, an active “independence of mind.”  It is the freedom of self-determination, the freedom inherent in my soul, no matter my circumstances.  It is the ability to “stand fast,” to recognize the gradations in light and dark and to choose the light, regardless of the choices of others.

I realize that not all of you may be able to identify with my experiences when I was growing up.  But we all reach similar crossroads as I have.  In our interactions with others, as bumpy as they sometimes may be, it is given unto us to choose.  No one can compel us to forgive.  No one can force a change of heart.  But in these acts, we are truly free.  Forgiveness and repentance seem now to be two sides of the same coin – to release what we cannot control with grace and to claim what we must control with humility.  Both are acts of freedom.  And both are possible because of Christ, the One who has made us free.

Freedom: The Dignity of our Own Choice posted first on http://ift.tt/2ulDYg7

[hellogreenweb]

Freedom: The Dignity of our Own Choice

There was a time in my life when I felt defined by how others treated me. I carried around what had happened to me, which continued to hurt me and also limit my progress. But it wasn’t who I really was. The thing that made a difference in how I felt about myself was realizing my own power to choose.  The scriptures call this freedom the “agency” of man, or the ability to “act” and not merely “to be acted upon.”  The Declaration of Independence describes it as part of an unalienable endowment from our Creator.  But how can this be true?  We all experience times when other people’s choices “act upon” us, when our freedom is restricted or altogether taken away.

I have come to learn that God’s plan helps us to be free from the inside out, making us powerful agents in our own story.  In other words, our very souls have sovereignty.  His is not a plan of “freedom from” something else, but of “freedom to act in the dignity of our own choice.”  I would like to share several experiences that helped me to declare my independence.  The first was to forgive and the second was to actively accept responsibility for my own actions.

Image: @kyleledeboer

My growing-up years were blessed by loving, devoted parents, but they were also pockmarked by the sadness and division of divorce, the confusion and anguish of sexual abuse, and the defensive posture resulting from conflict I could not control.  Even after I left home, I felt trapped by the effects of my experiences, long after the direct harm was past.  I went away to college, attended counseling, and began to get some perspective on my situation.  With perspective came a great deal of anger.  I could sense that my Heavenly Father was leading and teaching me, but I didn’t know where to put all the hurt and blame.

During a church mission to The Netherlands, I met and served many people, both the Dutch and the refugees they hosted, who were recovering from the effects of war.  The broader the world became to me, the more I saw that my struggles were not unique; they were but a drop in the vast ocean of human suffering.  It all felt so overwhelming at times.  Where was God in all of this?  Didn’t He care how His children were hurting each other?

It came to a head one day when I was looking out the window from a city bus. I saw a frustrated and tired mom yell fiercely at her son for doing something.  When she turned her back to keep walking, the boy turned to his younger brother and hit him in the face.  Such a small moment.  Such an insignificant, mundane occurrence, but I sat there and cried.  The smallest boy was so confused and hurt.  I just wanted to jump off the bus and hug him.

The things is, these were not bad people.  They seemed representative to me of how we are all hurting, plagued by insecurities, failing energies, and unmet needs.  But our response to these deficits can trickle down and have terrible consequences in the lives of others.  How can we ever be truly free if all we do is react to the triggers of conflict, selfishness and competition all around us?

This experience helped me to see that things are more complex than the “good guy” and the “bad guy.” I began to think about the mom and the older brother.  Surely the mom wasn’t a bad mom.  Just an ordinary one at the end of a long day.  And the older brother seemed to be trying to find power in his life, perhaps the only way he knew how.   Maybe those who had hurt me when I was young had been hurt somehow, too.  I know that there is no excuse for the abuse of another person.  (And please don’t read anything I write today to lead you to believe that you should stay in or enable an abusive relationship!)  But with the gradations of human experience playing out before my eyes, I began to feel an ounce of compassion for the “bad guys” in my story.

Image: @kyleledeboer

When I got home from my mission, I had the opportunity to share my feelings with my mom on a quiet day before Christmas.  Hugging me, she told me how sorry she was.  I realized that I had craved an apology.  I had wanted someone to recognize my pain and make amends.  But it also wasn’t what I really needed.  An apology could never change what had happened or restore what I had lost.  It would never be enough.

As I had that thought, the story of Jacob and Esau came to my mind.  I had just been reading in my scriptures of how  Esau runs to meet Jacob, and embraces him, and falls on his neck, and kisses him after years apart.  And whereas both had been struggling with the heart-breaking deficits and wounds in their relationship, they both take the opportunity to say, “I have enough.”

I suddenly felt how very true those words were.  Things would never be the same as they were before I was hurt, but I had enough to move forward.  As with Jacob and Esau, the grace of Christ had played out over a number of years, mending wounds and opening up a space for compassion and forgiveness. I thought of my heartache in context of all I had seen and learned on my mission and felt a kind of crossroads open up in my heart.  I could either continue to harbor anger and bitterness from my past or I could try to find a way to let it completely go.

All in the space of that hug, I chose to believe in Christ’s ability to heal, restore, and execute fair judgment in this whole mess of a mortal life.  I gave up the fight for restitution and my demand for an explanation.  I took a breath and I leaned into my mom’s neck, as I had wanted to so many times as a little girl, and I let the tears go.  I made my choice.  I wanted peace more than payment.

Image: @kyleledeboer

When I returned to college a few weeks later, I began dating a really cute guy (whom I would eventually marry).  I really liked him, so I was devastated when we started to have conflict over a silly wedding date.  It seemed so trivial, but it eventually took us to the brink of how much we trusted each other.  My fiancé broke up with me and said something like: “Don’t worry.  I don’t blame you.  I know you come from a rough past.”  And then left.  The state.  I was so mad!  Who was this self-righteous guy that thought he could condescend from his perch of a perfect past to tell me that he didn’t blame me?!

After I took some time to cool down and cry a little (okay, a lot), I realized that the reason it bugged me so badly was because I didn’t want to be held hostage by my past.  I wasn’t actually mad at him – just angry that my past had followed me this far and had the power to steal more joy.  I had taken some pretty major steps to move forward, but I was still considered broken.  And then it occurred to me that I had been carrying my past around like a badge.  It had been my identity.  But I did not actually want to be defined by what had happened in my life or by what others thought of me.  I would rather be defined by my own choices.

When my boyfriend came back to town, we had a lot to work through.  Paramount on my list was having a conversation about my accountability.  I told him that he should expect me to be responsible for the mistakes I had made, so we could work through and learn from them the way we would work through his mistakes.  In order to step out of the shadow of my past, I needed to be accountable for my actions.  Said George Bernard Shaw: “Liberty means responsibility.”  And in gospel terms, responsibility means repentance.  I knew that I was not responsible for the abuse and conflict I had suffered when I was young.  But I also knew that it would require humility and sensitivity to the Spirit to avoid repeating some of the destructive patterns I had seen modeled in my childhood home.

I sit at my desk now, having just gotten off the phone, laughing with my mom, and having kissed my husband as he went back to his office for a late night of work.  I am truly amazed at how free I feel from all of the trauma I carried around for so long.  I have released my claim on payment and have instead laid claim to my own future.  In some ways, carrying the resentment and blame for my past was like wearing an old, worn-out coat.  It never really kept me warm, but it was familiar.  Casting it off left me feeling vulnerable and uncertain.  But I also felt free.  Free to leave behind the confusion, fear, and anger and move toward a life that is now full of a great deal of joy.    I’m sure I still have a lot to learn, but I think God might look at me and think, “She’s finally beginning to see.”

Image: @kyleledeboer

Earlier I asked the question: Where was God in all of this?  Now I can see Him in all of it.  As painful as it often was, He didn’t pluck me out of the world and hold me in His arms, like I so badly wanted.  He didn’t strike down the “bad guys” or force an apology.  He didn’t deliver mercy or justice when I demanded them.  But He did – He does – deliver.  Through the years, He gave me the ability to administer mercy and justice in my own life, although it was the reverse of what I thought I wanted.  He enlivened my soul with compassion (forgiveness) and a sense of my own strength (accountability).  This ability – this power – was the freedom I was looking for.  He didn’t change the way the world works, but He did change me.

I feel grateful for the difficulties I have gone through, because they have helped me to realize my own power to choose.   True freedom is power within myself, an active “independence of mind.”  It is the freedom of self-determination, the freedom inherent in my soul, no matter my circumstances.  It is the ability to “stand fast,” to recognize the gradations in light and dark and to choose the light, regardless of the choices of others.

I realize that not all of you may be able to identify with my experiences when I was growing up.  But we all reach similar crossroads as I have.  In our interactions with others, as bumpy as they sometimes may be, it is given unto us to choose.  No one can compel us to forgive.  No one can force a change of heart.  But in these acts, we are truly free.  Forgiveness and repentance seem now to be two sides of the same coin – to release what we cannot control with grace and to claim what we must control with humility.  Both are acts of freedom.  And both are possible because of Christ, the One who has made us free.

Freedom: The Dignity of our Own Choice posted first on http://ift.tt/2ulDYg7