#because you live in a constant spiral of i will disappoint everybody with this

[lincnok]

not gonna lie, the eclipse was a masterpiece.

like, yeah, khao give us flirty teenage badboy, but, heck, man. first really nailed the exact feeling of being closeted.

[thequietmanno1]

Thelreads, MHA 281, Replies Part 1

1) “Alright, now that I finally regained control over my mortal form, it is time to continue where we left- which was… Ah, right, Machia was about to kill everyone around him, and then we cut to Shigaraki about to drop the most devastating burn that Endeavor ever got. Yeah, I remember now, so, let us jump in on Chapter 281: Plus Ultra

Oh this title does not bode well for some reason…”- Befitting his status as an evil counterpart to Izuku and a hero to the villains he leads, it’s Tomura that starts going beyond his limits and kicking everybody’s shit in, just when it looks like the tables are turning agaisnt him. He’s alone, outnumbered, and handicapped…and all that does is make him even more determined to win, no matter the abuse he puts himself through physically.

2) “And okay Shigaraki, I know you got hurt, that I have no way or want to deny, but… Your father was not a hero, and your grandma had two choices, either abandon him and allow him to live or let him stay and die with her, I suppose you know that AfO killed all the other holders of OfA, right? or that your grandma was one of them? You do know that, right? right?

3) "And, well, what other heroes have you know are hurting their families (again, Endeavor does not count) unless you’re equating endangering and dying in the line of fire as hurting their families, in which case… Well, I mean, you are part of the problem.”- Tomura very much still doesn’t know about OFA, AFO and their connection…and he even more emphatically doesn’t give a shit about it. Yeah, he has the counterpart to Izuku’s Quirk, on a greater level of strength than he can wield himself, and he’s basically destined/being compelled to target him, but that’s all a side-issue to Tomura. What Really matters to him, is none of the history stuff that’s gone into this combat been the good and evil Quirk users of the past generation, it’s his own suffering and torment that drives him onwards, to avenge himself on those who slighted him and abandoned him and refuse to comprehend him.

At the same time, this counter-intuitively makes the current generation of heroes even more unlikely to understand him, but Tomura’s fine with that. As he is now, he doesn’t see anybody being capable of offering a saving hand to him, doesn’t think that’s a possibility in this world even if he emotionally wants one, and because he’s being disappointed by that, he’s lashing out and hurting others. It’s a self-destructive spiral of emotions and pain and just extending all that torment to others so he can make himself feel even slightly better about his suffering, and yes, it makes him part of the problem, but as much as he recognises it, he doesn’t care anymore. Tomura and the league are a fascinating middle ground between heroes and truly hateable villains like AFO, occupying a space where they could be better, if they had the right set of circumstances, but with everything they’ve learned in their lives, they’ve come to the conclusion that nothing will ever get better for them, so there’s no point in trying to be better, which is what tips them towards ‘villains who need to be stopped’ rather than ‘saved’.

They’re being selfish and focused on their own wants, despite their sympathetic qualities, which contrasts with heroes who try to be ‘selfless’ in the line of duty, but yet ironically, Tomura’s situation was in fact created by Nana’s own attempt to be selfless, putting her son in care so she could try and stop AFO and protect others from him, only for him to then go out of his way to utterly trample all over her efforts in the aftermath.

4) “No time to philosophy, there’s muscles to flex.”- Tomura’s flexing his debating muscles so much, his body’s starting to crack like a jigsaw puzzle���or a chrysalis, with the power he contains starts to reach the limit of his mortal ‘shell’.

5) “Alright Aizawa, do tell me, your quirk requires constant line of sight or not? Because if it doesn’t then why the fuck you’re here for, just to die a senseless death? You damn heroes hurting your families, you have a daughter back home waiting for you!”- Aizawa’s Quirk just requires him to make eye contact once and then not blink, but I think it has increased effect if he’s looking directly at the target for an extended period. At the same time, his broken leg from the high-end grabbing it is preventing him from being easily able to run away…and the need to carefully regulate his eyes being moisturised in case he blinks whilst running or such means Rock Lock and Manuel can’t make fast progress escaping, especially since Tomura has insane jumps and can easily catch up. 6) “Alright, let the speech roll, I want to see the point you want to get to, and I hope it is a good one, I don’t want to lump you with the villains who make no sense.”- It’s a simple one, but that also makes it impossible for others to understand him, which in turn becomes his point. He hates the world because it never helped him, so he wants all the power he can get to tear it down in revenge. Despite that, part of him is still frozen in that moment, awaiting help, but because no hero exists who can see past the monster he’s become, he won’t get that desire satisfied, and the disappointment, loss and loneliness he feels keenly because of that further enforces his desire to tear it all down. And even when he says this outright to the heroes, that he wants to tear down society because of its flaws, the lack of context and everything that’s gone on in his past means they don’t understand where he;s coming from – which again, Tomura’s come to the conclusion that they’ll never understand him, so he’ll just keep destroying thigns to make himself feel better, having his negative actions rebound on his innermost wishes and in turn redoubling his self-destructive efforts because they’re inherently incompatible.

He’s literally targeting one of the most empathetic heroes out there, but because he’s turned into a ranging monster from all his power and the hatred that courses through him, Izuku doesn’t get what drives him, just seeing a demon that tears through those he cares about to get to him, and when he’s done with him, will turn his carnage on everybody else 7) “Ah, alright, now with that I can see where you’re trying to get to, but unfortunately that first part about families was a bit unsubstantiated. Yeah, heroes are merely a facade, there are people hurting and suffering, but they pretend that everything is okay to keep the appearances of a just society, alright Shigaraki keep the words coming”- Tomura’s drawing from his own experiences to bring up the point about families, but the truth of his words in applicable in other circumstances as well. We know there are heroes out there with selfish motivations and don’t quite measure up to Izuku and All Might’s example, and the fact that these issues aren’t widely known about and discussed, with everybody only seeing the good in society, because of censorship that enforces the narrative of ‘heroes good, villains evil’ – that’s what Drives Tomura and the other villains, with their own disparite histories having some kind of common ground in this same fact – that nobody wonts to admit that the world isn’t perfect and ignores those whose existence proves it. 8) “And that was exactly the moment I was thinking about, the day his trust in heroes was completely shattered.

Well, gonna be honest, that was more of a society™ fault rather than a hero not wanting to help him. The people got too complacent, thinking that they have no civil obligations because “some hero is gonna help” and shrug because it’s not their problem

Society failed Shigaraki, but of course, he sees Heroes as merely another part of this problem.”- At this point, his power is merely to make sure no heroes will stand in his way. Heroes are the weapon of he society that hides behind them whilst rejecting Tomura, and so, Tomura needs to be strong enough to tear through all of them in order to get his desire to destroy sated. In a way, it almost verges around to ‘nothing personal’ with him – his hatred is for the people hiding behind the heroes, whilst they’re fighting him and putting their lives on the line, which he seems to somewhat respect, at least in Aizawa’s case 9) “YEAH YOU, YOU BITCH, YOU ARE THE ONE AT FAULT HERE. YOU MONSTER, YOU ABSOLUTE MONSTER, YOU LET THAT CLEARLY TRAUMATIZED AND HURT KID ALONE

Although we can’t deny that everyone on that street is at fault. Apathy to others is the real villain of the story.”- I’ve heard it said that Apathy is the opposite to Love, not hate, because hate is still focusing on somebody with an intense emotion, whereas Apathy is complete and utter rejection, which is what isolated Tenko in the first place and left him vulnerable to AFO. 10) “Again, Society™ is the real villain all along

And I’m not even being facetious, this whole thing, I already mentioned a lot of time, does not work. Quirks are part of people, there should be a balance to be reached rather than suppress everyone and only let a small group use them freely”- The thing is, it’s Too Late. If the issue had been addressed sooner, then maybe next-generation heroes like Izuku could have made steps when they undertook their hero careers to reach out- we’ve already seen examples of this in Gentle. But AFO’s plans allowed Tomura to reach a level of strength to start a war on society before he could see that it was possible for people out there to still save his soul and empathise with his pain…and now, the pandora’s box is opened, there’s no going back, and all the pain and bloodshed spilt on this battlefield will only deepen the divide as the fighting eslcates… 11) “I wouldn’t say “corrupt” there, but it is a rather vicious cycle. 

Again, apathy and extremes restrictions created this society, and people only perpetuate it rather than trying to fix it. And the ones that supposedly had intentions to break this system have not the best of intentions, re-destro does not want to free people out of goodness, he just wants to be the one on top instead.”- In a warped sense, getting confronted with this viewpoint is a good thing for Izuku. Tomura is an ideological counter to the perception that ‘heroes make everything better’ that kids are being raised with nowadays, so by appearing before him when he’s still forming his ideas about what kind of hero he wants to be, Tomura acts as Izuku’s biggest opponent in an emotional/idealogical standpoint, rather than a physical one. Their fight is not really about who hits harder, it’s about who’s right, who’s wrong, and what parts of their philosophies deserve to win in the end. 12) “That I can’t deny

But I still don’t rule out this being all due to AfO, all the pieces being placed there to fall the way he wished.”- The absolute lack of AFO’s presence in the backstory, despite the hints that he could be manipulating this, give it a further interesting dimension to Tomura’s motivations. Because, rather than AFO being the source of all his problems, the fact that it’s something as insubstantial as society itself, rather than an individual, broadens the scope of his motivations, pushes him to go further beyond just one person to hate, make him become someone, something, powerful to destroy it all. Even if it does get revealed that it was AFO all along, Tomura no longer really cares. To him, the motivation that drives him still exists regardless of that fact, and by holding onto it, he actually becomes his own villain, rather than ‘another holder of AFO’ to oppose Izuku. In a way, Tomura has developed into a villain in his own right, who wants to fight Izuku and the rest of the heroes for himself, not AFO, with the whole OFA/AFO conflict being an unnecessary hang-on to this fight, even a detriment, thanks to his master starting to worm his way into his head. 13) “Welp Shigaraki, I’m sorry to say, but although you are a villain, you were also a pawn, guided to this conclusion by someone that is truly and undoubtedly a villain.

There is a lot for you to respond for, but the real reasons you are who you are right now has less to do with society and more with a mastermind using you to further his own plans.”- And yet, despite this possible outcome, it doesn’t detract from the fact that Tomura’s still dangerous, more so now than even AFO himself, and a villain who needs to be stopped regardless of the part he plays in the mastermind’s grand design. Their separation has turned Tomura from AFO’s follower into somebody who stands separate from him, on perhaps even an equal level to him now with the immense power and conviction he wields.

The image of him here, mirroring his younger self, highlights this, a monster on a first look, but a crying child pleading for aid with a second introspective one. A monster, and a victim in one, a saviour to the villains, and an unstoppable destroyer for the heroes. Holy, and unholy in one. He’s stepped out from his master’s shadow, such that AFO’s threat now comes from him working inside Tomura’s mind to overtake his immense power, rather than being a direct threat to Izuku. 14) “Dammit Shigaraki, you started monologing and let him recover. Well done you idiot, at least make sure to kill him before you start the next speech.”- I mean, it also let Tomura’s battered body get a few seconds breather as well, especially since he’s starting to hit his own physical limits with the healing turned off. 15) “Well Endeavor, you see, he has those things called “muscles”, it is all the rage nowadays, all the cool villains have them”-  Muscles, backed by pushups, situps, and plenty of milk. Tomura went ultra-jacked, so he can tear through anything. Actually, Izuku should really double-down on his own workout, assuming he survives this.

16) “Yeah, one might say he’s going plus ultra right now

Honestly, I don’t remember the last time we actually saw someone saying that in this series. It was so prevalent back at the first few arcs, it’s like not even the characters believe it anymore.”- This war is basically the villains all going plus ultra, getting their turn to tear down the heroes and never stopping, best symbolised by how Tomura’s not even defending himself anymore, he’s just taking the hits and striking back in the same instant like a rabid animal, focused only on killing, not on self-preservation. A destroyer, reduced to using just his bare hands to fight with, but still, the instinct to attack is over-powering anything the heroes hit him with.

17) “ OH WOW OKAY OUCH THAT FUCKING HUTR JESUS CHRIST SHIGARAKI THERE WAS BETTER WAYS TO GET BACK UP”- Yeah, but this way, he’s attacking Gran Torino even as he’s rising up. His destructive emotions are practically being channelled with every move he makes, him using everything he can to lash out and destroy first before thinking of his next move. 18) “I’M SORRY FOLKS, I DON’T THINK THERE’S ANYTHING THAT CAN BE DONE TO SAVE HIS FOOT RIGHT NOW. THIS TORINO IS NO LONGER GRAN, DARE I SAY.”- His foot will be less of a concern to him than the massive gaping hole gouged in his stomach. 19) “Good fucking job Gran Torino, jumped in just to be immediately caught and about to be murdered. Well Done you fucking moron. At least you brought Shigaraki a bit of joy on killing another hero.”- Well, better the old man than Endeavour I guess. On average, Endeavour can do more damage to Tomura with his flames than Torino’s kicks could, so you could say he took one for the team. 20) “Huh, is that Nana? Back when she gave her son away? Tell me, were you watching it Gran Torino? Because I doubt this is Shigaraki’s mind right now.”- He was there to support his friend on the most painful day of her life- and it wasn’t even the day that she died. 21) “I fucking knew it you goddamn dramatic asshole.

Alright, now let us see more of that particular moment that set forth most of the tragedies that ensued, and of course, this moment right now where Gran Torino’s foot went to Valhalla”-  You have to wonder just how AFO found out about Kotaro in the first place. Nana went through all these lengths to hide him, yet he seemingly kept up the search for her relatives even after she’d died, just out of sheer spite for her memory, apparently. 22) “ah jesus I knew this would turn sad

We know this wasn’t an easy decision, we know there was no choice, but seeing Nana crying over it was not something I ever expected to see, even though I knew it happened”- Nana has always been remembered by All Might as this smiling, bright happy woman, so Gran Torino’s memories shown her letting the mask of that slip and showcase her inner anguish that she hid from everybody, even her protégée, hits harder. 23) “…

Oh god, I just realized the irony of this phrase right now

“hurt your own family to help complete strangers”

Nana had to erase all traces connecting her to her son to save him from AfO, by all intents and purposes they were complete strangers to each other

She was all alone, her only family was now herself.She hurt her family to help a complete stranger”- And that same action rendered Tomura a complete stranger to gran Torino, his grandmother’s closest confidant, such that they are now at mortal blows with each other with Tomura not giving a damm anymore.

@thelreads

[whygodwhy69]

Golf Rivalry Lesbians: The Outline

Claire Donovan comes from a very privileged background and her parents are super intense. She has a crushing fear of failure (stemming no doubt from a concern of disappointing her parents). Uptight AF. Needs a chill pill fr. Very successful youth(/college) career → decent pro career but struggling to maintain highest ranking (or w/e). Constantly pushing herself past her limits trying to be the best. Trying to recapture success of her youth(/college) career. Disappointed parents are v v harsh – not helpful. Has a boyfriend who is also a pro golfer. He is pretty good but never had her previous success so he “doesn’t understand” her constant intensity for improvement. He’s actually an okay dude but lawd he preppy and bland and for god’s sake her parents fucking love him >:(

~*Enter the eventual love interest*~

Lauren (“Lo”) Jennings is fucking great at golf. She came outta nowhere on the pro circuit and has had a bunch of success. She’s so fucking relaxed– she gets to play a game for a living and has a lot of fun with it. She came from a poor background, got into golf via scholarship or something idk. Turns out she’s great at it. She gets all the endorsements and wins a bunch of tournaments. She is also a very nice person. So naturally Claire fucking HATES her.

(this is borne of jealousy and resentment; however, it will take a while for her to realize and accept that).

Of course they keep meeting at tournaments and each do well. Lo has more wins though because though Claire does fairly well, she struggles to actually win tourneys. So of course Claire blames Lo for this and becomes crazed determined to beat her… at the next tourney, Claire actually does super badly bc she is so focused on beating Lo that she totally falls apart. She’s pissed, her parents are pissed, everybody’s god damn pissed. Except Lo, she’s just chillin’.

So then boyfriend is like, uh maybe Lo isn’t actually the devil incarnate? And so Claire is like stfu we’re over. And boyfriend is like yikes ok

So obviously Claire is spiraling and lashing out and placing blame on the wrong people. At the next tourney Lo is like hey and Claire is like I swear to god I’ll fucking kill you and Lo is like who uh good luck in the tourney you seem stressed. If you ever want to talk about the pressure of being a female pro athlete with someone who understands I’m here 4 u

And Claire is like wtf I hate you get out of my face but now Lo is seeped into her mind in a different fucking way. 

Bc maybe she really isn’t the devil incarnate?

Fuck.

And maybe she’s really cute and kind?

FUCK.

Time to apologize for being a dickhead. Also maybe do some closer self-examination? Like why do I actually play golf? To make my parents happy? Because I had some previous success? Does it make me happy? It used to– when I had fun with it. Maybe I should try to chill and have fun playing. (Also am I gay what no never mind)

Well DUH she wins the next tournament bc she’s actually enjoying herself instead of just being super intense about everything. 

So Lo is like hey congrats and Claire is like whoops I was an asshole bc I was jealous of how successful yet chill you are and Lo is like oh dude I’m not chill at all I just go to therapy so I can balance myself out and grow as a person and Claire is like damn heart eyes emoji

And anyways they fall in love and smooch bc of course they do

Happy endings only over here babey

Also worked somewhere in there, Claire confronts her parents because she’s like you pushed me too hard and they’re like sorry we just wanted you to success and maybe we messed up and she’s like it’s okay but let’s all chill a little

Also also, at some point before her breakthrough, Claire straight up quits a tourney in the middle of hole bc she’s so overwhelmed by stress and trying to be the best and trying to beat Lo and her parents like berate her but maybe that’s when she confronts them?

Also also also, Lo is Very Obviously Gay™ but Claire has genuinely *no idea* because she’s a sheltered WASPy princess with no awareness of any other type of person. This will make her all the more confused about her stirring feelings for Lo. Yet she is fortunate bc at least Lo is already comfortably out and thinks she’s hot.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 12: The Mirror]

A/N: Hi y’all!! Please enjoy, this is a long one. We’re getting into the exciting stuff now, so I’ll be putting all my creative energy into BYCNL and will hopefully finish up the series within the next month. Thank you so much for your love and support! Each and every reblog/message/comment makes me smile and means the absolute world to me! 💜

Chapter summary: John gets a rap sheet, Roger gets defensive, Y/N gets suspicious, News Of The World gets a headline.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, drugs, babies, drama, angst.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @stardust-killer-queen​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

You’re not late. You’re never late.

And at first that’s okay, it’s more than okay, it’s a relief; because it was too soon to have a baby anyway, less than a year into a supposedly meaningless marriage, a marriage you and Roger never even speak of, a marriage that might have never happened at all—might only exist as a particularly vivid and pleasant dream—if it wasn’t for your freshly-minted British citizenship. At first you greeted each dark, fruitless stain of blood with a casual ruefulness—oh well, one more month of freedom, you would think, smiling a little, worrying not very much at all—content to let that milestone trophy of womanhood, of life, lay undusted and unclaimed in the cluttered pit of your mental oak trunk with a tarnished gold latch shaped like a lion’s jaw.

After four months, you start to notice things. You notice the way Chrissie’s twins have small willow-green eyes that turn down in the corners, just like Brian does; you notice how John’s children have his downy hair and that innate sort of reticence that some people mistake for banality; you notice all those pretty, anonymous young women pushing strollers through the blossoming summer foliage of Hyde Park. You notice the way Roger grins and waves at babies when you see them in airports or hotel lobbies, dazzles them like he dazzles very nearly everybody, like he still dazzles you. You notice a longing buried in your bones that you hadn’t known existed.

After six months, you are no longer casually rueful. You start ignoring the calendar, as if not noticing you’re due could stop the bleeding from coming at all, like how you’re not supposed to stare at the clock if you want time to pass faster. You start watching what you’re eating, trying to get more sleep, opening all the windows when Roger smokes as he flips through fashion and music magazines with crafty little snickers, flashing those pointy canine teeth you once assumed your children would have.

And now, after nine months—as the world hurtles towards the conclusion of the brisk October of 1977—you have begun to worry; because maybe this thing, this thing that everyone accepts as a guaranteed feature of the all-inclusive package of the human experience, isn’t something you get to have at all. Roger doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask you about it. He is as he always is: sunlight and joy and heat and raw kinetic energy. But sometimes Roger’s huge blue eyes—those eyes you fell in love with, those eyes that convinced you to follow Queen to London, to stardom, to thunderous stadiums all over the world—go vacant as he gazes out into the horizon, as the sun sets over the garden of the Surrey house, as his face is lit up in gold and amber and celestial fury like the wildfire his soul is made of.

And you’ve begun to worry about him, too.

~~~~~~~~~~

The phone rings from the nightstand. The shrill clanging, like hail on glass, makes you wince beneath the tangle of blankets. Your hand fumbles out into cool night air, which pours in from the open bedroom window.

Where’s Roger?

Then you remember his hushed voice, his bleached hair tickling your cheek, his lips pressed to your temple: Hey baby. I gotta go jam with some people. Grab a drink or two. You sleep, I’ll be back by morning.

Sure, okay, fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. One of those infinite casualties of fame.

You haul the phone to your ear. “Hello...?”

“Hello darling, are you busy?”

“Well, it’s 2:39 a.m., Fred. So not very.”

“Perfect. I need you to go post bail for John.”

You wrench yourself upright, rubbing your eyes with your free hand. “What?!”

“He was drunk driving and backed into a cop car, pure genius. I’m rather indisposed myself at the moment, and of course Veronica can’t know. And you’re so good with him, dear.”

Your feet have already swung off the bed and onto the plush white carpet. You wonder what Freddie is ‘indisposed’ with; there are so many possibilities these days. “And you know about this...because...?”

“He used his phone call on me, darling. I don’t think he wanted to bother you. I suspect he’s a bit mortified.”

“Yeah, well, he should be.” You sigh and start pawing through the safe in the bedroom closet, the spiraled phone cord pulled taunt. Hundred-pound notes shuffle weightlessly between your fingers. You remember when Queen had no money at all, when you and Roger shared a pitiful—dodgy, you amend—one-bedroom flat, when you had to assemble each bouquet and tie each ribbon for John’s wedding by hand; and you’re shocked by the nostalgia that hits you in the gut like brass knuckles. “Sure, I’ll go get him. Just tell me where he is and how much he’ll owe me.”

John is slumped on the floor of the jail cell, alone and sweated and miserable. His hair is in complete disarray. He peers up at you through the iron bars with red, swollen, unfocused eyes.

“Hey,” you say quietly, smiling although you know you shouldn’t be.

He covers his face with both hands and moans. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Too late. Freddie asked me to come get you, he was drunk or high or in the middle of an orgy or something. You are the worst drunk driver in the world, just so you’re aware. You are obviously not cut out for a life of crime.”

“So I’ve gathered.” He swipes at the strands of hair stuck to his forehead with the back of his hand, bites his lower lip, shakes his head with that thousand-yard stare that says: How the fuck did I get here?

You drop down to your knees to meet him at his level. The concrete floor is filthy, spotted with grime and dust and crushed insects and smears of what might be blood. “What’s going on, John?” you ask gently.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he murmurs. “It’s okay when we’re on tour. When we’re on tour I’m preoccupied and exhausted and too high on the rush to think about it too much. I’m numb. Mostly. But then I come home and it’s...” He glowers, balls his hands into fists, beats them clumsily against his thighs. “It’s this relentless fucking cycle of feeling dissatisfied and guilty and inadequate. A disappointment of a husband. A failure of a father. And it’s inescapable.”

“Well, the constant pregnancy situation probably doesn’t help.” Veronica is expecting their third child in February.

He waves a hand dismissively, rolls his eyes. “It’s part of the thing. The ‘being a good husband’ thing. I can’t fix that. Birth control is a sin or whatever. Jesus is too busy pissing himself over that to care about starving kids in the Soviet Union, I guess.”

“That’s a cheerful prospect.”

“Sorry.”

“No, please, by all means. Throw off all your baggage, I can take it.”

Now he smirks, just faintly. “That’s what we’ve always done for each other, right?”

“We’ll be back on tour in a few weeks, John.” And that was true; the News Of The World Tour was scheduled to begin on November 11th in Portland, Maine. The band would spend the 12th in Boston and join your parents for dinner at the Queen Anne-style house at the intersection of Apple and Arcadia that you grew up in.

He whispers forlornly: “I can’t run from this forever.”

“You might have to. I’d love to know what Slavic Jesus has to say about divorce.”

John coughs out a surprised laugh. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“Come on. I posted your bail. I won’t tell Roger if you won’t. You can put the extra five thousand pounds in your ‘fake my own death and go live on a tropical island’ fund instead of paying us back.” You’re not serious, and John knows that; he would never abandon his children, even if they weren’t old enough to really remember him yet. But it has the desired effect, which of course is lifting the mood, making John divulge that rare and beautiful smile.

“I’m a wreck. I can’t go home like this. It’d be worse than not coming home at all.”

“I’m happy to offer you one of our five superfluous bedrooms.”

“Okay,” John sighs, clutching the bars of his jail cell and dragging himself to his feet. “I’m so sorry. I owe you for this, I really do.”

“No,” you reply, grinning. “Just find a way to send me the coordinates so I can visit you on your secret tropical island once in a while.”

You drive John home to the Surrey house, get him set up in the spare bedroom with the blue-grey wallpaper and blankets patterned with seahorses, give him a stack of Roger’s clean clothes, lay out fresh towels and a tray of water and cookies—biscuits, you reprimand yourself—for him. He’s mostly sober now, which makes you feel somewhat better; still, you are aware that you hate the thought of leaving him alone, even if he’s only a few walls away.

“Thank you,” he says as you stand in the doorway, his face meditative, his hands in the pockets of his leather coat.

“Of course.”

“You’re a good friend. The best, actually.”

“You’re a good man. You don’t always know it, but you are.”

John just stares at you with an expression you can’t read. Like the ocean: always mysterious, always profound. “Goodnight,” he says after a while.

“Goodnight, John.”

As you pull the bedroom door shut, you hear erratic thumps coming up the staircase. Roger stumbles into the upstairs hallway, singing under his breath and drumming the air with invisible drumsticks, and holds out his arms when he sees you. He’s wearing his dark green suit, an unraveling tie, one sparkling pink Converse, his prescription sunglasses tangled in his hair and forgotten. His eyes are effervescent, flighty, almost manic.

“Hey, love of my life!” he cries, comically loud. “What are you doing up?!”

“Shhhhh! Your bassist partied a little too hard and needed a place to crash that wasn’t overrun with kids. He’s in the blue room.”

“Deaks? Deaks is sleeping over?!” Roger exclaims, beaming. “All my favorite people are here!”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t bother him. He’s pretty messed up, he needs the rest. I’ll make everyone pancakes in the morning or something. Come over here, let’s get you—” But the words die in your throat as you try to tug off Roger’s suit jacket. Fine white powder sheds off the emerald velvet fabric and onto your palm. You blink at it, at the residue like crushed aspirin, like the salt they scatter on Boston roads the night before a snowfall. “What is this?”

He rips his sleeve away, conjures up a smile to throw you off the trail. To dazzle his way out of this. “Nothing.” But he knows. And he knows you know too.

“You were...snorting coke...?”

“Come on, baby, don’t be like that...” He tries to embrace you; you shove him back.

“Roger, no, this is...this is...” You shake your head, shrugging off the shock, searching for the words. You’re confused, you’re exhausted, your mind is whirling. “We’re home, Roger,” you plead, like it means something.

Has he done this before? When? How often? With who?

You should know the answers. It’s not a good sign that you don’t.

“So?” Now he’s indignant.

“So it’s not like being on tour, you’re supposed to take it easy at home, you’re supposed to be, I don’t know, relaxed and recovering and, and, and content...”

You’re not supposed to have an excuse to do all those things that destroy people.

He laughs bitterly. “What, ‘happy at home’?! When has that ever been me?”

“Rog, please, I’m not saying you can’t work all the time or drink or smoke, I’m not even saying you can’t get wasted, I’m just drawing the line at cocaine and I don’t think that’s a terribly despotic place to draw a line.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I must have missed it, when did you become too moralistic for drugs?”

“Acid is different than coke and you know it. Acid doesn’t kill people.”

He glares at you, savage, almost hateful. “You don’t get to put me in a cage.”

“I’m not being controlling or self-righteous, I’m being concerned—”

“You’re being a fucking cop, that’s what you’re being,” Roger snaps.

“What do you want me to say?! I’m a registered nurse, Roger, I’m a medical professional, it’s literally my job to keep you alive—”

“No, it’s your job to make sure we can record and tour and I need it, I can’t play without it, don’t you get that?! I fucking need it!”

Instantly, John is between you, still fully dressed and sweating Manhattans out of his pores and seething. He’s taller than Roger; surely you must have noticed that before. But if you had, you’ve since forgotten. “Roger,” he threatens in a low, unyielding voice. “Go to bed.”

Roger recoils, disoriented, then opens his mouth to protest.

“Go!” John roars, pointing towards the main bedroom. He wants to say more, you can tell, he has rage burning in him like dragonfire; and if it had been Brian or even Freddie, John would have said it. But this is Roger. And you can’t remember a time John has ever raised his voice to Roger before now.

Roger can’t wrap his brain around it either, particularly in his present condition. His eyelids flutter a few times, then he scoffs—a dismissive, derisive sound, a sound that says I don’t know what to do with this information—and staggers away. He slams the bedroom door behind him as he disappears inside.

You collapse against the nearest wall and hiss in ragged breaths through your teeth, your eyes wet and stinging, your hands trembling as you press your knuckles to your lips.

“I-I-I’m so sorry about that,” you whisper, avoiding John’s eyes.

He’s going to say something, something harsh and terrible but true. He’s finally going to tell me how stupid I was for ever thinking this could work, just like Chrissie and Freddie and Brian. He’s going to tell me I deserve it.

Instead, John offers only this, his words flat and hollow: “Yeah. I’m sorry everyone is disappointing you tonight.”

And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the morning—early afternoon, really—Roger doesn’t remember; or at least he feigns convincingly that he doesn’t. He props his feet up on the kitchen table and shovels down six pancakes and theatrically relays to you all the scandalous celebrity gossip in the News Of The World magazine with his prescription sunglasses perched bookishly on his nose. He asks you three times if you’re alright, trying to read the hesitance in your eyes, to unearth all those questions that are taking up a permanent residence there. You smile and nod, sip your tea, watch the sharp autumn sunshine as it streams in through the windows and bathes Roger in luminescence that seems so benignly interminable in the light of day. And when you peer into the bedroom with seahorse-patterned blankets and walls the color of cold rain, John has vanished; but the air is heavy with the scent of a litany of cigarettes and there’s a handwritten note left on one pillow.

Thanks for everything. Hang tough, as the Yanks say. An island getaway awaits you.

~ World’s Worst Drunk Driver

At 3 p.m., John calls and asks if the Taylors would be interested in an outing to the park while he gives Veronica a few hours alone to catch up on housework without the kids. His tone is light, casual, harmless; but you suspect he’s checking in on you.

“Of course we’re interested!” Roger says, snatching his ostentatious fur coat off the back of his chair. “Baby, love of my life, go get some cash from the safe so we can buy the kids ice cream.”

Incidentally, there’s not much cash left in the safe; but you find a ten-pound note in your wallet for the ice cream man and make a mental note to run to the bank on Monday.

Hyde Park in October isn’t so different than Boston. The leaves above are a kaleidoscope of sunstone and rubies and jasper and jade, crisping and curling around their serrated edges, drifting listlessly onto pavement paths to be crushed beneath rushing feet; the roots of the trees are centuries deep. Chrissie is walking laps around the pond as she pushes the twins’ stroller; Evelyn is a fairly good sleeper, but Theodore—Teddy to his closest confidants, of which you are one—is an anxious baby and prone to whining. He’s definitely Brian’s son, you often find yourself thinking with an affectionate smirk. John’s ten-month-old daughter Anna is nestled in your arms in a semi-conscious state, having thoroughly exhausted herself by painting her face with chocolate ice cream and thereafter enduring an impromptu bath and wardrobe change in a public restroom.

Laszlo, two years old and with a mop of auburn curls, trots by the edge of the pond as Roger grips his tiny hand, periodically crouches down beside him, grins hugely and points out swans and fish darting through the dark rippling water. Laszlo shrieks with laughter and tries to steal Roger’s sunglasses, which glint in the sunlight like black mirrors.

“So your kid’s a convict too,” you say to John.

“Gotta train them when they’re still small and good for shimmying through dog doors and such.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Extremely hungover, but I’m trying not to show it.”

“You’re doing a good job, I wouldn’t have known.”

“Excellent. I don’t think Veronica noticed. She was very curious about how I ended up in a pair of Roger’s skintight leopard-print pants, though.”

You chuckle, glimpsing down at Anna, rocking her a little as her eyes flitter open and then close again. You and John are on opposite ends of a wooden park bench, your ankles crossed and resting in his lap, your hair rustling in the breeze. John peers over at you periodically, studies you like an ancient statue of Aphrodite or Perseus under a spotlight in an echoing museum, then resumes his sketching. Your smile dies as you watch Roger giggle with Laszlo, lift him high into the cool autumn air, trumpet mock airplane noises in that high, raspy voice.

“Come on,” John prompts, nudging your boots. “I’ll take the baggage if you’ll let me.”

No, I think I’ll keep this one to myself. But you don’t. “It’s my fault,” you say softly. It’s my fault we can’t have children.

John lifts his pencil from the page, his greyish eyes gentle. “You don’t know that.”

“Statistically, it is most likely my fault.”

“It hasn’t been that long, has it? Definitely less than a year. Sometimes these things take time.”

“They didn’t for you and Veronica.”

“Yes, well...” John frowns uneasily. “That’s not always such a blessing.”

“How helpful. You should write newspaper columns for depressed housewives. ‘Don’t worry about that infertility dear, you could have it worse, you could have a life sentence with someone you can’t fucking stand.’”

That was unkind, you think, immediately regretting it. That might have been too far.

But John doesn’t seem offended. His pencil flies over the paper as he glances over at you again. “Is that all? Please continue. I’m riveted to learn more about my alternative career path.”

“No, I think I’m done.”

“Okay. What’s your favorite flower?”

You consider that. “Roger always gets me carnations or roses...and I like them, don’t get me wrong...but I don’t know if I’d call either of those my favorite.”

“It’s not that deep a question, Miss Nightingale.”

“I’ll defer to the artist’s expertise. Surprise me.”

“I’m no artist,” John warns, but he returns to his sketching nonetheless. “I’m really sorry about last night, by the way. I was being stupid and dramatic and immature and self-pitying. ‘Midway on our life's journey, I found myself in dark woods, the right road lost,’ etcetera etcetera.”

You’re no great connoisseur of Italian literature, but you recognize those famous opening lines of the Inferno. “Can I ask you something?”

“Please do.”

“What is this fascination you have with Dante?”

“Truly?”

“Yeah.”

He smiles pensively with his eyes cast out over the pond. “I like that his story has a happy ending. That someone can start in hell and sweat out all their sins in purgatory and end up among the stars.”

You raise your eyebrows, taken back, impressed. “That’s awfully poetic.”

“It’s strange, probably,” John says, scrutinizing his drawing.

“No, really. I love it.”

“Yeah?” He’s doubtful, but he’ll allow himself to believe you if you insist.

“Yeah. And no more drunk driving or other acts of self-destruction, okay? Queen would crumble without you, John. And so would I.”

In reply, he rips the page out of his notebook and hands it over. The image is of you: so infinitely more lovely and at peace than you feel, eyes wise and contented and reflecting halos of sunlight, John’s daughter dozing in your arms.

Tucked behind your ear, etched in graphite shadows, is a calla lily.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Darling, what do I look like?” Freddie bats his eyelashes flirtatiously.

“A raccoon.”

His face screws into a grimace. “I’m supposed to be a cat.”

“Yes, I’m cognizant of that. But you look like a raccoon. Which is why people keep assuming you’re a raccoon, which is why you’re asking me now if you look like one.”

“Bloody hell,” he groans, puffs on a cigarette, fluffs his hair irritably, slurps a drink that is fizzy and sapphire blue.

“The problem is that you went with black and white. You should have dressed as a calico or something. Or a grey cat, oh, I love the chubby grey ones!”

“I’m a musician, darling, not a fucking zoologist.” He exhales a ring of smoke and meanders away.

Queen, the band’s associates, and various music industry figures are all milling around the night-draped mansion. It’s half a Halloween celebration and half a launch party for News Of The World, an album named for the tabloid that Roger both loathes and yet refuses to stop having delivered to the Surrey house. He can’t stand the thought of not being clued into the latest gossip, trends, fashion, awards, of missing any piece of what stardom has to offer. In the spirit of Halloween, Roger is dressed as a tiger, his sleeveless sequined shirt striped with orange and black. You are a veterinarian (not so far a cry from a nurse that you can’t repurpose your old uniform), John a shark (he’s taped a cardboard triangle to his back like a fin), Veronica a sea turtle in a teal dress and with a shell painted over her sizable baby bump, Brian and Chrissie both bright green aliens with antennae bobbing from their headbands. Mary is here as well—outfitted (quite appropriately) like an Enlightenment-era queen—but so is Freddie’s new boyfriend, a shy man named Anthony who is young and handsome and compliant and dressed as a mouse. Mary beams dutifully whenever Freddie is speaking to her, but her expression clouds over when he turns away. She no longer has a gold ring gleaming on her wedding finger, although she did gain an athletic blond date whom she seems largely indifferent to.

As Roger wanders through the crowd shaking hands and howling at jokes, you sip champagne by the snack table and devour an obscene amount of crab puffs. John and Veronica are chatting—unenthusiastically, from what you can tell—nearby with lamb kabobs in their grasps. John passes you a smirk every once in a while, an I’m so over this party and I know you are too smirk of commiseration, and nurses a Manhattan. Chrissie nibbles on disks of cucumber and baby carrots and not much else, which is very unlike her.

“You alright?” you ask worriedly. “You aren’t sick, are you? These crab puff things are incredible, I can’t stop eating them. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve had three dinners so far tonight, I’ve become a monster.”

Chrissie’s lips are a tight, humorless line. “I’m perfectly healthy, I’m just a cow.”

“Chris, honey, don’t!” You pat her shoulder reassuringly with one hand, pop another crab puff into your mouth with the other. “You’re gorgeous, and most women’s bodies change once they have babies, it’s natural!”

“Yeah, well most women aren’t married to men with infinite opportunities to upgrade.”

“Chrissie, no,” you murmur, pained; but you aren’t sure what else to say. She’s not wrong. I wish she was, but she isn’t. And she already knows that.

Dreams by Fleetwood Mac is playing from the reverberating stereo, Stevie Nicks’ sensuous, nasally voice climbing through air choked with strangers and cigarette smoke.

“Now here you go again

You say you want your freedom

Well, who am I to keep you down?”

Brian bids farewell to some record company executive he was talking to across the room and slips out onto the back porch of the house, and after a moment Chrissie follows him. You resist the temptation to eavesdrop until you can clearly hear their voices, raised and combative, through the sliding glass door. You glance to John, apprehensive.

You better go out there, he mouths, and so you do.

“Thunder only happens when it's rainin'

Players only love you when they're playin'

Say women, they will come and they will go

When the rain washes you clean, you'll know...”

Under cold October stars, Chrissie has trapped her horrified-looking husband, backed him into a fountain of a dolphin spewing an endless stream of water from its snout. “Did you think I wouldn’t listen to your own fucking album, Brian?!” She shrieks. “Who is she, huh? Who the fuck is she?!”

You grip her arm and try to lead her away. “Chrissie, babe, not here—”

“It’s Late, Brian? Yeah, it’s real fucking late in your life to still be chasing whores over in America while I’m building your family here, isn’t it?!”

“Love, please, it’s not true,” Brian attempts anemically, reaching for her.

“It is!” Chrissie rages. “It is and it always has been and I was too busy being some blind stupid idiot who loved you to see it!”

She breaks down in tears and you shove Brian away, shoo him back inside. You pitch him a fierce glare as he leaves, retreating like a kicked dog. There’s nothing you can do to fix this, you coward. Because everything she’s saying is true. Chrissie clings to you like a life raft, sobbing into your shoulder, asking what she did wrong.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her, over and over again; because that’s all there is to say.

Eventually Chrissie quiets, goes still and resigned and numb, and you help her fix her makeup and lead her back inside. You stand with her beside the snack table and swear not to leave her side until the party’s over, until the men are done celebrating yet another triumph that will take them further and further from home. Brian is nowhere to be found.

“That goddamn broodmare,” Chrissie hisses, gulping straight vodka, staring venomously at Veronica.

“Why do you hate her so much? I mean she can be dull, yeah. She’s sanctimonious and naïve and dresses like a freaking Mennonite. But she’s not horrible or anything.” And her life isn’t so perfect either.

“It’s not obvious?” Chrissie asks, her voice like a blade.

“No...?”

Chrissie’s eyes are scorching, although you’re not the person she’s furious with. You just happen to be standing in the path of the storm. “Because she’s the only one of us who’s never going to have to find out what this feels like.”

Oh, I don’t like that. I don’t like that at all.

You try to spot Roger in the teeming room. He’s over by a crackling fireplace, telling stories with dramatic sweeps of his hands, bleeding charisma like sweat, and none of that is unusual at all. One of the people he’s talking to is Dominique Beyrand, and that’s not so unusual either; Richard Branson ends up at a lot of industry events, and Dom trails him around like a shadow, nodding politely and contributing little chirps of conversation in that posh French accent.

But here’s the strange part; here’s the part you’ve never seen before.

When Roger flashes that dazzling smile of his, Dominique smiles back.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later, you’re steeping in a sweltering bubble bath as the phone rings downstairs. You ignore it at first, because the hot water is unraveling all the tension in your muscles and the lurking shadows in your mind, and also because the calendar is hanging right beside the phone in the kitchen and you’re quite committed to ignoring it this morning. But the phone rings again, and again, and you’re aware that it could be something serious; Roger is working on some non-Queen collaboration at a studio in downtown London, and something could have happened to him.

Especially considering his recreational preferences lately.

You scramble out of the tub, pull on a robe that sticks uncomfortably to your dripping skin, leave a path of bathwater footprints down the hallway and steps—slipping twice and clinging to the banister for dear life—before finally careening into the kitchen to snatch the phone off the wall.

“Hello?” you gasp, winded.

It’s not Roger, nor someone calling to inform you that Roger has overdosed or disappeared or vaulted down a staircase or been hit by a bus. It’s Chrissie.

“Have you seen the News Of The World yet?” she demands.

“Ummm, the album...?” Of course I’ve listened to the album. About a million times. You have a particular affinity for Spread Your Wings.

“No, not the album,” she snaps impatiently, although she kindly leaves out the you idiot addition that her tone implicates. “The magazine. Have you seen it today?”

“I was mid-bubble bath and almost broke my neck sprinting for the phone. So no.”

“Good. Don’t read a word. Don’t talk to anyone. I’m coming over. I’m gonna grab John and come right over.”

“Chris, what—?”

“Do not touch that fucking magazine!” she screams, and hangs up.

Naturally, you don’t listen.

You go to the main door of the Surrey mansion and open it. Sure enough, the new issue of News Of The World is waiting on the porch for you. You pluck it up with damp hands; the whirlpools of your fingerprints stick to the parchment.

On the front page is a photo of Roger, but he’s not alone. He’s scowling at the paparazzo snapping the picture, his face lit up by the flash, painfully and unmistakably stunning. He’s in some sort of alley or side entrance to a restaurant or club. He’s somewhere he’s trying not to be seen, which anyone could tell you is remarkable for Roger Taylor. Beside him is a woman you recognize; and although she’s looking down and trying to hide behind her shock of lustrous black hair, you can see her lips are smiling.

The headline reads: “Queen Drummer Spends Royally on London Love Nest for French Mistress.”

[fiercyy]

Chapters: 14/? Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke, Haruno Sakura & Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura & Hatake Kakashi, Team 7 - Relationship, Uchiha Sasuke & Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura & Hatake Kakashi & Uchiha Sasuke & Uzumaki Naruto, Hatake Kakashi/Maito Gai | Might Guy Characters: Haruno Sakura, Uchiha Sasuke, Uzumaki Naruto, Hatake Kakashi, Tsunade (Naruto), Orochimaru (Naruto) Additional Tags: AU, Post-Chuunin Exams, post chuunin exams attack, Minor Character Death, Trauma, Team 7 Family bonding, Genin Era, Everybody moves in with Sasuke, he's got room, semi-au, Plot Twists, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Roommates, Friends to Enemies, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, BAMF Haruno Sakura, Dai-nana-han | Team 7 (Naruto) Feels, BAMF Dai-nana-han | Team 7 (Naruto), Team as Family, Slow Burn, Post-Naruto Time Skip | Naruto Shippuden, Mutual Pining Series: Part 1 of Post-Chuunin Exam AU Summary:

Sakura always wished she could relate to her teammates better. She wishes she could take it back.

In which Sasuke acquires some unwanted roommates and a team becomes a family.

(Now at Shippuden Era)

.

.

a/n: Anyway, everyone’s bi now.

Chapter 14:

I am compromised.

Safe for now.

Don't think O knows.

Kakashi glances from one scroll to the other. Naruto is back in the village and Sakura is… at least willing to be in the same room as him. Sasuke is in danger. In two years, his family has been flung far and wide, but it seems that now they're destined to be reunited.

He should recall Sasuke. He should report his intel to Tsunade. He should go find Sakura and let her yell at him some more. What would do the most good? Probably the intel, even if seeking out Sakura would feed his masochism streak.

Taking on ANBU missions again has eroded his sense of reality. ANBU allows him to drift, rudderless in a stream that carries him down. He is goalless, living in an eternal period of waiting. Waiting for someone else's mission to end. Waiting for someone to come back. Waiting for someone to forgive him. He has no thought for a life put on pause. He'll continue to hold his breath until it's all over, but it probably won't ever be. So here he'll stay, shallow breath and panicked heart, prematurely gray and sick with grief.

When will it be enough? When will kids stop having to give up their lives in senseless, ceaseless war?

He thought that time was over. He thought that his generation would be the last. But then again, he supposes all generations fight to be the last. Everyone fights for their children to live better, don't they?

Kakashi doesn't have any children, but he has Team 7. A tragedy as old as the world, yet still in the making.

It's over. He's calling it. He'll go to Tsunade, give her the intel and demand they bring Sasuke home. It just isn't worth the risk to keep him in the field. Sure Sakura and Naruto will be a little confused when he tells them the truth, but they'll be happy in the end, won't they?

He slips his shoes on and is about the poof across town, when he's enveloped in someone else's smoke.

"Welcome back, Rival!" Gai exclaims with his usual excess of enthusiasm. "Got a minute?" he winks. Because of course he does. The man has no shame.

He sighs very deeply. Gai is yet another thing that he long ago tried to put on pause, but the man is by no means cooperative. "If I must."

Gai grins. "I insist."

.

.

There are days when focus is difficult, anxiety's high and Sakura has to run away from her own spiralling thoughts.

She goes to the hospital first, but Hatsune turns her away. "It's your day off." she says, "you deserve a break!" she exclaims. "Leave or I'll tell Tsunade," she threatens.

Fair enough.

Without permission, her feet carry her to the bridge where Team 7 used to meet. It doesn't matter how many years have passed, she can't forget it. Whenever she's lost in thought and wandering, she always finds herself here.

She hoists herself up on the bannister and twists so she's straddling it. Then she lays back and stares at the perfect, blue sky. Below, the stream rushes by. In the distance, birds chirp. A gentle breeze stirs her hair—it tickles her nose. Sakura can breathe here. And think.

She wonders what her parents would think of her life. The only thing they'd ever asked her for was her share of the chores and good grades. They never told her what future they wanted for her. Sometimes she wishes for a roadmap; she's not lost, but there's too many directions to choose from.

Would they understand her, as she is now? Is she doing enough to make them proud? Would her parents tell her to work things out with her team?

Mebuki made them change grocers once because Urashi-san gave her incorrect change and refused to correct the mistake. She never spoke to him again. She could be petty like that. She demanded her due and accepted no less. Sakura tries to take that lesson from her. When she's put on missions with sexist jerks or an older doctor doesn't listen to her because of her age, she fights back.

So she thinks Mebuki would understand why she's mad.

She thinks about them all the time; what they would say. She wishes they could have met her team, wonders why they never did.

Nothing to be done about it now.

.

.

Gai is a good listener, but the best thing about him is that he's perfectly able to fill a silence all on his own.

Kakashi pours tea and Gai talks.

"-It was an innocent misunderstanding. Everything could have been avoided if Neji hadn't skipped the sharing circle."

In the choice between snorting and rolling his eyes, Kakashi does both. "Sharing circle, huh?"

"It prevents all manner of misunderstandings!"

All teams have lots of those to go around.

"It's always best to know peoples intentions," Kakashi concedes. "Wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea."

Gai's foot, which has mysteriously found a resting place against Kakashi's ankle, jerks back. "No," he clears his throat. "I'd much rather know where I stand."

He avoids looking at Gai's face, though he knows he'll find no disappointment there. He stands up anyway, taking the still warm teacups and placing them delicately in the sink.

"I have to go." Which is the truth. "I owe Lady Hokage a debriefing."

Gai's empty hands fist against the table as he pulls them back. He awkwardly knocks on the wood and laughs to himself. "Of course. I won't keep you."

.

.

The purpose of not speaking to Gai was, in its own way, self-flagellation. When Sasuke's life was put on pause. Kakashi's was as well. Most waking moments, when not on a task, have been absorbed by worrying about his wayward student's wellbeing. It wouldn't be right or fair to anyone…

So they leave the apartment together and part at the foot of the stairs. He feels Gai's eyes on his back until he turns the corner.

.

.

Tsunade reads the scroll Kakashi has handed to her and bites her thumbnail while she thinks.

"He has not asked for an extraction."

Kakashi's eyes narrow. "I'm asking for one anyway."

"He clearly does not feel that it is appropriate at this time."

"He's a child!" he shouts, which takes her aback.

Tsunade rolls up the scroll and carefully places it on the corner of her desk. He's too close to this, she knows she must be delicate. "He's a leaf nin, same as you. He knew the risks." And worst of all. "You're in constant contact. If he feels he's in danger, he will let you know. In the meantime, I'm sending you and your team to follow up on his intel on Orochimaru's base in the Land of Waves."

He shuts that idea down too. "They're not ready. We haven't functioned as a team in two years, we're unfamiliar with each other's skillsets and we're a man down. I need more time."

"Kakashi," Tsunade sighs, "Make up your mind. Do you want to extract our operative in Sound or do you want to keep the rest of your team in the village forever? Because these are conflicting points."

"Godaime-"

"Shut up," she lazily waves him off. "You're like a protective mama bear. My word on this matter, is final."

But of course he doesn't shut up. Why would anyone around here make her job easy?

"Let me take my team on a retrieval mission to the Kusagakure base. Under the guise of recapturing a missing nin. This way we preserve his cover, but provide an escape route if necessary." He takes a deep breath, "And we can confirm that Sasuke's intel is good."

This gives her pause. "Is there reason to believe it isn't?"

He shakes his head, but now that the doubt is in her head, the suspicion won't leave. "Only that they might be feeding him false information as a test."

Sasuke has successfully passed along dozens of tips over the past year, all of them have been good. There's no reason to suspect that will change, but she doesn't say it. She weights her peace of mind against Kakashi's proposition. What could it hurt?

Sakura, for one.

"Fine," she agrees. She's so tired of this. "But an additional team member will be selected to fill out your ranks."

"Fine," he replies in that false cheery tone that she hates so much. Now that he's gotten his way, he wants to be downright delightful. Well, if she can't relax no one else is allowed to pretend. "Will that be all ma'am?"

"What will you tell them?" Sakura and Naruto think the brat's a traitor. How's he going to stop them from accidentally killing him? Then again, she's not sure either of them have that in them. Sakura doesn't talk about it much, but they must have loved the kid. He loved them a lot anyway, enough to fight that hard for a goodbye.

"That they're finally getting what they want."

.

.

"This isn't where I wanted to be either," Sakura growls, arms stiffly crossed in front of her chest. "Waiting around for Kakashi again… I could kill him."

"Ne Sakura, maybe calm down a little, uhn? Sensei's consistent at least. Consistently inconsiderate of other people's time is what he is!" He starts out trying to defend him but midway through, his own annoyance pushes forward.

She punches his arm, but it doesn't bruise so he knows it's a friendly jab. She's so different. He notices more and more, but at least she'll never stop hitting him. That's kind of comforting, right?

One of the first lessons Kakashi taught Team 7 was to expect the unexpected. The unexpected arrives with paintbrush in hand, insults on his tongue and blank, blank eyes.

.

.

Kakashi's arrival is overshadowed by the intense shouting match already taking place on the bridge. This day is turning out no better than yesterday, that's for sure.

"Children," he greets from his crouched position on the bridge railing. Sakura decides she's standing too close and takes three long steps to the left. This puts her within kicking range of the squabble between Naruto and a stranger.

Naruto's big toe nicks her ear, which zaps her of any patience she possessed. Sakura shrieks and punches the ground. Earth rockets up around her, like a meteor falling to earth. Naruto and the stranger fly apart, rolling into the river with a splash and a tree with a thud. Both boys seem stunned. He doesn't blame them, he's only ever seen Sakura's destructive potential once in person. That little girl is scary.

The stranger looks familiar, now that he can get a better look at him. Could be he's seen him around. Maybe ANBU? Or maybe just on the street. Kakashi's got good recall, but he's struggling to place him. Which is strange, because he's very distinctive looking. Pale as a blank page and just as unreadable, inky black hair and eyes and fashion choices that would make even Gai incredulous. Seems like no one follows regulation these days; everyone wants to show their midriff.

"I don't understand why you are so upset, Uzumaki." He doesn't ask why; he just expresses confusion with an eerie smile.

"Don't talk about my penis!" Naruto shrieks and cups his hands protectively in front of the appendage, like the other boy's going to lunge for it.

"Alright, I didn't mean to offend you, Dickless. I can do that."

Naruto groans and covers his ears. "Don't you see how that's worse?! Don't call me that!"

"But everything I've read about team building indicates that nicknames and jokes facilitate trust between teammates."

Ah. I see.

"Children," Kakashi tries again and three sets of eyes fly to him as they remember his existence. "I see you've already become acquainted." To the stranger in the crop top: "You must be the fourth member of our team."

He uses the tree to push himself to his feet and bows slightly at the hips. The back of his head is matted in blood but he doesn't so much as flinch. "I am Sai."

"Him?!" Naruto demands, running up the riverbank. Kakashi wonders if Jiraiya has robbed him of all critical thinking skills with his indolence. Genius and dissolution so often go hand in hand when it comes to great artists.

"Shouldn't you have figured that out by now?"

"Hello to you too," Naruto grumbles and wrings out his jacket.

Kakashi smiles beneath his mask, "It's good to see you Naruto." He reaches out to ruffle his hair and it strikes him that he's so much taller than he was when he left. He reaches his chin. Sasuke is a little taller and when they hugged, his hair tickled his nose. This is a thing he knows now and they do not.

The boy beams up at him and Kakashi feels a little less like a failure.

"If we're all going to be on this team, we need to learn to work together," Kakashi proclaims, "And what better way than a test?"

He produces two bells from the breast pocket of his jounin vest, makes eye contact with Sakura and smiles so big his eyes crinkle at the corners.

.

.

Turns out, Kakashi has not in fact seen the extent of Sakura's potential. And Team Kakashi is mission ready.

.

.

Gai's mind is still on his not-talk with Kakashi when he reports for duty alongside his team. He's unhappy and Gai understands this. If something bad were to happen to Lee or Tenten stopped speaking to him or Neji betrayed them all, he would be a wreck. He cannot blame Kakashi for his pain, but wishes that he would share it. A burden is lighter, carried by two. He supposes this liminal space is better than a definitive 'no'. They've spent so many years as rivals. When the possibility of more came into view, it was a wonderful surprise. Maybe is better.

"Sunagakure's emissary, Temari of the Sand requires an escort to return to her village," Lady Tsunade doesn't have a scroll to hand him. It's a simple mission, requiring no further details than the prescribed task. "You may remain a day before returning. When would you like to leave?" This, she directs at Temari.

The girl shrugs, "Now's good."

It's been a while since Gai has travelled to Suna. He likes the food, it's spicy enough that it helps with the heat. This will be fun!

.

.

"Maintain cover, expect us."

Generally, Sasuke and Kakashi communicate by written letters because it is the quickest and most accurate way to communicate information. It ensures that Pakkun does not remain in enemy territory overlong and his chakra isn't likely to be sensed. When he delivers messages by word of mouth is means that Kakashi was in a rush or he expected follow up questions.

Pakkun's face is always grim, but he has an air of resignation as he tells him that two years of work are crumbling.

"He's overruling me?"

Pakkun hesitates. "More like checking up on you. It's up to you how you receive them."

Sasuke understands, "So I have not been ordered to return."

"They're coming under the guise of a retrieval mission. You can use this as an opportunity to stage a capture or earn more trust by fighting back. In the meantime, try and find out who's discovered you."

Wait. Does this mean-? "A retrieval mission. So it's Team 7 coming."

He and Kakashi discussed them when they met covertly. Naruto hasn't been in the village for a while, but he was due back soon. And Sakura's doing well, according to their teacher. She's a chunin now.

"Yes."

Team 7 on a mission without him. To come get him.

"…Do the others know?"

Pakkun is not a very demonstrative dog. But he puts a paw on Sasuke's knee as he tells him, "No."

a/n: You may notice that I'm doing this thing where I skip over scenes from canon. This is because I don't want to rewrite scenes from canon, that's no fun to write or read. Instead, I'm letting you infer stuff, if it's confusing at any part, please let me know!

I've also moved around the Akatsuki stuff. It never made sense to me that they basically delayed their plans for 3 years for no reason? So I'm choosing to stretch out the Akatsuki arc so we can deal with Orochimaru properly first. This means that YES, we are headed to Suna for the Gaara/Akatsuki plotline, but other Akatsuki things are getting pushed back.

RE: KakaGai. Why? Dunno. My hand slipped and I love it./p

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you so much for sticking with me through this very weird journey. I love knowing what y'all think, don't be shy!

[williamcheart]

- ̗̀ * ( bill skarsgard + cismale + he/him ) have you seen ( william ‘colt’ heart ii ) walking around campus ? they are a ( twenty-four ) year old, studying ( business + literature ). we hear they are in ( omicron tau xi ), and can be ( composed & detached ), maybe it’s because they are an ( aquarius ). they sort of remind us of ( chicken scratch handwriting, trembling hands, a coach’s whistle ), maybe we can find out more ! * ̖́- + literary magazine

u were all wondering whomstve the bill skarsgard fc reserve was . . . . it was I and i have no mcfuckin’ regrets. we love. and stan. william colton heart the second

tw. cancer, death, substance abuse, car accident, mental illness.

gen info!

full name: william colton heart ii

nickname(s): will to his family, colton/just colt to p much everybody else. his full name is reserved for family and when he’s in troubule tbh

b.o.d. - feb. 19th he an aquarius bby

label(s): the fallen, the phoenix, the crestfallen, etc. etc.

height: tall but taller than benjy tall like we’re talking a whopping 6′4″ jfc

hometown: beaufort, south carolina !!

sexuality: b...i...?

bio info!

born n raised in beaufort, south carolina--william is the eldest heart sibling

was a really quiet kid, tbh, like he minded his business and stuck close to the people he knew

always, always wanted to impress his parents, so he always studied hard for school and kind of put all his focus into it ??

it was a pressure for him, really, bc he’d always been told that he’s gonna inherit the family business like how his dad did, etc. etc.

and like...sweetie never wants to disappoint anyone, ever.

he was never considered a nerd tho?? like he’s always been freakishly tall, and his quietness sort of made him intimidating to be around b/c it always felt like he was judging u bc he’d always have to look down at u

has always been super protective over his younger siblings, feels as if it’s his duty to be the put-together brother

he’s never had to fight anybody tho, and like, thank god for that b/c he’s definitely not a fighter, considers himself to be a pacifist for the most part

bc like...he can just stare u down and ur like uuuh gtg bye !!1!111!!!

anyways, grew up riding horses, finds it v v peaceful but he stopped when they moved to california

but track has always been his kinda thing regardless of where he’s at, tried out for track his freshmen yr of high school n was the star of the team tbh

he met a gal going by the name dinah during a track meet the middle of his freshmen yr

she was taking photos for the yearbook and stuttered over her words more often than not, even when she teased william

and like...tbh? william adored her immediately

it really wasn’t soon at all until they started dating, like, they were the high school couple

they complimented each other v v well and were prolly always together lbr

i’m hc’ing that his family also adored dinah like it’s law

dinah is the one who like...really encouraged him to pursue writing as something more serious than just for fun, because will had always enjoyed writing--esp poetry--but he didn’t want it to get in the way of his future w the stables ??

and like...fuck, they were so cute, guys. they were so mf cute.

dinah got diagnosed w/ lung cancer in the beginning of their junior year; she began online school halfway thru b/c she didn’t have the energy physically to go to class, went thru a looot of chemo

william was with her the entire time, y’know, if he wasn’t in school or at track he’d probably be with her the most, trying to cheer her up in the ways he could, helped her study for their SATs bc he knew it was rly important to her

by the summer she was in remission and they thought that was it--still super fucking careful, but they really genuinely thought that that was the end of it y’know ?? that she’d just be better ??

they got into a few months of senior year with her being healthy enough to go to school again, but the further time passed...dinah relapsed, rapidly, and the cancer had spread to other parts of her body

they spent their last valentine’s day in the hospital, and the next day she was gone

it...crushed william, just kind of changed his life, y’know? dinah was all he knew and he really didn’t know how to live w/o her

spent a lot of his time locked away in his room or never even home to begin with, just wandering about hopelessly or sleeping, or trying to sleep that is

poured his heart into his poetry, though--in dinah’s honor, he tried so mf hard to keep doing what he loved even though he was so hurt

it was because of his constant hard work, and dinah’s past encouragements, that william entered and won a poetry contest during his senior year. got a hella scholarship that made everybody proud of him, just b/c he was ~defying odds~

kinda put on this mask so that others wouldn’t see how bad he was doing ?? b/c he’s the level-headed brother, y’kno, the one who always had his shit together and knew what he was doing

dinah and william won cutest couple and even prom king n queen as a sort of tribute to dinah but will didn’t even go to prom tbh he got drunk and threw cans of beer off of a cliff

anyways, he graduated high school n attended ucla bc that was his dad’s school and gdi he’s tryn his best to follow in his footsteps

even got into his dad’s frat b/c he was that determined

he didn’t rly partake much in parties but he did indulge every once in a while, y’know, just to do it, was finally getting his shit back together and doing well for once y’know?? he joined track n took it p seriously

when angela heart died, all of that fell apart again

he took an entire year off of school b/c at that point his mental health had taken a really bad turn, depression was sort of controlling his life and he was spiraling so mf far down that he sometimes couldn’t recognize himself

during that time he published his first and second poetry book under w.c. heart; it’s super morbid, depressing, you can pretty much feel his depression as it manifests in the pages. it begins with poetry from his earlier years, of when he was with dinah and then afterwards, when she dies

the second poetry book is about healing, and then how sometimes you can fall back even when you’re doing good (i.e. around the time lil baby angel died)

when he finally did go back to school he had a much better mindset, seemed to be doing well--was one of the best on the track team--partied a little harder, did drugs more often than usual but nothing too extreme y’know ??

his junior year he got into a p bad car accident n derailed into a body of water after crashing his side of the car into another and losing control of his vehicle

like honestly thank god for the stranger who immediately stopped their car and went totally-hero on the situation, they got william out of the car before he could drown and essentially saved his life, before calling 911 and just. disappearing as soon as the sirens were audible

somehow his left leg got mc’fucked in the incident and it just so happened to ruin his track career

also gave william a fear of swimming/deep water + driving. like. he never wants to be in control of a car again. it really added onto his anxiety and was probably the root of his panic disorder tbh

he took another year off of school to recover from his injuries and to just fucking...put himself in some therapy, because he knows. when it’s time to take care of himself. is really still determined to b the best, he’s just trying to take his time now.

got addicted to painkillers b/c of the injury, sought them out after his prescription ran out; it varies between oxy, vicodin, n percocets and like...they mix really badly w/ his antidepressants tbh ??

that’s v v hush-hush bc he doesn’t want people to worry about him moreso than they already do after like...all these tragic mf events y’know.

he had moved out of his greek house to live on his own but after his second time coming back to ucla he moved back in b/c that way somebody could kick his ass if he fell down the rabbit hole again y’know

his antidepressant, lexapro, causes hallucinations and now he’s been seeing dinah everywhere, hearing her voice, etc. etc. he thinks he’s finally going insane and also keeps it v hush hush b/c he doesn’t want people to think he is

he looks worse for wear but he just. keeps on pretendin’.

personality!

he’s just ... really calm tbh?

he’s always been the (or one of the) least fussy child, hated starting conflicts

if anything he’s always been a mediator ?? the peacemaker, tries to resolve things before they get outta hand

he hates fighting, physical n verbal, refuses to partake in it

even when dinah n him would get into arguments he’d be really quiet during them

that being said he wasn’t like antisocial or anything just bc he was quiet y’know ??

he was the quiet cool dude who was always popular for some fucking reason (its the height im telling u) and offered rly good advice

he’s a big fucking softie lemme tell u . . . he cries at most movies tbh

v intelligent, still carries small dumbass energy b/c he doesn’t make the best choices as u can tell

v v good at his craft, has been working on his third poetry book but has a lil bit of writer’s block atm and it’s ? torturing him tbh ?

he’s got a sense of humor but it’s like . . . kind of morbid tbh like he deals w shit via locking up his emotions and using humor as a coping mechanism

he’s a sentimental piece of shit tho we love him. he has a bottle of dinah’s favorite perfume and sprays his bed w it before he goes to sleep

that being said he really...isn’t over her, still, y’know ??

he’s 100% sure that she was his soulmate and he doesn’t think she could ever be replaced

(silly boy u cant replace people ! u just. meet people who fit u in other ways.)

hates being babied b/c he’s the oldest goddammit, that’s his job

he has a lil bit of a limp but like . . . that’s just bc his leg hurty

did i mention he’s protective bc he 100% is like listen.

he can bully his siblings. u cannot. that’s the rule sorry

even when his siblings r bullying each other he like body-flops on top of them and is p much like fucking Stop

he’s in his last yr of college but he’s doing grad school right after b/c he rly. doesn’t wanna b a partner w his dad. he doesn’t wanna own the stables or breed horses. he’s troy bolton and writing is his singing, horsebreeding is his basketball.

okay he really wants to know who tf pulled him outta the water b/c he never got to say thank u and he’s just like ?? LET ME SAY THANK U GODDAMMIT

he’s lowkey in the party scene but he’s also a bit of a wallflower when it comes to them, he prefers to drink his alcohol n watch ppl b idiots or sit on a roof high off his ass with a pal

he’ll fuck u but he wont date u but like so will most of the guys so he’s not unique he’s just a hashtag tortured artist

like it’s so hard for him to connect w others in a potentially romantic way ?? bc he just doesn’t feel anything and u cant really blame him for it tbh

has panic attacks n insomnia but u aint hear it from me

ironically........has taken up smoking cigarettes, as well.......even tho his gf died from lung cancer.......will why?

oh right bc i commanded thee

wanted connections !!

WHO PULLED HIM OUTTA THAT MF CAR CRASH ?? - i wanna know mf !!

his siblings uwu - GIVE US THE LAST HEART. PLEASE.

roommate - !! they can b chill or hate each other tbh who knows

frat bros - please.

uuuh general friends i guess ??

will they wont they - they’re rly close but will is really dumb and straight refuses to acknowledge the fact that they’d b like . . . perfect together

general unrequited things - william is emotionally unavailable, lmao, let’s see how that works w others

current hookups - he’s a bit of a slut, let’s b real. we ain’t shaming him b/c we don’t do that in 2k19 but we also speaking truths

good influences - please...help him get better

confidantes - somebody he just can fuckin complain to w/o feeling shitty or guilty for it

bad influences - make him. worse. he’s doing bad but he’s not at his worst yet.

anything. else. u want. i will do. i can do. i am god. i have ultimate power. william is my pAWN.

[sophia-epistemia]

according to this guy,

https://youtu.be/dR1wQkPaYWA?t=935

... spiderman is absolutely right.

(transcript under the cut)

“Allow me to share a revelation I've had. For all of his bluster about "With great power comes great responsibility," Peter Parker is one of the most irresponsible superheroes ever. He never learns from his mistakes. Never takes into consideration how his life as Spider-Man affects everybody else.

“Now some would say that's the core concept of the character: the constant struggle between the mask and the man. But he never actually gives any consideration to the man, preferring to make excuses about it. He disappoints people around him all the time because "something more important" was happening as Spider-Man." But instead of trying to find ways to balance his two lives properly, he will go out of his way to make excuses and just be sad that being Spider-Man hurt his personal life. If he places more importance on being Spider-Man, then he should distance himself from relationships that would hurt that. If he places more emphasis on being Peter Parker, he needs to sacrifice his time as Spider-Man.

“Now, that's not always going to be the case for everyone in the real world. But Peter never actually changes as a result of his actions. He just makes the same mistakes over and over.

“During a storyline called "The Other", when Peter was dying from an untraceable condition (this was also written by [ the author of "One More Day"], by the way), he admits that he doesn't even have life insurance. Peter has never made a plan about what would happen to his family if he were killed by a supervillain. He's never thought about the repercussions of his life if he should be maimed or killed while wearing the costume, to his wife or to his constantly dying aunt!

“In a recent issue of "Avengers Academy", a group of teenage superheroes thought of several ways that he could have capitalized on being Spider-Man without revealing his identity to anyone. Now, admittedly, he was just a young, dumb teenager when he started out and didn't think of those things. But Peter is and has been an adult for decades now! Forget about whether you like Spidey being married or not. The character himself still seems to operate like he's in high school - never growing up, never seems to recognize adult relationships, and never actually taking responsibility for his life and the choices he's made. This is one of the reasons I decided to finally review "One More Day". The deal with Mephisto is symptomatic of a bigger problem for the character and the people who write him: the unwillingness for the character to become an adult. He's supposed to be roughly twenty-five years old at the time of this story, maybe closer to thirty. And yet he repeatedly approaches his problems like a sixteen year old would, and is never actually prepared to act like a mature adult.

“I've made several jokes in the last two hundred episodes about how Peter Parker's life is an endless spiral of shame and misery, what with his friends and loved ones dying all around him or becoming supervillains because of his life as Spider-Man, and I mean it. The truth is that if Peter Parker ever cared about taking responsibility for his actions, he would have given up being Spider-Man a long time ago.

“But hey, maybe that's just the reasoning of a jaded individual looking at this stupid-ass comic in hindsight. Of course I don't want Peter Parker to stop being Spider-Man. What I want is for him to be written like a goddamn adult already! But the writers - and Marvel editorial - seem to steadfastly refuse to let that happen. Spider-Man is just escapist fantasy to them. The reason why they don't think there's "drama" in marriage is because marriage is an aspect of real life, and they don't want the escapism of Peter Parker swinging through the air and stopping bad guys being infected with the drama of things that people have to endure in the real world.

“And that's just hilarious since Spider-Man is supposed to be the character who DOES face the real life challenges of the world! That was what made his character so appealing to begin with: his ability to relate to the reader. But the truth is that the reader has grown up. The reader got married, had kids, has relatives that die, and they have to move on. The reader changed. But Peter Parker has not.

“You know, recently, there was a rumor that Marvel was doing its own reboot to compete with the one DC did last year. They're not, of course, they're just releasing whole bunch of new Number Ones. But you know what? Maybe they should reboot Spider-Man. After all, if the creative teams are unwilling to let him get out of his high school life, then why the hell isn't he still there?”

love that gen zed humour

from @that-stark-family ‘s text post (x) 

[apostatively]

I try not to post a lot about my personal life on here as with all social media, due to the little voice in the back of my head insisting that my life is way too boring and/or depressing to bother anyone with. But I really need to vent, so here it is. I feel like a total failure. The last year has been hell for us, and part of it is the monsters running this country who continue to suck any hope for the future out of me to the point where it's difficult to function day-to-day, and part of it is finances. Some terrible decisions were made, championed by me, to uproot us from Baltimore to Augusta, GA, which cost a few thousand dollars all told because the movers apparently took us for a ride and then didn't even log our move in such a way that the military would reimburse us for it as they should have, effectively losing us $4k. The job we moved for became disputed by another company and any hiring was frozen, leaving me unemployed for a few months: by the time I'd found multiple retail jobs to try to tide us over due to savings running dry, the contract was resolved, but the company said that "the customer" was no longer releasing/filling my job area in Augusta. On top of that, the Limited went under and I lost one of my retail jobs. I started interviewing and applying for other Intel jobs like crazy, knowing that a five-month hiatus from my very tech-driven and fast-moving career field wasn't something I could really afford. This was in February. We were reduced to a ramen noodle budget and I was donating plasma as often as I could to try to make ends meet, but it still wasn't enough. At this point we had already borrowed a lot of money from family and friends, which we have yet to find a way to pay back. You know the images of the food they cook in FFXV? I was starting to get legitimately resentful of that delicious-looking fictional food because what I could afford was ramen, and I was still gaining a ton of weight due to a combination of a cheap, high-sodium/fat/sugar diet, intense anxiety, and simply being too depressed to work out. In February I got what could have been a life-preserver for us, if not for the fact that the job came at the expense of my mental health. Since February I've been a 911 call-taker, which pays enough for us to barely make ends meet, and was still working at Teavana. Unfortunately, this job is the most legitimately terrifying thing I've ever done. It's like anxiety Russian-roulette: every time I answer a line it could be a sweet little old lady with a question about the noise ordinances in our town, or it could be a hysterical screeching person so loud I literally jump back in my chair, giving me no information and screaming abuse at me when I can't make responders appear for them within eight seconds. I hate it. I do it for us, but it's the worst thing I've ever had to do in my life. I hate working in a technical law-enforcement field, I hate having to fight so hard not to let this sour my view of humanity, I hate that the 12-hour overnight shift they've assigned me to has left me nocturnal on top of the anxiety-riddled sleeplessness I'm already struggling with, I hate the constant compulsion to eat a ton of crap that is just making me bigger and bigger, I hate that I can't seem to find anything better, and when they sent me for my mandatory week of (essentially) boot camp for this job back in June, I had to read transcripts of dozens of emergency services calls placed on 9/11 as the towers were coming down, and I had an outright breakdown, knowing with certainty that if I couldn't handle my own stress I wasn't going to be able to handle anyone else's under a similar emergency situation, and the knowledge that I had to get out or I was going to get someone killed has stuck with me. In the meantime, I have nothing in common with most of my coworkers: they're a loud, close-knit group of Southern women who have all grown up in this area, they pray before each shift (at a government job???!) and gladly pay $20 per pay period to the shift's fund for birthdays and bereavements. It's intimidating, and I'm slow to open up in a new work environment anyway, and I'm pretty sure they think I'm stuck up when I'm just trying to keep my head above water and have trouble reaching out to my own family, let alone coworkers. They've never gone out of their way to include me, and I feel completely isolated both by myself and them. In mid-July, after months of working my ass off to woo potential recruiters for companies in my area, the company that wanted to hire me for GA initially finally came forward with a solid offer for me, for a job for which we'd need to relocate back to Baltimore. They had me go through urinalysis, sign a metric ton of paperwork, basically commitment-implying things. I've never gotten this far in the hiring process with them before, and my recruiters were communicating with me fairly regularly. It seemed like there was finally an end in sight to this year from hell. I gave two weeks' notice at my jobs before being warned not to "just yet" by my recruiter - thanks for the timing there, bud. I explained the situation to the 911 administrator and he generously doubled the time I had left, allowing me to stay for a month instead of the two weeks I'd given. (The day after my "last day" at Teavana I heard that Starbucks is shutting us down, which hit me hard, because unlike 911 I related to and love my coworkers there, they're amazing people and this news was seriously distressing; I couldn't go crawling back there asking for an extension when they have enough problems without me.) My new last day at 911 is tomorrow's night shift, and I'm completely terrified, because new job has yet to give me a start date, a full month after starting the hiring process with me. I get paid on Friday but that may be the last full-sized paycheck I can expect, and it's mostly going to go to rent. I keep running our budget over and over in my head, trying to figure out how to make it stretch when the money stops coming in. I may have to start donating plasma again to the tune of about $60 a week, when the very experience of having a massive needle shoved in my arm draining stuff out of me is a horrific experience that makes me want to scream. Even if I can manage to pay all our bills until I can start getting paid from this new job - unlikely - I still have to figure out how to afford to live day-to-day until then, alone in Baltimore while Michelle is here *alone* until we can get paid and afford to move, and I'm hoping one of the few friends I have in Baltimore will let me crash on their couch until then bc we have no money for a cheap hotel or Airbnb room at this point, and it's not even worth the attempt to try to get a loan unless we feel like depressing some bank tellers pointlessly. There is literally no other financial place to turn. I check my email about fifty times a day hoping for an update and immediately getting disappointed when there is still nothing. I've gone through this cycle so many times with at least seven different companies this year but never so far along in the process: sometimes there will be a week where *everybody* wants to talk to you, they want their bosses to talk to you bc they're so impressed, they want to know about your experience and salary requirements and spend hours on the phone with you each day and you think they're really serious, that you finally might really get an offer....and then radio silence, for weeks, bare-minimum answers when you contact them, bc recruiters don't like to talk to you when they have all the information they need from you and have no positive updates to give. I've spiraled from this routine more times than I can count, and this is exactly what it feels like to me. What's taking so long? Is there a problem? Can I be doing something else on my end? (How can I make you see how crazy this is making me without looking unprofessional?!?!?) This feeling of hopelessness and rejection is crushing me. Between this, the chaotic evil bodies at work in our government, and nearly a year of intense depression, I'm barely functioning. I have no motivation to do anything, I'm just eating and breathing for news on this job that could finally, finally save us/me. On top of my already-nocturnal schedule, I keep going days without sleeping and then doing nothing *but* sleeping for days. Our pantry is full of ramen again bc I'm rationing for the worst. I don't know what to do, and I can't go on like this for long. I just literally have no idea what I'm supposed to do. How to I outlast this? How do I save us? I've given up on staying strong or healthy; I'm just trying to stay mobile and functional, because that's what I'm good for. But it's been so long, and I have no idea how when nothing is in my control anymore.

[brentrogers]

Imposter Syndrome: Why You Have It & How to Stop It

“I have written eleven books, but each time I think, ‘Uh oh, they’re going to find out now. I’ve run a game on everybody and they’re going to find me out.” – Maya Angelou

Any minute now they would find out.

I scanned the large conference room. The twenty-six project team members around the table discussed data analysis. Their voices were muffled by the thick fog of my anxiety.

My own throat tried to choke me, and my chest refused to expand. Sweat trickled down my side.

Breathe, just breathe. It’s going to be okay.

My eyes met my boss’s and he smiled at me across the room. I quickly looked down at my notes. My cheeks were burning.

I knew what was coming.

It would be my turn next to showcase my part of the project. I had been working on it for months. Starting early, staying late, slaving away every waking hour, perfecting every detail.

But I couldn’t hide any longer. Couldn’t pretend any more. I would be exposed.

In a few minutes they would discover that my efforts weren’t up to scratch. That I wasn’t good enough.

They would listen to my presentation and their faces would darken with disappointment. They would whisper to each other in dismay and ask me questions I couldn’t answer.

And then, someone would stand up, point at me and say, “You have no clue what you are talking about, do you? You are nothing but a fraud. A pathetic excuse for a scientist. You know nothing.”

Any minute now.

I clutched the edge of the table. Tears stung in my eyes and I swallowed hard. My intestines were churning.

I had to get away.

Leaping to my feet, I mumbled an excuse. I stumbled out of the room, heart racing, and made it to the bathroom.

And then I cried.

Why I Was an Imposter by Name but Not by Nature

I eventually managed to pull myself together. I washed my face, blew my nose, took several deep breaths.

And I returned to the fateful meeting, red-eyed and swollen. Feigning an allergic reaction to conceal my mortifying episode.

I presented my work.

And nothing happened. Nobody objected, interrogated, exposed. No fingers were pointed at me.

All I saw was friendly faces and approving nods. Some people even praised the huge amount of work I put in and the high quality of my results.

And yet, as I shuffled home that night, drained and numb, I didn’t feel like celebrating a success. Because all I could think was, “You were lucky this time. Next time they will realize that you are a fraud for sure. Then game over.”

And right there, on a gloomy November evening of 2007, it hit me. I had a problem. It was ruining my life, destroying my confidence, and sabotaging my career.

I had to do something about it.

As I arrived home, I googled “feeling like a fraud at work” and discovered that I wasn’t alone. The problem seemed to be so common, there was even a name for it: imposter syndrome.

And I displayed all the symptoms.

I doubted myself and my abilities, believing my skills and expertise always fell short of expectations. No matter how hard I tried, my successes seemed negligible, laughable compared to others. And I could never believe anybody who told me I did a good job.

Imposter syndrome was clearly the problem I faced. But the word “imposter” didn’t match up with what I experienced every day at the office.

I wasn’t maliciously trying to deceive other people, tricking them into believing I was more knowledgeable, competent, and successful than I was for my own fraudulent gain.

In fact, the opposite was true.

I didn’t pretend to be more than I was to further my career and take advantage of innocent people. No, I was hiding my weaknesses and shortcomings as well as I could. So others wouldn’t discover my devastating secret.

I just didn’t know it yet.

The Reveal of the True Reason Behind My Imposter Syndrome

For the next couple of years, I searched for a way to eradicate my imposter syndrome. I read self-help books, took personal growth courses, meditated, visualised.

And things improved.

After a while, the all-consuming panic of being exposed as a fraud receded. I managed to better compose myself in meetings and presentations. And I even started to accept praise here and there with an awkward smile and only a slight cringe.

But still, the stubborn, anxious voiceover kept playing in the background of my mind, every day of my life: “You are a fraud. And, one day soon, they will find you out.”

Frustration about being stuck in an endless self-degrading loop turned to anger about my inability to overcome my imposter syndrome. Why was I so horrified of being exposed?

My conscious mind knew that I was doing quite well. That I was good at my work. And that, even if my failings were to be uncovered, it wouldn’t be the end of my career.

Or my life.

Yet, I remained terrified of that one question that would hit my blind-spot. And I anticipated the accusing finger whenever my work came under scrutiny. Because my subconscious mind believed that being exposed as my flawed self was, in fact, the end.

I just didn’t know why.

Until, some months later in May 2010, I participated in a group hypnotherapy session. We were asked to retrieve memories of a scene in our past where our most damaging belief originated. And while I couldn’t conjure up the past, a limiting belief shot into my brain and made me gasp.

Because it explained all of my struggles with imposter syndrome.

The Heartbreaking Belief That Destroyed My Life and Sabotaged My Career

“I don’t have the right to exist.”

The brutality of the thought broke my heart and filled my eyes with tears. Why would I believe something like this?

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it made sense. I constantly felt the necessity to work harder, be better, achieve more to justify my existence. To prove to myself and others that it was okay for me to stick around as long as I was useful.

Even though I was an illegal immigrant to life.

As long as I showed no weakness, made no mistake, and contributed more than my fair share to society, I would be tolerated. Others would overlook the fact that I shouldn’t actually exist. That I was some kind of accident, a glitch in the universal plan.

But being exposed as anything less than perfect would result in my temporary residency in life to be revoked.

And I knew, deep in my heart, that I wasn’t faultless, that I struggled. I only faked the perfect version of myself that fulfilled all the qualifying criteria stipulated in my provisional residence permit.

I didn’t have the required knowledge, expertise or success to permanently occupy a space in this life.

I was a fraud. Pretending to belong in this life when I did not. Every day, I desperately clung to the hope that I could blind everyone around me just one more day. But I lived with the constant terror that my devastating secret would be exposed.

Sure, my conscious mind understood that my fear was irrational.

What did I think would happen if I was exposed as a fraud with no permission to exist? Would I just cease to be? Vanish in a purple puff of smoke?

I knew it made no sense. Yet, the believe was lodged deep inside of me. And I was about to find out why.

The Disastrous Reason I Believed I Didn’t Have the Right to Exist

In September 2010, I consulted an energy healer to help with my, at the time, severe anxiety. I mentioned that I struggled with imposter syndrome and the belief that I didn’t have the right to exist.

And she looked at me and said, “Of course you do. Because you have no self-worth.”

It was the piece of the puzzle I needed. Suddenly, it all made sense.

I believed that I was inherently worthless. And that I didn’t have the right to exist as long as I had no worth.

So, my entire life was a relentless pursuit of more worth. All the long hours, the hard work, all the perfecting happened in the name of worth generation. To earn the right to exist.

But I was stuck in a vicious cycle.

I needed to gain wealth, love, abundance to have enough worth to receive a permanent right to exist. But I wasn’t worthy enough to deserve them.

I had to be a success, but I was terrified that achieving greatness would draw too much attention on myself. And the fact that I was alive without the proper permissions.

So, my inherent worthlessness made it impossible to claim the right to exist. And without the right to exist, I could never achieve what I needed to earn enough worth.

It was a hopeless, futile quest. Without prospect of a solution. And it left me only one option: to pretend, to be a fraud.

And hope nobody would ever find out.

The Impossible Conundrum of a Worthless Existence

I had no clue how to dig myself out of this rut. How could I accumulate enough worth to earn the right to exist so I wouldn’t have to feel like a fraud ever again?

I had hit a wall in my quest. There seemed to be no solution, only pointless rumination that spiralled in endless circles. Was I doomed to hide in the shadows, unable to ever rightfully claim my place in life?

I was about to surrender to my fate as an unwanted pretender, a slave to my imposter syndrome and worthlessness. But then my daughter was born.

And one realization changed everything.

The Key to Unlocking Your Worth

About three weeks after her birth, I looked at my little girl sleeping peacefully. Her chest moved in a healthy rhythm and a tiny smile played around her lips.

My heart filled with adoration for this wonderful creation, and I knew that she was valuable. That she had every right to exist in this world and deserved all the love, happiness, and abundance this life has to offer.

Yet, she had no achievements, no wealth or success to pay for her right to exist. She had never earned any worth. And she didn’t have to.

Because worth was the essence of her being, the core of her true Self. She was worth personified.

And so was I, and everybody else. Because true, inner worth cannot be destroyed. It is as constant as our cell structure, it doesn’t change when we fail, are criticized or make a mistake.

The realization was life-changing. The sudden relief felt as if I medium-sized mountain range fell of my chest. I didn’t have to prove my worth!

Society had taught me all my life that I needed high-flying achievements, perfection, wealth to deserve the right to exist. But they were wrong. My entire belief system that caused my struggles was flawed.

Because the truth was that, like my little daughter, I was worth.

As such I could never be worthless. I had the right to exist, to claim my rightful place in life and my happiness right here and now. Simply because I was alive.

And I finally had the cure for my imposter syndrome.

How to Stop Feeling Like a Fraud Once and for All

So, I started to affirm: “I have the right to exist. I am worth” several times a day. Every time I felt insecure, worthless, or like a fraud, I reminded myself of my infinite, inherent worth.

At first, my mind resisted the change. Worthlessness thinking had become a disastrous habit that my mind wasn’t willing to abandon without a fight. But I persevered.

And eventually, over a few months, I retrained my mind. I created a new, healthier habit.

I noticed that I didn’t feel inferior so often, that my confidence in meetings improved. I no longer felt apologetic for taking up space or bothering people. And I became less demanding of myself, lovingly accepting and respecting my limits because I knew perfection, or its absence, wouldn’t change my worth.

And one day, I realized that the fear of being exposed if I drew too much attention to myself was gone. And without that fear, I found it easier to stand up to others and defend my opinions. I even started to acknowledge and celebrate my successes.

Now, I am no longer terrified of the accusing finger pointing me out as an imposter. I no longer need to pretend to be more than I am. Because I know I am not a fraud.

I am enough. From the day I was born to the day I will die, and beyond, I will have the right to exist.

Because I am worth.

Just like you.

This post courtesy of Tiny Buddha.

Photo by John Noonan on Unsplash.

The post Imposter Syndrome: Why You Have It & How to Stop It first appeared on World of Psychology.

Imposter Syndrome: Why You Have It & How to Stop It syndicated from

[whorchataaa]

Imposter Syndrome: Why You Have It & How to Stop It

“I have written eleven books, but each time I think, ‘Uh oh, they’re going to find out now. I’ve run a game on everybody and they’re going to find me out.” – Maya Angelou

Any minute now they would find out.

I scanned the large conference room. The twenty-six project team members around the table discussed data analysis. Their voices were muffled by the thick fog of my anxiety.

My own throat tried to choke me, and my chest refused to expand. Sweat trickled down my side.

Breathe, just breathe. It’s going to be okay.

My eyes met my boss’s and he smiled at me across the room. I quickly looked down at my notes. My cheeks were burning.

I knew what was coming.

It would be my turn next to showcase my part of the project. I had been working on it for months. Starting early, staying late, slaving away every waking hour, perfecting every detail.

But I couldn’t hide any longer. Couldn’t pretend any more. I would be exposed.

In a few minutes they would discover that my efforts weren’t up to scratch. That I wasn’t good enough.

They would listen to my presentation and their faces would darken with disappointment. They would whisper to each other in dismay and ask me questions I couldn’t answer.

And then, someone would stand up, point at me and say, “You have no clue what you are talking about, do you? You are nothing but a fraud. A pathetic excuse for a scientist. You know nothing.”

Any minute now.

I clutched the edge of the table. Tears stung in my eyes and I swallowed hard. My intestines were churning.

I had to get away.

Leaping to my feet, I mumbled an excuse. I stumbled out of the room, heart racing, and made it to the bathroom.

And then I cried.

Why I Was an Imposter by Name but Not by Nature

I eventually managed to pull myself together. I washed my face, blew my nose, took several deep breaths.

And I returned to the fateful meeting, red-eyed and swollen. Feigning an allergic reaction to conceal my mortifying episode.

I presented my work.

And nothing happened. Nobody objected, interrogated, exposed. No fingers were pointed at me.

All I saw was friendly faces and approving nods. Some people even praised the huge amount of work I put in and the high quality of my results.

And yet, as I shuffled home that night, drained and numb, I didn’t feel like celebrating a success. Because all I could think was, “You were lucky this time. Next time they will realize that you are a fraud for sure. Then game over.”

And right there, on a gloomy November evening of 2007, it hit me. I had a problem. It was ruining my life, destroying my confidence, and sabotaging my career.

I had to do something about it.

As I arrived home, I googled “feeling like a fraud at work” and discovered that I wasn’t alone. The problem seemed to be so common, there was even a name for it: imposter syndrome.

And I displayed all the symptoms.

I doubted myself and my abilities, believing my skills and expertise always fell short of expectations. No matter how hard I tried, my successes seemed negligible, laughable compared to others. And I could never believe anybody who told me I did a good job.

Imposter syndrome was clearly the problem I faced. But the word “imposter” didn’t match up with what I experienced every day at the office.

I wasn’t maliciously trying to deceive other people, tricking them into believing I was more knowledgeable, competent, and successful than I was for my own fraudulent gain.

In fact, the opposite was true.

I didn’t pretend to be more than I was to further my career and take advantage of innocent people. No, I was hiding my weaknesses and shortcomings as well as I could. So others wouldn’t discover my devastating secret.

I just didn’t know it yet.

The Reveal of the True Reason Behind My Imposter Syndrome

For the next couple of years, I searched for a way to eradicate my imposter syndrome. I read self-help books, took personal growth courses, meditated, visualised.

And things improved.

After a while, the all-consuming panic of being exposed as a fraud receded. I managed to better compose myself in meetings and presentations. And I even started to accept praise here and there with an awkward smile and only a slight cringe.

But still, the stubborn, anxious voiceover kept playing in the background of my mind, every day of my life: “You are a fraud. And, one day soon, they will find you out.”

Frustration about being stuck in an endless self-degrading loop turned to anger about my inability to overcome my imposter syndrome. Why was I so horrified of being exposed?

My conscious mind knew that I was doing quite well. That I was good at my work. And that, even if my failings were to be uncovered, it wouldn’t be the end of my career.

Or my life.

Yet, I remained terrified of that one question that would hit my blind-spot. And I anticipated the accusing finger whenever my work came under scrutiny. Because my subconscious mind believed that being exposed as my flawed self was, in fact, the end.

I just didn’t know why.

Until, some months later in May 2010, I participated in a group hypnotherapy session. We were asked to retrieve memories of a scene in our past where our most damaging belief originated. And while I couldn’t conjure up the past, a limiting belief shot into my brain and made me gasp.

Because it explained all of my struggles with imposter syndrome.

The Heartbreaking Belief That Destroyed My Life and Sabotaged My Career

“I don’t have the right to exist.”

The brutality of the thought broke my heart and filled my eyes with tears. Why would I believe something like this?

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it made sense. I constantly felt the necessity to work harder, be better, achieve more to justify my existence. To prove to myself and others that it was okay for me to stick around as long as I was useful.

Even though I was an illegal immigrant to life.

As long as I showed no weakness, made no mistake, and contributed more than my fair share to society, I would be tolerated. Others would overlook the fact that I shouldn’t actually exist. That I was some kind of accident, a glitch in the universal plan.

But being exposed as anything less than perfect would result in my temporary residency in life to be revoked.

And I knew, deep in my heart, that I wasn’t faultless, that I struggled. I only faked the perfect version of myself that fulfilled all the qualifying criteria stipulated in my provisional residence permit.

I didn’t have the required knowledge, expertise or success to permanently occupy a space in this life.

I was a fraud. Pretending to belong in this life when I did not. Every day, I desperately clung to the hope that I could blind everyone around me just one more day. But I lived with the constant terror that my devastating secret would be exposed.

Sure, my conscious mind understood that my fear was irrational.

What did I think would happen if I was exposed as a fraud with no permission to exist? Would I just cease to be? Vanish in a purple puff of smoke?

I knew it made no sense. Yet, the believe was lodged deep inside of me. And I was about to find out why.

The Disastrous Reason I Believed I Didn’t Have the Right to Exist

In September 2010, I consulted an energy healer to help with my, at the time, severe anxiety. I mentioned that I struggled with imposter syndrome and the belief that I didn’t have the right to exist.

And she looked at me and said, “Of course you do. Because you have no self-worth.”

It was the piece of the puzzle I needed. Suddenly, it all made sense.

I believed that I was inherently worthless. And that I didn’t have the right to exist as long as I had no worth.

So, my entire life was a relentless pursuit of more worth. All the long hours, the hard work, all the perfecting happened in the name of worth generation. To earn the right to exist.

But I was stuck in a vicious cycle.

I needed to gain wealth, love, abundance to have enough worth to receive a permanent right to exist. But I wasn’t worthy enough to deserve them.

I had to be a success, but I was terrified that achieving greatness would draw too much attention on myself. And the fact that I was alive without the proper permissions.

So, my inherent worthlessness made it impossible to claim the right to exist. And without the right to exist, I could never achieve what I needed to earn enough worth.

It was a hopeless, futile quest. Without prospect of a solution. And it left me only one option: to pretend, to be a fraud.

And hope nobody would ever find out.

The Impossible Conundrum of a Worthless Existence

I had no clue how to dig myself out of this rut. How could I accumulate enough worth to earn the right to exist so I wouldn’t have to feel like a fraud ever again?

I had hit a wall in my quest. There seemed to be no solution, only pointless rumination that spiralled in endless circles. Was I doomed to hide in the shadows, unable to ever rightfully claim my place in life?

I was about to surrender to my fate as an unwanted pretender, a slave to my imposter syndrome and worthlessness. But then my daughter was born.

And one realization changed everything.

The Key to Unlocking Your Worth

About three weeks after her birth, I looked at my little girl sleeping peacefully. Her chest moved in a healthy rhythm and a tiny smile played around her lips.

My heart filled with adoration for this wonderful creation, and I knew that she was valuable. That she had every right to exist in this world and deserved all the love, happiness, and abundance this life has to offer.

Yet, she had no achievements, no wealth or success to pay for her right to exist. She had never earned any worth. And she didn’t have to.

Because worth was the essence of her being, the core of her true Self. She was worth personified.

And so was I, and everybody else. Because true, inner worth cannot be destroyed. It is as constant as our cell structure, it doesn’t change when we fail, are criticized or make a mistake.

The realization was life-changing. The sudden relief felt as if I medium-sized mountain range fell of my chest. I didn’t have to prove my worth!

Society had taught me all my life that I needed high-flying achievements, perfection, wealth to deserve the right to exist. But they were wrong. My entire belief system that caused my struggles was flawed.

Because the truth was that, like my little daughter, I was worth.

As such I could never be worthless. I had the right to exist, to claim my rightful place in life and my happiness right here and now. Simply because I was alive.

And I finally had the cure for my imposter syndrome.

How to Stop Feeling Like a Fraud Once and for All

So, I started to affirm: “I have the right to exist. I am worth” several times a day. Every time I felt insecure, worthless, or like a fraud, I reminded myself of my infinite, inherent worth.

At first, my mind resisted the change. Worthlessness thinking had become a disastrous habit that my mind wasn’t willing to abandon without a fight. But I persevered.

And eventually, over a few months, I retrained my mind. I created a new, healthier habit.

I noticed that I didn’t feel inferior so often, that my confidence in meetings improved. I no longer felt apologetic for taking up space or bothering people. And I became less demanding of myself, lovingly accepting and respecting my limits because I knew perfection, or its absence, wouldn’t change my worth.

And one day, I realized that the fear of being exposed if I drew too much attention to myself was gone. And without that fear, I found it easier to stand up to others and defend my opinions. I even started to acknowledge and celebrate my successes.

Now, I am no longer terrified of the accusing finger pointing me out as an imposter. I no longer need to pretend to be more than I am. Because I know I am not a fraud.

I am enough. From the day I was born to the day I will die, and beyond, I will have the right to exist.

Because I am worth.

Just like you.

This post courtesy of Tiny Buddha.

Photo by John Noonan on Unsplash.

The post Imposter Syndrome: Why You Have It & How to Stop It first appeared on World of Psychology.

from https://ift.tt/34NTuFJ Check out https://peterlegyel.wordpress.com/

[ashley-unicorn]

Imposter Syndrome: Why You Have It & How to Stop It

“I have written eleven books, but each time I think, ‘Uh oh, they’re going to find out now. I’ve run a game on everybody and they’re going to find me out.” – Maya Angelou

Any minute now they would find out.

I scanned the large conference room. The twenty-six project team members around the table discussed data analysis. Their voices were muffled by the thick fog of my anxiety.

My own throat tried to choke me, and my chest refused to expand. Sweat trickled down my side.

Breathe, just breathe. It’s going to be okay.

My eyes met my boss’s and he smiled at me across the room. I quickly looked down at my notes. My cheeks were burning.

I knew what was coming.

It would be my turn next to showcase my part of the project. I had been working on it for months. Starting early, staying late, slaving away every waking hour, perfecting every detail.

But I couldn’t hide any longer. Couldn’t pretend any more. I would be exposed.

In a few minutes they would discover that my efforts weren’t up to scratch. That I wasn’t good enough.

They would listen to my presentation and their faces would darken with disappointment. They would whisper to each other in dismay and ask me questions I couldn’t answer.

And then, someone would stand up, point at me and say, “You have no clue what you are talking about, do you? You are nothing but a fraud. A pathetic excuse for a scientist. You know nothing.”

Any minute now.

I clutched the edge of the table. Tears stung in my eyes and I swallowed hard. My intestines were churning.

I had to get away.

Leaping to my feet, I mumbled an excuse. I stumbled out of the room, heart racing, and made it to the bathroom.

And then I cried.

Why I Was an Imposter by Name but Not by Nature

I eventually managed to pull myself together. I washed my face, blew my nose, took several deep breaths.

And I returned to the fateful meeting, red-eyed and swollen. Feigning an allergic reaction to conceal my mortifying episode.

I presented my work.

And nothing happened. Nobody objected, interrogated, exposed. No fingers were pointed at me.

All I saw was friendly faces and approving nods. Some people even praised the huge amount of work I put in and the high quality of my results.

And yet, as I shuffled home that night, drained and numb, I didn’t feel like celebrating a success. Because all I could think was, “You were lucky this time. Next time they will realize that you are a fraud for sure. Then game over.”

And right there, on a gloomy November evening of 2007, it hit me. I had a problem. It was ruining my life, destroying my confidence, and sabotaging my career.

I had to do something about it.

As I arrived home, I googled “feeling like a fraud at work” and discovered that I wasn’t alone. The problem seemed to be so common, there was even a name for it: imposter syndrome.

And I displayed all the symptoms.

I doubted myself and my abilities, believing my skills and expertise always fell short of expectations. No matter how hard I tried, my successes seemed negligible, laughable compared to others. And I could never believe anybody who told me I did a good job.

Imposter syndrome was clearly the problem I faced. But the word “imposter” didn’t match up with what I experienced every day at the office.

I wasn’t maliciously trying to deceive other people, tricking them into believing I was more knowledgeable, competent, and successful than I was for my own fraudulent gain.

In fact, the opposite was true.

I didn’t pretend to be more than I was to further my career and take advantage of innocent people. No, I was hiding my weaknesses and shortcomings as well as I could. So others wouldn’t discover my devastating secret.

I just didn’t know it yet.

The Reveal of the True Reason Behind My Imposter Syndrome

For the next couple of years, I searched for a way to eradicate my imposter syndrome. I read self-help books, took personal growth courses, meditated, visualised.

And things improved.

After a while, the all-consuming panic of being exposed as a fraud receded. I managed to better compose myself in meetings and presentations. And I even started to accept praise here and there with an awkward smile and only a slight cringe.

But still, the stubborn, anxious voiceover kept playing in the background of my mind, every day of my life: “You are a fraud. And, one day soon, they will find you out.”

Frustration about being stuck in an endless self-degrading loop turned to anger about my inability to overcome my imposter syndrome. Why was I so horrified of being exposed?

My conscious mind knew that I was doing quite well. That I was good at my work. And that, even if my failings were to be uncovered, it wouldn’t be the end of my career.

Or my life.

Yet, I remained terrified of that one question that would hit my blind-spot. And I anticipated the accusing finger whenever my work came under scrutiny. Because my subconscious mind believed that being exposed as my flawed self was, in fact, the end.

I just didn’t know why.

Until, some months later in May 2010, I participated in a group hypnotherapy session. We were asked to retrieve memories of a scene in our past where our most damaging belief originated. And while I couldn’t conjure up the past, a limiting belief shot into my brain and made me gasp.

Because it explained all of my struggles with imposter syndrome.

The Heartbreaking Belief That Destroyed My Life and Sabotaged My Career

“I don’t have the right to exist.”

The brutality of the thought broke my heart and filled my eyes with tears. Why would I believe something like this?

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it made sense. I constantly felt the necessity to work harder, be better, achieve more to justify my existence. To prove to myself and others that it was okay for me to stick around as long as I was useful.

Even though I was an illegal immigrant to life.

As long as I showed no weakness, made no mistake, and contributed more than my fair share to society, I would be tolerated. Others would overlook the fact that I shouldn’t actually exist. That I was some kind of accident, a glitch in the universal plan.

But being exposed as anything less than perfect would result in my temporary residency in life to be revoked.

And I knew, deep in my heart, that I wasn’t faultless, that I struggled. I only faked the perfect version of myself that fulfilled all the qualifying criteria stipulated in my provisional residence permit.

I didn’t have the required knowledge, expertise or success to permanently occupy a space in this life.

I was a fraud. Pretending to belong in this life when I did not. Every day, I desperately clung to the hope that I could blind everyone around me just one more day. But I lived with the constant terror that my devastating secret would be exposed.

Sure, my conscious mind understood that my fear was irrational.

What did I think would happen if I was exposed as a fraud with no permission to exist? Would I just cease to be? Vanish in a purple puff of smoke?

I knew it made no sense. Yet, the believe was lodged deep inside of me. And I was about to find out why.

The Disastrous Reason I Believed I Didn’t Have the Right to Exist

In September 2010, I consulted an energy healer to help with my, at the time, severe anxiety. I mentioned that I struggled with imposter syndrome and the belief that I didn’t have the right to exist.

And she looked at me and said, “Of course you do. Because you have no self-worth.”

It was the piece of the puzzle I needed. Suddenly, it all made sense.

I believed that I was inherently worthless. And that I didn’t have the right to exist as long as I had no worth.

So, my entire life was a relentless pursuit of more worth. All the long hours, the hard work, all the perfecting happened in the name of worth generation. To earn the right to exist.

But I was stuck in a vicious cycle.

I needed to gain wealth, love, abundance to have enough worth to receive a permanent right to exist. But I wasn’t worthy enough to deserve them.

I had to be a success, but I was terrified that achieving greatness would draw too much attention on myself. And the fact that I was alive without the proper permissions.

So, my inherent worthlessness made it impossible to claim the right to exist. And without the right to exist, I could never achieve what I needed to earn enough worth.

It was a hopeless, futile quest. Without prospect of a solution. And it left me only one option: to pretend, to be a fraud.

And hope nobody would ever find out.

The Impossible Conundrum of a Worthless Existence

I had no clue how to dig myself out of this rut. How could I accumulate enough worth to earn the right to exist so I wouldn’t have to feel like a fraud ever again?

I had hit a wall in my quest. There seemed to be no solution, only pointless rumination that spiralled in endless circles. Was I doomed to hide in the shadows, unable to ever rightfully claim my place in life?

I was about to surrender to my fate as an unwanted pretender, a slave to my imposter syndrome and worthlessness. But then my daughter was born.

And one realization changed everything.

The Key to Unlocking Your Worth

About three weeks after her birth, I looked at my little girl sleeping peacefully. Her chest moved in a healthy rhythm and a tiny smile played around her lips.

My heart filled with adoration for this wonderful creation, and I knew that she was valuable. That she had every right to exist in this world and deserved all the love, happiness, and abundance this life has to offer.

Yet, she had no achievements, no wealth or success to pay for her right to exist. She had never earned any worth. And she didn’t have to.

Because worth was the essence of her being, the core of her true Self. She was worth personified.

And so was I, and everybody else. Because true, inner worth cannot be destroyed. It is as constant as our cell structure, it doesn’t change when we fail, are criticized or make a mistake.

The realization was life-changing. The sudden relief felt as if I medium-sized mountain range fell of my chest. I didn’t have to prove my worth!

Society had taught me all my life that I needed high-flying achievements, perfection, wealth to deserve the right to exist. But they were wrong. My entire belief system that caused my struggles was flawed.

Because the truth was that, like my little daughter, I was worth.

As such I could never be worthless. I had the right to exist, to claim my rightful place in life and my happiness right here and now. Simply because I was alive.

And I finally had the cure for my imposter syndrome.

How to Stop Feeling Like a Fraud Once and for All

So, I started to affirm: “I have the right to exist. I am worth” several times a day. Every time I felt insecure, worthless, or like a fraud, I reminded myself of my infinite, inherent worth.

At first, my mind resisted the change. Worthlessness thinking had become a disastrous habit that my mind wasn’t willing to abandon without a fight. But I persevered.

And eventually, over a few months, I retrained my mind. I created a new, healthier habit.

I noticed that I didn’t feel inferior so often, that my confidence in meetings improved. I no longer felt apologetic for taking up space or bothering people. And I became less demanding of myself, lovingly accepting and respecting my limits because I knew perfection, or its absence, wouldn’t change my worth.

And one day, I realized that the fear of being exposed if I drew too much attention to myself was gone. And without that fear, I found it easier to stand up to others and defend my opinions. I even started to acknowledge and celebrate my successes.

Now, I am no longer terrified of the accusing finger pointing me out as an imposter. I no longer need to pretend to be more than I am. Because I know I am not a fraud.

I am enough. From the day I was born to the day I will die, and beyond, I will have the right to exist.

Because I am worth.

Just like you.

This post courtesy of Tiny Buddha.

Photo by John Noonan on Unsplash.

The post Imposter Syndrome: Why You Have It & How to Stop It first appeared on World of Psychology.

from https://ift.tt/34NTuFJ Check out https://daniejadkins.wordpress.com/

[gayatri001]

The Art of Creating Synchronicities: The 12 Keys to Experiencing Mystical Reality

An excerpt on synchronicity is from Sidewalk Oracles: Playing with Signs, Symbols and Synchronicity in Everyday Life ©2015 by Robert Moss

The Twelve Rules of Kairomancy: How to Experience Synchronistic Reality

Kairomancy - the practice of navigating by synchronicities. Divination by special moments. Alternative version: making magic by seizing those special moments.

1. Whatever You Think or Feel, the Universe Says Yes Before you walk into a room or turn a corner, your attitude is there already. It is engaged in creating the situation (and potential synchronicity) you are about to encounter. Whether you are remotely conscious of this or not, you are constantly setting yourself up for what the world is going to give you.

What attitude am I carrying? What am I projecting?

“ideas are projected as a direct result of the force by which they are conceived and they strike wherever the brain sends them by a mathematical law comparable to that which directs the firing of shells from their mortars.” - Honoré de Balzac

synchronicity is ultimately a reflection of our own consciousness and perception.

“We are magnets in an iron globe,” declared Emerson. If we are upbeat and positive, “we have keys to all doors…T he world is all gates, all opportunities, strings of tension waiting to be struck.” Conversely, “A low, hopeless spirit puts out the eyes; skepticism is slow suicide. A philosophy which sees only the worst… dispirits us; the sky shuts down before us.”

2. Chance Favors the Prepared Mind

“creators actively court chance. They’re always ready to notice and amplify with insight some accident of their environment virtually everybody else thinks is trivial or fails to notice. This capacity is, in a deep sense, what makes creators creative.” --John Briggs

“The writing of a book gets under way when the writer discovers that he is magnetized in a certain direction… Then everything he comes across — even a poster or a sign or a newspaper headline or words heard by chance in a café or in a dream — is deposited in a protected area like material waiting to be elaborated.”   --Roberto Calasso

3. Your Own Will Come to You

“I found that every intense imagination, every new adventure of the intellect [is] endowed with magnetic power to attract to it its own kin. Will and desire were as the enchanter’s wand of fable, and they drew to themselves their own affinities….One person after another emerged out of the mass, betraying their close affinity to my moods as they were engendered.” -- George Russell on the law of spiritual gravitation

What we feed our minds and our bodies attracts or repels different parts of ourselves as well as different people and different classes of spirits.

4. You Live in the Speaking Land

As Australian Aborigines say, we live in a Speaking Land. How well we can hear depends on how we use our senses, both inner and outer. How much we can use and understand depends on selection, on grasping what matters.

Spirits of place include the spirits and holographic memories of humans who have lived and loved and struggled on the land before us.

5. Grow Your Poetic Health

“The bottom of the mind is paved with crossroads,” -- Paul Valéry

Kairomancers take care of their poetic health by developing a tolerance for ambiguity and a readiness to see more angles and options than the surface mind perceives.

Pay attention when the same theme, or symbol, or image comes up again and again synchronistically, just as you might pay attention to recurring dreams. When a theme or situation comes at you again and again in dreams, that is often a signal that there is a message coming through that you need to read correctly — and that, beyond merely getting the message, you need to do something about it, to take action. It is the same with rhyming sequences and repeating symbols in waking life.

When you begin to notice a repetition of a certain situation in life, you may say, “Okay, we’re going around the track again. Maybe I want to make sure that I’m not just going around and around in my life in circles of repetition, but that I am on a spiral path.” Which would mean that each time life loops around to where you think you were before, you’ve risen to a slightly higher level, so you can see things with greater awareness and, hopefully, make better choices.

There is a whole education in the art of poetic living in Baudelaire’s poem “Correspondances”:

La Nature est un temple où de vivants piliers Laissent parfois sortir de confuses paroles; L’homme y passe à travers des forêts de symboles Qui l’observent avec des regards familiers.

Nature is a temple whose living pillars Sometimes let slip mysterious messages; We walk here through a forest of symbols That watch us with knowing eyes.

Baudelaire, the urban dandy, has it exactly right: we are walking in a forest of living, synchronistic symbols that are looking at us. When we are in a state of poetic health, we understand that “the imagination is the most scientific of the faculties, because it is the only one to understand the universal analogy, or that which a mystical religion calls correspondence.”

6. Coincidence Multiplies on the Road

This refers both to outer movement and to inner transitions, especially when either carries you outside your normal rounds. You’re not just going through the constant rounds of your life. You’re out and about. You’re going somewhere new.

Nonetheless, unless you’ve changed your eyes, you won’t see the new things. You have to have different eyes in order to see different landscapes. Even so, it is generally true that when we are in movement, not in the familiar rut, we are more likely to notice and to generate and experience coincidence.

The bigger side of it is that when we are in motion in terms of life passages, including challenging passages, when we are falling in or out of love, falling in or out of relationships, when birth or death is in the field, coincidence and synchronicity tends to multiply not just in our perception, but in objective reality. It multiplies because everything is astir. Things are not constant. They are themselves in motion.

“If I think that my life is linked to the dramas of other people in other times and that I have inherited karma from what they did or did not do, maybe I can reach back to them, launching from the moment of Now. Maybe my thoughts and actions now help or hinder in their own time — which is also now — and may be more helpful as I rise to greater consciousness of how all this works.”

It is possible to operate with these two seemingly contradictory visions of reality: linear karma in Chronos time and the simultaneity of synchronistic experience in the multiverse in a spacious Now. It is like the observation in physics that something can be both a particle and a wave, and you will see it one way or the other according to how you observe it.

7. By What You Fall, You May Rise

When we are seized by terrible emotions of rage or grief in our own lives, we can choose to try to harness the raw energy involved and turn it — like a fire hose — toward creative or healing action.

You will want to remember that on the path of transformation and synchronicity, you reach a point where you break down or you break through, and sometimes the breakdown comes before the breakthrough.

Sometimes a fair amount of Chronos time is required to appreciate what Emerson called “the compensations of calamity.” He wrote that such compensations become apparent “after long intervals of time. A fever, a mutilation, a cruel disappointment, a loss of wealth, a loss of friends, seems at the moment unpaid loss, and unpayable. But the sure years reveal the remedial force that underlies all facts.”

8. Invoked or Uninvoked, Gods Are Present

“Coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous,”

In the Odyssey, as in ancient Greek society, dreams and visions are the most important mode of divination and signposts of synchronicity.

Consciously or unconsciously, we walk on a kind of mythic edge. Just behind that gauzy veil of ordinary understanding, there are other powers, beings who live in the fifth dimension or dimensions beyond. To them, our lives may be as open as the lives of others would be to us if we could fly over the rooftops — and nobody had a roof on their house, and we could look in and see it from every possible angle.

A kairomancer is always going to be willing to look for the hidden hand in the play of coincidence and synchronicity, and to turn to more than one kind of oracle to check on the exact nature of the game.

9. You Walk in Many Worlds

Part of the secret logic of our lives is that we are all connected to counterpart personalities — Seth calls them “probable selves” — living in other times and other probable universes. Their gifts and challenges can become part of our current stories, not only through linear karma, but through the synchronistic interaction now across time and dimensions. The dramas of past, future, or parallel personalities can affect us now. We can help or hinder each other.

In the model of understanding I have developed, this family of counterpart souls is joined on a higher level by a sort of hub personality, an “oversoul,” a higher self within a hierarchy of higher selves going up and up. The choices that you make, the moves that you make, can attract or repel other parts of your larger self.

The hidden hand suggested by synchronistic events may be that of another personality within our multidimensional family, reaching to us from what we normally perceive as past or future, or from a parallel or other dimension.

10. Marry Your Field

“The poet marries the language, and out of this marriage the poem is born.” --W. H. Auden,

What is your field? It’s not work in the ordinary sense, or what your diplomas say you are certified to do, or how you describe yourself in a job résumé — although it can encompass all of those things. Your field is where you ache to be. Your field is what you will do, day or night, for the sheer joy of the doing, without counting the cost or the consequences. Your field is the territory within which you can do the Work that your deeper life is calling you to do. Your field is not limitless. You can’t bring anything into creative manifestation without accepting a certain form or channel, which requires you to set limits and boundaries. So your field is also the place within which the creative force that is in you will develop a form.

And out of this constancy — through tantrums and all — will come that blaze of synchronous creation when the sun shines at midnight, when time will stop or speed up for you, as you will when you are so deep in the Zone that no move can be wrong. Depending on your choice of theme and direction, you may find you are joined by other creative intelligences, reaching to you synchronistically from across time and dimensions in that blessed union that another poet, Yeats, defined as the “mingling of minds.”

When the sun no longer shines at midnight, when you are back on clock time, you won’t waste yourself regretting that today you’re not in the Zone. You are still married. You’ll do the work that now belongs to the Work.

11. Dance with the Trickster

The Gatekeeper is one of the most important archetypes that is active in our lives and is one of the keys to calling in more synchronicities. He or she is that power that opens and closes our doors and roads. The Gatekeeper is personified in many traditions: as the elephant-headed Ganesa in India; as Eshu/Eleggua in West Africa; as Anubis in ancient Egypt; as Hermes or Hecate in ancient Greece.

Trickster is the mode the Gatekeeper — that power that opens doors in your life — adopts when you need to change and adapt and recover your sense of humor. If you are set in your ways and wedded to a linear agenda, the Trickster can be your devil. If you are open to the unexpected gift of synchronicity, and willing to turn on a dime (or something smaller), the Trickster can be a very good friend.

The Trickster will find ways to correct unbalanced and overcontrolling or ego-driven agendas, just as spontaneous night dreams can explode waking fantasies and delusions. Our thoughts shape our realities, but sometimes they produce a distinctly synchronistic boomerang effect. The Trickster wears animal guise in folklore and mythology, appearing as the fox or the squirrel, as spider or coyote or raven.

The well-known psychic and paranormal investigator Alan Vaughan tells a great story against himself about the peril of taking synchronistic signs too seriously. He read that Jung had noted a perfect correspondence between the number of his tram ticket, the number of a theater ticket he bought the same day, and a telephone number that someone gave him that evening.

Vaughan decided to make his own experiment with numbers that day in Freiburg, where he was taking a course. He boarded a tram and carefully noted the ticket number, 096960. The number of the tram car itself was 111. He noticed that if you turned the numbers upside down, they still read the same. He was now alert for the appearance of more synchronistic reversible numbers. Still focused on his theme of upside-down numbers, he banged into a trash can during his walk home. He observed ruefully, “I nearly ended by being upside down myself.” When he inspected the trash can, he saw that it bore a painted name: JUNG.

It was impossible not to feel the Trickster in play. Alan felt he had been reminded — in an entirely personal way — that the further we go with this stuff, the more important it is to keep our sense of humor.

A title of Eshu, who is both Trickster and Gatekeeper in the Yoruba tradition of West Africa, is Enforcer of Sacrifice. He is the one who makes sure that the gods receive their offerings. The price of entry may be a story, told with humor.

12. The Way Will Show the Way

Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar.

Wayfarer, there is no way, you make the way by walking it.

Make it up as you go along Make it up as you go along Make it up Make it up The way will show the way

Make it up Shake it up Fake it up Bake it up The fox may know the way The star will light the way The dream will show the way The heart will find the way The way will show the way

Creating Synchronicities: The Oath of the Kairomancer

Twelve rules for the kairomancer, and one OATH, which will help us to remember the heart of the practice. To navigate by synchronicity and catch those Kairos moments, we need to be:

1. Open to new experience;

2. Available, willing to set aside plans and step out of boxes;

3. Thankful, grateful for secret handshakes and surprises; and ready to

4. Honor our special moments by taking appropriate action.

[birdseyetea]

February Newsletter

Hello Everybody!

Thank you for your patience this month. Your teas were sent out several days later than normal. We had a surprising snow storm in the Puget Sound and I lost power for several days...then I caught a cold...first one in a few years.

Below: surprise snow storm February 2017!

February is a frigid month for northern states. Even so, this month you will really start noticing the effects of longer days. Plants are often more effected by hours of daylight than temperature, so despite unseasonably cold weather you will notice truly vigorous plants breaking dormancy in the next few weeks. As you observe your own energy increase a little bit as daylight expands lengthwise, try to be attentive to what is going on outside too. Recognizing natural cycles and constant change helps release us from the burdens of our tendency to want to manually control our lives. We are part of an ever changing ecosystem...our bodies are an ever changing ecosystem, it is important for us to let ourselves be guided by the laws of nature within us and beyond our skin.

Below: spring flowers!

Bulbous spring flowers such as crocuses, snowdrops, and winter iris are shooting up those amazing lance-like bundles of bright green shoots that surround their beautiful flowers. I have a few Japanese plum trees on my land already beginning to bloom and flowering current buds already opening.

I hope the teas this month help keep you warm, well rested, and in good spirits. As late winter slowly reveals signs of spring, I try to do my best to accommodate people the best I can given our diverse geographical regions and climates. Spring comes early in my region, but sticks around longer than other regions, so I will start developing spring tonic teas next month as nettles begin to emerge where I live.

I spent ten days last month at the NW Vipassana Center where I learned some invaluable meditation techniques that have replaced my previous meditation practice. Vipassana is simply the bare bones techniques and teaching as taught by Gautama Buddha himself. The techniques have been passed down from teacher to student for 2500 years. Vipassana never became sectarian like many other forms of “Buddhism” and many believe it to be the most pure form of the techniques that Buddha taught that liberate people from their own suffering. There is no dogma or idolizing...the technique itself is quite simple, but difficult to practice at times.

I have never mentally worked so hard as I did at the ten day retreat. You live like a monk or nun for ten days and focus exclusively on self observation through hours and hours of sitting meditation. As you become more sensitive to your own body sensations, many subconscious mental patterns begin to surface and reveal themselves to you, and your job is to observe them objectively and with equanimity. The technique slowly teaches you to recognize that most of the time we are either clinging to the past or craving for the future, leading to patterns of mental suffering. The techniques helps beautify the mind, keep you in the present, and relieve you of the deep negative patterns that lead to deep attachment. At the retreat, as the days go on you begin to get a glimpse of what it might be like to live exclusively in the present moment with the awareness of the impermanence of everything. Every moment change is happening so there is no point to clinging to any fixed identity or ambition for singular achievement. By the end of the ten days I really started to notice a profound change in my thinking and was able to come home with very clear, well practiced, techniques for my morning and evening sittings.

Almost a month has passed since the retreat and the techniques have stuck pretty well. When I went to the retreat (after 6 years of nudging from one of my closest friends), I realized on the fourth or fifth day that this is the technique I had been seeking for a long time. I feel very safe when I am surrounded by mundane practical elements. Religions, with so many teachings and practices that have to be taken on faith rather than rooted in observable patterns in nature have always been hard for me to understand. Vipassana allows me a safe reliable technique to begin to clearly see the roots of my thoughts and patterns. And as I practice more I am beginning to fully trust myself as I continue to try to lead an ethical life, where I serve the earth and my community through the work that I do. One of the most profound changes I have felt on a daily basis is that I have been able to begin to alter my impulse to let judgement or negativity “get to me” and unleash my strong desire to “react” when it does. My mind is becoming more aware of itself, able to start to see the roots of my patterns that form my identity (defined by a large collection of my likes and dislikes), and I have so much more control over my inner emotional life than ever before.

Plus it is so cool to recognize how impermanent nature really is. And amazingly, self observation and acceptance allows more space to be empathic and kind toward others without expectations. Anyways, I just wanted to speak a little about the Vipassana experience because I really think it is fascinating and everyone should try a ten day retreat. It is super hard but you probably wont be disappointed...at the basic level, all you are really doing is learning a technique that allows for greater self observation, love, and a path to reduce suffering.

Below: My nephew and I with his Angora Rabbits

Chai

Chai is a great morning brew. Chai at the bare minimum is tea and a couple spices. Some chai blends in parts of India are simply black tea and cardamom. I am a big fan of a much more complex blend of spices and black tea. This chai blend is super aromatic than leans toward spicy with a deep anise/clove component. As a winter chai I chose spices that are both anti-microbial and warming. Ginger, cinnamon, black pepper, and cloves are quite pungent which accounts for the heat you feel in your face and chest that eventually moves throughout your body as you sip. I drink chai when my hands and feet are stubbornly cold and it seems to help increase energy and movement in my body. When my core starts to feel a little warmer I have a tendency to move around with more ease which brings circulation to my arms and legs. Chai also aids digestion, supports immunity, and is so tasty!

Dream

Dream tea is designed to calm the skeletal muscular system and the nervous system. Basically, Dream Tea helps relax tense muscles and quiet an agitated nervous system. Chamomile is antispasmodic, relaxes and tones the nervous system, and relieves digestive upset. Catnip and mints are nutritive and slightly calming. Catnip is also a carminative and a traditional cold and flu remedy. Hops is the most sedating herb in the blend and is extensively used for treating insomnia. Skullcap soothes nervous tension and helps renew the nervous system. Licorice is added for a touch of sweetness and it’s nutritive and anti-spasmodic properties.  

I have talked to a lot of customers over the past few months and I hear a resounding message that people are having a really hard time sleeping. I completely understand why. Some of the worst qualities in our culture are being promoted which negatively impacts most of us and brings up fear and anger. People rightly feel incredibly unsafe and unprotected by our government...and it feels as though we are experiencing an unraveling of our democracy. Your health and mental balance is going to be very important during the long road ahead. We as citizens are going to have to protect each other and refuse to be intimidated by people in positions of power.

If we, as a large collection of individuals, refuse to let the government dictate hateful and dangerous policies, they have far less power and will eventually have to cede to the will of the people. It might not be pretty, but it will happen, so stay strong and grounded...persistence is essential. Keep reminding yourself that your life and work are rooted in love and compassion, regardless of how ruthless and hateful the public rhetoric gets.

We each have our own agency to follow the rules or not, rebellion is a completely legitimate form of resistance. When the orders or laws are unjust and strip us of our liberties and eliminate protections for any of our people, we do not have to follow the orders. We simply refuse to comply, persist to change the policies, and do so with a clear conscience and mind. Taking care and protecting our fellow humans from hate and harm is one of our most basic ways to serve our society in a really powerful and positive way. When we feel we have no power or control, we easily slip into a spiral of anxiety and depression. Never give up your personal agency to anyone, especially not to your government. If the government is not working in the service of all our brothers and sisters, it is not doing it’s job and does not deserve our compliance.

As you lay down to rest at the end of the day, in those moments of quiet isolation you might find your mind and body still buzzing. I know I do a lot of the time. Dream tea helps relax the mind and body. It is not a sedating tea, so you can even drink it during the day when you feel excessively stressed. Each of the herbs in this blend are calming and nutritive. So in addition to calming the body they provide your body with nourishing chemicals that help restore depleted nerves and muscles.

Managing the intensity of the daily emotional rollercoaster requires more than just tea. Self care is super important. Being kind and forgiving to yourself along with eating well and participating in activities that encourage you to feel beautiful and empowered are essential. Feeding your body nourishing foods allows you to rebuild your body with the right quality of nutrients to increase health and healing. Our tissues are constantly breaking down and rebuilding, feeding yourself lots of fresh vegetables, fruits, and leafy greens ensures you are giving your cells the building blocks to maintain optimal cellular health. Your diet does not have to be complicated, the more simple the ingredients and the less processed the foods are, the better. I mostly eat vegetables, salads, and mineral rich soups. My protein comes eggs (we have a bunch of hens on our farm) and the occasional side dish of meat. Cooking your own meals and buying foods from local farmers is a great way to connect with the people who are sustainably maintaining landscapes and providing food to your region. Building connections with people who are working toward a better compassionate future, despite how different they might seem, is incredibly healing to your mind and body.

Your evening routine is also a part of your day where you could do a little tweaking to help your body relax at the end of the day. Having a very consistent routine helps train your body and mind to chill out. Eating an early dinner, taking a bath or relaxing in the shower, drinking relaxing teas, and spending joyful time with family or reading a novel are simple things that can be incorporated consistently into your evening ritual. Running around in the evening, drinking excessive alcohol, watching tv, or reading the news late at night often disrupt your ability to fall asleep or stay asleep. Your evening routine should make you feel safe, relaxed, and loved. Just remember to think of your evening routine as the transition from high wakeful energy, to low relaxed energy, and eventually to sleep. This transition takes a long time for some people and almost no time at all for others.

If it takes you a long time to slow down and relax then honor that and create a longer evening routine. There is no reason to feel shame or frustration about difficulty sleeping. If you do find yourself unable to sleep just let your body feel relaxed and content. I have battled with insomnia since childhood and have eventually learned to quiet my mind, not attach to the narrative that is causing some of my agitation, and simply let my body rest through the night, even if I am not fully asleep. I find I get enough rest, even during the worst stretches of insomnia, if I fully surrender into the most relaxed state my body can come to during long sleepless nights.    

Bliss

Bliss tea is a great tea that works through the nervous system to quickly reduce emotional stress, which makes room for your natural beautiful self to shine through. Damiana and roasted cacao lift your mood and help reduce negative feelings. You are incredibly smart and beautiful, let yourself realize that. Damiana helps remind you of your true nature and can help jump start positive empowering notions within yourself. Mints and linden are mildly relaxing. Cinnamon and cloves are warming aromatics. They can help increase circulation which can excite the body, encouraging movement. I like to use warming aromatics in my morning tea to help get me going and motivate my body. Clove and damiana are considered folk aphrodisiacs. They help fill the body with a sense of natural beauty and charm. We all have so much beauty and love within us, we just sometimes forget how great we are!

Rose hips are rich in vitamin C and flavonoids (which accounts for their anti-oxidant and anti-inflammatory properties).

This bitter-sweet tea is a great energizing alternative to stimulating drinks and has some of the same benefits as coffee and tea on digestion.  

I am a fairly reserved person socially, I often retreat from large social situations. I drink Bliss tea before going to the Farmers Markets or a concert to help me let go of some of my tension and insecurities. It is remarkable how well Bliss allows the nervous system to shed anxiety without forfeiting excitement and energy.

[tvwriteups]

The Fic Nobody Wants

Gripes about fics that people do apparently want...

...and it’s a ridiculously long post.

I think I’ve only come across 4-5 R/S fics where both characters felt mostly in-character. There’s just something in how the characters are portrayed in most fics that...well, actually inspire me in trying to write “The Fic Nobody Wants”.

The biggie is that my interpretation of the characters feels so far off of the majority of fanfic writers.

I take major issue with how Shaw is written. But then I feel like canon has written that character the most inconsistently out of the six leads. I have problems with how fic writers write Root but Shaw is a whole other level.

Oh, where to start. (And this is the kind of stuff that would make the fandom mad.)

Like, I get it that people are writing for free and writing for fun. What I don’t get is people believing or encouraging one another to believe that canon has these characters this way -- that the essence of these characters and their relationship is being portrayed in the fanfics.

How to put this simply? How is it that I see these characters in canon?

Root loves Shaw because Shaw is pretty much the opposite of what Root said about people to Harold in “The Contingency” (2x01) and “/” (3x17). The stuff that Root hated about people or felt disappointed in about people are completely absent in Shaw...because Shaw’s personality disorder.

And Shaw’s feelings for Root? Well, canon doesn’t really give us much of a storyline beyond “she cares”, she’s very protective of her when she thinks she’s going to get herself killed, and that Root wouldn’t stop “bugging her.” And the show makes her her “safe place” and all that stuff. I don’t know, I can go many directions on what the show’s canon showed us because I think different writers had very different takes on the character.

So what is it in fanfic that I object to?

1. That Root changes Shaw all that much. The finale pretty much tells us that Root loved how Shaw was a “constant.” Root didn’t want to change Shaw. The only thing that really changed was how Shaw saw herself. Oh, and the fact that she hears out people before she goes on and kills them anyway. (Seriously, we’re introduced to Shaw killing Aquino without hearing his explanation and one of the last five minutes of the show we see Shaw listen to Blackwell before killing him. Heck, she even states how she’s “different” in that scene before she goes about doing the thing she would’ve done anyway.)

And, to be fair here, Shaw doesn’t really change Root either. Root changes because of the Machine.

2. That Shaw can’t control her anger and is portrayed as feeling tons of emotions but not knowing what to do with them. Before Samaritan psychological torture, where do we see Shaw’s emotions going crazy? We don’t. She goes a little full-tilt trying to rescue Gen and she fiercely beats up someone after leaving Carter’s funeral but that’s pretty much it. The anger she expresses is pretty much controlled. Heck, even in “6,741″ she’s pretty much controlled until the sim has her shoot Greer. Then she spirals. The thing is, she spirals because she feels that she can’t control herself. You know the story about the Qatari roundabout that Lambert mentions near the beginning of “6,741″? That was about Shaw not being able to control her body so she continually put herself through the torture of the roundabout until she could control herself.

All this to say that I don’t think Shaw ever completely loses herself around Root...which is how a lot of fics seem to portray their dynamic.

And the emotions? It’s not that Shaw has lost control over her emotions. That Root is just too sexy that the woman can’t help herself. What gets Shaw angry is the lack of emotions she’s feeling or, maybe more accurately, that she doesn’t feel emotions the way other people do (or what she thinks other people expect of her). It’s not that she completely misunderstands feelings in other people. She simply doesn’t feel the same. She feels somewhat but it just isn’t the same.

And, worse than all of that, are moments where she gets all weak-kneed and gets all sexy/horny around pretty much any person she finds attractive in the fics. That brings me to...

3. Shaw is portrayed as a hedonistic bisexual and the “3 night rule” is taken seriously. I don’t know if it’s because she’s bisexual (with it being a common trope that bisexuals have sex with pretty much anybody and everybody) or people just like this idea that she’s going around and having these meaningless hookups. Not to project and/or go all TMI here but as someone with muted emotions who finds sex fun but doesn’t like dealing with relationships because inevitably someone gets upset with my lack of feels, it doesn’t really go hand-in-hand that I’d be a sexual free spirit of any sort.

It’s not that I’m not sex-positive or anything. It’s just that I don’t think Shaw is running around and hooking up with a lot of people. Why? Well, look at the middle of the conversation that Shaw has with Reese -- the same conversation where this damn 3-night rule comes from. Reese asks her if she’s been on any big dates. Shaw replies that she’s “been too busy saving the world from bad guys.”

I don’t know. Maybe these fics are written by people who feel overly-horny. The thing is, I kind of see this (as well as part of the flashback in “The Devil’s Share” as well as that part in “Liberty” where she shoots the guy through the brick wall) as Shaw getting most of her satisfaction out of her technical mastery of badassery.

The woman could have booty-called Matthew Reed or Tomas Koroa. She didn’t. She smirked and went on her way.

4. That it feels forgotten that Root killed people when they were inconveniences and that she was a huge misanthrope. Here’s the thing with Root and Shaw. Shaw may not personally care about most people, she’s still all about protecting the good people from the bad guys. Root? Root starts out thinking that there are no good guys. The world is “infinite, chaotic, and cold.” Part of why she wanted to ally with Finch when she first kidnapped him was because she believed she found a kindred spirit in Finch. They were smarter than everyone else and, in Root’s eyes, Finch created the perfect god.

The scary thing in that scene wasn’t necessarily Root but the fact that Harold sort of agreed with her.

So it bugs me when Root begins a lot of these fics like some doe-eyed innocent.

But, also, that she already sort of openly embraced having all these emotions before the Machine (or Harold, or Shaw) came into her life. Or, really, she pushed her way into their existences. This is a woman who flippantly wished that she was a sociopath so she wouldn’t have feelings.

5. Remarkably candid conversations about their relationship. Because how does this work in canon? Things are stated indirectly and Shaw often deflects (”Annoyed attempt to deflect subtext.” / “Mildly embarrassed defensiveness bordering on hostility.”). The Machine has to tell Shaw what Root sincerely thought of her.

The most direct Root ever gets is in “If-Then-Else” is when she thinks she’s gonna die and in “Sotto Voce” when Shaw threatens to kill herself. And even then, she’s a bit roundabout about it, whether that’s CBS S&P or how they really wanted to write the character. In “If-Then-Else” she talks as if it’s fated by the universe that they should be together. In “Sotto Voce” it’s more “I can’t live without you” (which is kind of emotionally manipulative in any other context but not for that scene). Heck, in “Prophets”, she leaves it to Finch to relay her message (which we assume is to tell Shaw to Root loves her because anything else doesn’t make sense).

But Shaw? The thing I like about Shaw in this show is that you get her through her actions. So to have her wanting to talk to Root about their relationship feels so far out in left field to me. She “speaks” through actions.

I’m guessing these “relationship conversations” happen as a form of wish fulfillment on the part of the fanfic writers. But if you’re gonna choose to go that way and have them have that sort of conversation, at least build it up.

I need to take a breather for now but there’s more...but maybe more in terms of general fic writing than pairing-specific stuff.