#but Winter came out of nowhere with an emotional gut kick I DID NOT plan ahead

[caeloservare]

//I've hurt my feelings with my own fic- aaaaAAAA...!!!

[frozenartscapes]

AN: A continuation of this post. This...got away from me a little...

@patricia-von-arundel Look what you’ve done

---

The Emperor was a fool.

No chains. No cell. Just a regular room with regular windows and regular locks and regular guards. The most done were the cuffs - enchanted metal bands that tempered her magic, weakened it enough so that she couldn’t bring out the Immaculate One. They weren’t even that tight - with enough effort and perhaps some butter, she’d be free of them in no time.

Nothing held her back from ripping that stupid girl apart. Nothing was stopping her from destroying the grand palace and the entire city that seemed to worship that heretic instead of the goddess.

So why couldn’t she do it?

She had made a promise... But what good were words? The goddess knew Edelgard had lied more than enough times in her life. Rhea had, too. Her vow made in the dungeons could have been as much a lie as what she had told the people of Fodlan for generations. Part of her thought it had been.

But just when her rage became a little too great, just when she thought about going on her rampage, it was like the girl knew. And she’d show up to Rhea’s door herself, alone, with a tray of tea or perhaps a book she thought the Archbishop would like.

Kindness. And trust.

It was so stupid.

And yet...it worked.

With good behaviour came more freedom. At first, Rhea wasn’t permitted to leave her room. That was said loosely, however, as there wasn’t much stopping her if she had wanted to. But then she was allowed out on her balcony - she had a balcony of all things!

Then she could leave under the watch of a guard. A single guard. Her. Against one guard. She almost felt sorry for the poor bastard, should she ever decide to act. They wouldn’t stand a chance.

But soon enough she was free to wander the palace on her own. Nothing was stopping her from just...walking out the gates. Back to Garreg Mach. Back to the war and victory against the monster who imprisoned her.

She would stand in the grand entrance of the Imperial Palace and look at those doors. Sometimes they had been left open to allow a pleasant breeze into the stuffy halls, and she could see the gate in the distance. It would be so easy.

But every time, she’d turn around.

She wished she knew why. She still hated that miserable girl with all her heart.

But things were so complicated now.

For so long, she saw the world in stark black and white. Now she was seeing grey.

Edelgard had told her what had happened to her. Rhea understood now why the Emperor had been so...emotional in the dungeons when she found her prisoner. She knew the reason why Edelgard had the same scars they had given her. She, too, had once been nothing more than a test subject, an experiment, a living cadaver.

But that was not where their similarities stopped.

There had once been eleven children of House Hresvelg. Now there was one.

Despite how she felt about the sole survivor, even Rhea couldn’t deny how horrifically sad her story was. She knew how it felt, to be left behind after the bloodshed. To be left alone in the world, the ability to love destroyed, trust and faith shattered, angry at the world and determined to fix it.

She still didn’t agree with the Emperor. Part of her still loathed her. But she understood her, now. Mostly.

She didn’t understand how she could work with those monsters. To Rhea, they were the Agarthans. To Edelgard, they were Those Who Slither in the Dark. A ridiculous name, yet Rhea found it appropriate.

She didn’t understand until one day she heard something.

She was wandering the halls, to nowhere in particular. She was simply admiring the architecture, the art, the ambiance. Red and gold was the dominant colour scheme in the palace and it felt warm, compared to the cool, stone halls of Garreg Mach. She was nowhere near any important room - just somewhere in the expansive marble labyrinth - but she still heard the Emperor’s voice coming from within a nearby chamber. The door had been left open a crack, so she could hear the muffled voices inside.

The Emperor and...a man. She thought maybe his voice sounded familiar, but it was difficult to place. Her memories of him were hazy, distorted...

“How long do you plan on keeping this up, Edelgard,” he sighed, his voice taking on a dangerous edge as he growled her name. Even Rhea shivered from it.

“As long as I wish to,” Edelgard replied, her tone strong and defiant, “And I have no plans to stop in the near future.”

“Do you realize how greatly this is setting us back? The war could be won in a few weeks if you would just-”

“I have no intention of allowing your ‘research’ to continue. If you could call torture research.”

There were the sounds of a struggle. Edelgard gasped in a panic. Rhea couldn’t hold back her curiosity and dared a peek through the crack in the door.

The man was large, imposing. He was dressed in the fine clothes of a noble and had long, slick black hair. And he had the Emperor of Adrestia by her collar.

Suddenly, Rhea was aware of how small Edelgard truly was.

“What did I say about interrupting me?” he growled, his furious face inches from hers.

“I’m...not afraid of you...anymore!” Edelgard gasped as she struggled to fight free. She managed to get one leg up and kicked him forcefully in the gut, and he released her with a grunt. “You crossed the line, Thales. You assured me that your experiments ended with me. If there is one thing I can put an end to in this world, it’s-”

He struck her, hard. Enough to send her reeling. Enough for blood to start seeping out from a cut on her lip. She held her cheek, attempting to relieve the pain, cowering under his intimidating form. “You are naive, my little niece,” he sneered, “It seems the crown has gone to someone’s head. Here you are thinking yourself the Queen... When really you are nothing more than a Pawn.”

To her credit, Rhea thought, Edelgard stood her ground. Despite the shock on her face. Despite the tremble in her body. Despite the fear in her eyes. She wiped the blood from her lip and stood up, tall and proud, defiant in the face of his threat. “I won’t let you hurt her anymore,” she stated, her voice low.

Thales glared down at her for a few agonizing seconds. Rhea found herself holding her breath in anticipation.

But then a grin spread across his face, and a mirthless chuckle escaped his lips. “It’s amusing how you seem to think you stand in my way,” he told her, taking a step forward.

Edelgard took a step back.

“Remember your place, girl,” he continued, the smoothness in his voice disappearing to raw force, “Remember who made you! Without me, you’d just be a snivelling little princess, married off to some lesser noble to be nothing more than a broodmare. I gave you everything - you think you can stand before me now and deny me what I desire? After all that?”

“You gave me nothing!” Edelgard spat, “All you did was take from me!”

He lunged for her again, but this time she was ready. She dodged, then spun around. Dark magic crackled to life around her hand and she sent it flying toward him. In an explosion of purple smoke and shadowy fire, Thales was sent careening across the room, slamming into an old cabinet.

Edelgard stood in the centre of the room. Rhea has witnessed this woman tear through entire squadrons of some of the finest soldiers, all without a moment’s hesitation. She has killed and maimed, set the world alight with the fires of war, and has shown little remorse for it.

Now she was shaking like a leaf in the dead of winter.

Before she had a chance to collect herself, the air fizzled with the sound of electricity seconds before an explosion of light and energy sped toward the Emperor. Edelgard let out a pained cry as the lightning enveloped her, dropping to her knees and gasping for breath.

Thales was upon her in an instant. He had her by the throat this time, rather than the collar, a knee pressed forcefully into her chest to keep her pinned to the ground. Despite how she fought and struggled, she couldn’t get him off her. And fear was weakening her efforts.

“I suppose I should tell you why I wanted to speak with you,” Thales said, reaching into his cloak and pulling out a small syringe filled with glowing green liquid, “Despite your interference, we were able to get something useful out of that woman. I theorize it will enhance your minor Crest. Or it will kill you. Either way, we’re about to find out.”

He tugged at her collar, exposing enough of her neck to find an artery. Rhea’s eyes widened in panic as she watched him bring that syringe full of poison to the Emperor’s neck. Her desperate pleas falling on deaf ears brought tears to the Archbishop’s eyes.

She hated Edelgard. But not this much.

The door flew open with a loud bang, and Thales looked up at the furious Archbishop with bored annoyance.

“Let her go,” Rhea sneered, fists clenched tight. Her magic screamed at her. How she wished she could become the Immaculate One and eat this bastard but the damn cuffs on her wrists stopped her.

Her first real obstacle.

Thales snorted in derision. “I didn’t know beasts cared about little girls,” he commented.

“Let her go,” she repeated dangerously.

“And how do you plan to stop me? You are unarmed and weak. This one was more a threat than you.”

“I defeated Nemesis with nothing more than a dagger,” Rhea growled, “I can beat you with even less.”

Thales met her threat with a smug smirk. “And here I thought only humans had that weakness,” he mused. He chuckled. “That’s good to know.”

He plunged the needle into Edelgard’s neck before Rhea could react, and the liquid was gone before she could reach them. She managed to throw him off the Emperor, but the damage had been done.

Edelgard let out a noise Rhea thought the sombre, quiet girl wasn’t capable of making. A scream - raw, pained, like she was being burned from the inside out.

It caused her to pause, to turn her attention to the Emperor. It was enough hesitation for Thales to warp away.

“Edelgard!” Rhea cried, attempting a healing spell despite the cuffs dulling her magic. It was no use - even if her magic had been at full strength, there was little that could be done about this kind of affliction.

Suddenly, her hatred for the Emperor was forgotten. As the girl on the ground writhed in unimaginable pain, tears streaming from magic-corrupted eyes and clawing at her chest as if attempting to rip her own heart out, Rhea forgot she even was the Emperor.

Guards were at the door in moments, responding to the scream. The Emperor’s shadow pushed his way to the front, and furious olive eyes landed on the Archbishop gently cradling the Emperor in her arms.

Rhea suddenly realized what this must look like.

---

To everyone’s surprise, Hubert had actually been on her side.

At first, he was the only one. But he recognized Thales’ handiwork. Rhea grimly realized how often this sort of thing must have happened for him to do so.

It was by his word alone that she hadn’t been executed on the spot, or thrown back in the dungeons. He had even allowed her to be present now, for some reason. Watching over the Emperor struggling to breathe, unconscious and in pain.

She remembered Hubert from the Academy days. He had always been distrustful of her. She remembered how his eyes would always follow her, watching, waiting for her to reveal something he could use against her. She remembered thinking from early on that she’d have to be careful of Hubert.

But he had confessed that, before she fell into a fitful sleep, Edelgard had managed to tell him that she had been there. That she had tried to save her.

And Rhea didn’t know what to think. That Hubert, as skeptical as he always was, would believe the Emperor so quickly. That Edelgard, in so much agony, had sought to ensure she wouldn’t be blamed for this. That she, Rhea - the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros and declared enemy of Emperor Edelgard Von Hresvelg - was worried for the poor woman.

The world had been so much easier when it was just black and white.

She was alone with the Emperor now. It would be so easy to finish things. To end the war, to defeat her enemy, to win. But the fiery hatred she had once felt had been extinguished. And she was left with the smouldering remains, confused and conflicted and alone in the dark.

Edelgard let out a small moan and curled in on herself a little, hands still clutching her chest a little too tight. Without thinking, Rhea put a hand on her shoulder and conjured a small spell that would help with the pain.

A bitter grin stretched across her face. Edelgard was of House Hresvelg: the House dedicated to Seiros. Everywhere Rhea looked, she saw her Crest. Edelgard herself shared that Crest with her. The Hresvelg’s dedicated themselves to Seiros and asked her specifically for protection.

Rhea knew Edelgard wouldn’t beg a saint for help with anything. She also knew that the girl had likely lost her faith when she probably would have, but no one ever responded. Rhea didn’t want to imagine how many times this child and her siblings might have been calling for her aid based on promises the Church had told them, only for her to not even hear them. Let alone come to help them.

Well...now she finally had.

Another pitiful sound escaped the Emperor’s lips, and she shifted a little more. Unfocused lilac eyes slowly opened, and weakly searched the room. When they met Rhea’s, Edelgard smiled.

“Oh thank the goddess,” Rhea breathed, feeling relief wash over her.

“So... It didn’t kill me,” Edelgard uttered, wincing at the sound of her croaky voice.

“Whatever it was,” Rhea said grimly, “We don’t know what it did do...”

“We’ll find out eventually,” Edelgard assured her, “Right now... I need to...”

“Rest,” Rhea insisted, watching as the Emperor struggled to stay awake, “I’ll be here to make sure you’re safe.”

Edelgard shifted onto her side, and let out a heavy breath as her eyes drifted shut. That smile never left her lips. “Who’d have thought...” she murmured, “You of all people...”

Rhea let out a breathy chuckle. “Certainly not me,” she sighed.

“Rhea?” Edelgard was barely awake, now, and her voice was so small and sleepy she sounded more like a child asking for a bedtime story than a fearsome Emperor.

“Yes, my child?” Rhea asked, softly, once more forgetting just who the woman in bed truly was.

“Thank you.”

A small smile tugged at the edges of the Archbishop’s lips. ‘Alright,’ she conceded, ‘Perhaps the Emperor isn’t that much of a fool...’

[arigatouiris]

revenge is a fool’s game // arthur morgan — [01]

pairing: arthur morgan x female!reader

word count: 2037

warnings: strong violence, emotional distress, mentions of torture, explicit sexual references, a whole lotta angst, cowboy stuff; 

notes: I absolutely adore this game and adore Arthur Morgan, and there aren’t enough fics for this sweetheart so here we go!

Chapter One: Riley 

○

Death came in many forms.

The first time (y/n) (l/n) met death was when it came to her grandmother.

It wasn’t a painful sort of feeling, she was barely four years old at the time—she couldn’t remember everything, but remembered what was worth remembering. Death embraced her grandmother on that cold winter night, and took her away gradually in a quick but soothing pace. There wasn’t a great deal of sadness around them, since her grandmother was quite old, but a sort of tragic happiness that was indicative of how painless the passing was.

The second time (y/n) (l/n) met death was when it hit her dog, Franny.

Franny was a stray mongrel when (y/n) found him; almost brown all over but a few white spots here and there. She was twelve when Franny passed, but this time the experience was different. It was as if death were mad at her, and didn’t embrace Franny the way it had her grandmother. Franny screamed in pain the whole time, vomiting his guts out and bleeding from his eyes. (y/n) and her brother, Riley, cried—they cried, not understanding death’s cause.

The third time (y/n) (l/n) met death was the time she swore that the next time she met death would be under her control.

The third time, death was furious—but death’s anger only infuriated her more. A gang came out of nowhere and infiltrated her village, humiliated the women, haunted the men and killed her parents. She was confused, as to why death so comfortably sat on that fat man’s hands as he murdered her parents, and was angered with how death chose sides on random. She vowed that the next time she saw death would be when it was under her control. She would beckon death and wrap it around her finger.

Death came in many forms, but the only form she wanted to see was of vengeance.

○

“Ey,” Horace Newcomb, the leader of the Ferriers’ Gang, beckoned Riley, (y/n)’s younger brother. “What’re you doin’ down there? Get yer ass over and clean up this mess!”

She watched carefully. It had been close to three weeks since the Ferriers’ killed her parents and looted the village. Yet, they wouldn’t leave. They were treating Riley like a slave and thankfully, didn’t treat (y/n) like a whore. Instead, she cleaned around and kept to herself, being timid and weak—must have made the others pity her for her sorry state.

Riley squealed when Horace’s younger brother, Dalton, placed his feet on his back. (y/n) was angered, but she had learned to maintain her composure; she went back to cleaning the dishes quietly, almost as if the situation was not fazing her. Three weeks was what she had plotted in her head; three weeks and she would control death. At night, they would throw her brother and her inside a room, four rooms away from where Dalton and Horace slept. The gang was quite large—there were 12 men who were loyal in terms of killing, raping, and looting. However, the leader was who she had her eyes set on.

(y/n) had managed to sneak in a knife from the kitchen one afternoon when the gang members were asleep. Hiding it took the life out of her, her anxiety peaked till the brim, but she knew she had to do it. She only wondered how long it would take for them to visit her at night and try to rape her, but her being fifteen years old and looking like she was thirteen must have driven them away. She felt thankful that they weren’t pedophiles, but the thankfulness was out of spite. That night, she promised herself that she would summon death using the knife. That night, she promised she would get her younger brother out of there and to safety.

However, that night, death didn’t show.

Horace grabbed her hand as the knife fell off her grip. Her eyes were wide and she knew she was done for. Horace’s loud yell woke Dalton up, and the brothers were furious. She was quiet; she had been quiet till she came to the bed to where Horace was asleep. However, the man was suddenly woken up over something mysterious. She couldn’t tell.

“Yer smell woke me up, ya lil’ bitch!” Horace kicked (y/n) down, her face hit the hard wooden floor. Another kick broke one of her ribs, but no sound came out of her. Being a port town meant that they could get away from throwing her body into the ocean, but that thought suddenly didn’t do much to ease her nerves. It was now Dalton’s turn to kick her, and the brothers enjoyed themselves over this little shared activity.

“Her cunt brother must know o’ this too.” Dalton said, kicking her one last time, (y/n) was spewing blood out of her mouth.

“I’ll…” She said, rasping. “I’ll kill you both…”

Vengeance was a dish best served cold. However, right now, vengeance was starving her. She had failed. They would kill her brother after they killed her.

“Dalton,” Horace said, grabbing the girl by her blouse. “She’s quite the looker, ain’t she?”

It was then that the men paid close attention to the girl’s features. Up close, she wasn’t thirteen. She had fully formed breasts, and full lips, which were now bloody. Her hair was long, (h/c). She had a strange birthmark near the nape of her neck, a birthmark that resembled the horns of a stag. She was not plain, but she wasn’t very pretty either. The men then realized that she could be used.

It was then (y/n) (l/n) tried once more.

She kicked Dalton in the shin, earning an array of curse words—to which, Horace kicked her stomach, earning a loud scream from her.

“Nope. We’re gon throw ‘er into the ocean and have ‘er be eaten by them sharks.” Horace said, confirming (y/n)’s theory.

At least, she knew that the Ferriers’ weren’t creative.

Riley screamed and begged for them to let her go, but the entire scenario was blurry to (y/n). She had been kicked way too hard way too many times, her brother’s incessant begging was hazy background noise to her. She was thrown onto something hard and wooden, and she guessed it was a boat. There was no way she could survive this. Her plan went haywire, and she knew now that the next time she saw death was when it would come for her.

What felt like hours later, (y/n) felt a cold splash, and darkness.

But, when she waited to be embraced by death, death had abandoned her.

It was then she realized that vengeance was not death, and had grabbed on to her instead.

○

August 12, 1884. Illinois.

Arthur felt someone kick his side. Groaning, he noticed Hosea, grinning widely at him.

“What the hell do you want, Hosea?” Arthur grumbled, before turning around and trying to sleep.

“You’ve been this way since that Mary girl left ya. Now, come with me to town. We’ve got some chores to run, boy!” Hosea’s words were not met with any response. “Arthur, how long are you going to mourn over that girl?”

Arthur drew a breath. Mary had a point. She left him because he couldn’t leave for her. But, then, how could he? Dutch and Hosea had saved his life, Dutch and Hosea meant the world to him. But, so did Mary. Turning to Hosea, Arthur sighed once.

“You’re still full of youth, Arthur. Lots of girls left out there that you can pine for.” Hosea laughed, before Arthur decided to get out of the bed.

“I ain’t comin’ because o’ what ya said, Hosea. Chores need to be done.” Arthur’s voice was rough, but for a twenty one year old, he already felt like the world was weighing down on him.

Hosea patted his back and waited for Arthur to wash his face. Arthur’s hair was not long, after the trim he gave himself a few days ago. After the bank heist a year ago, Arthur’s body language had changed. He used to carry himself just as any child would—like how John is now—but things changed after he killed for the first time. It seemed to him that the world didn’t function as nicely, but he didn’t know if it was his own sadness that was talking.

Arthur sat on his horse, a black mare that he had stolen right outside of a town they had robbed from. A second later, the two were riding off into town.

“You’re what? Twenty-one years old, Arthur. You’re definitely going to find someone worth while to keep with ya’.”

“Hm.” Arthur didn’t want to think about Mary, but it was inevitable.

Riverside Bay, a town east of Illinois, was a nice place to stock up from. After their successful bank heist a year ago, Dutch and the gang decided to lay low for a while. It was during this time that Arthur and Mary met and fell in love, or so he thought, but she couldn’t be comfortable with his affiliation with the Van Der Linde gang. At least we ain’t the O’Driscolls, Arthur thought, before grunting. While he was barely paying attention, he heard Hosea shout at him.

“Watch it!”

Arthur then realized what he had done. He had trampled over someone with his horse. Immediately jumping off, Arthur grabbed the boy by his shoulders and brought him to a sitting position. Blinking a couple of times, the boy—whose head was bleeding now, looked at Arthur. His eyes widened a bit, before jumping back.

“Whoa there, kiddo. It’s alright. I’m sorry ‘bout runnin’ over ya’ with my horse.” Arthur apologized.

The boy remained quiet. He stood with the help of Arthur, and shook his head. He touched the wound on his head and winced, the blood wasn’t a nice thing to see. He felt light headed, but there was no way he’d tell anyone that he was feeling weak.

“How ‘bout I take ya’ to the doctor to get ya’ fixed up?” Arthur offered.

The boy shook his head once more.

“Can you talk, boy?”

The boy looked at Hosea and smiled a bit, before shaking his head. He was a strange looking boy, Hosea thought. His (h/c) hair was neatly trimmed, but the boy looked weak and nimble—almost feminine. And he was dumb too.

“Do you have a place to go, son?” Hosea asked, surprising Arthur.

The boy blinked a couple of times before shaking his head. He made a swooshing gesture with his hands and Hosea laughed.

“Just passin’ through, eh?”

The boy smiled once more. He shut his eye a bit and used his handkerchief to wipe off the blood from his forehead.

“I’m very sorry ‘bout that.” Arthur said, not understanding the interaction.

The boy shook his head once more.

“Do you have a name, boy?”

The boy dug something out from his pocket. It was a slip of paper, almost yellow now, and showed it to the both of them.

“Riley (l/n).” Hosea said, patting the boy’s back.

“How about you come with us, Mr. (l/n)? We can fix ya up and give ya somethin’ to eat.” Hosea offered, shocking Arthur.

“Are ya sure this is a good idea, Hosea?” Arthur wasn’t too sure.

“Relax, Arthur, my boy! Here’s Riley, another orphan, in need of help. Make yerself useful and you’ll have a place to stay, my boy.”

Riley blinked a couple of times and was about to protest, something only Arthur noticed, but Hosea was way more pumped on taking this boy over to camp. Why and how useful this would be was something that was beyond Arthur’s comprehension.

“Arthur, ride with Riley.”

Arthur noticed the boy stiffen, but paid not much attention to his discomfort. Riley sat in front of Arthur, being small that he was, it was easier to put him in front. And it was then Arthur saw the weird birthmark on Riley’s neck—a stag horn, or something. Arthur grumbled as he followed Hosea back to camp, sitting with a dumb boy that he almost killed.

○

[abbyharlow]

I’m writing out of anger and maybe a little bit of sadness. As 2017 is coming to an end, I’m remembering how excited I was at the end of 2016 to have a great new year. For the most part, 2017 has been amazing and has treated me quite well – until it didn’t. The past two-ish months have been an extremely chaotic shit show. I’m willing to give you the low down. Brace yourselves; this is going to be a long one.

As October came to an end and November started, I felt fine. School was kicking my ass, but I’m a good student and I continued to carry on. I was proud of how I had been able to handle all of my stress with my crazy housemates, fat work load and financial issues in a way most people probably wouldn’t be able to. Imagine how fucked up I felt when I started hearing from one of my very best friends that people were expressing concerns about my well being. I have worked for THIRTEEN YEARS to get to where I am today and it felt like all of the hard work that has almost killed me at times was just ripped away from me. Stolen. Two of the girls expressing their concerns had no right to do so because they barely know me. They wanted to call my mom to tell her I needed help…they don’t even know my mom. When I heard this, I told my best friend that if they had done this, my mother would have just laughed and said something along the lines of, “Okay girls, thanks for the call.” I called my mom to tell her this and guess what? She laughed. I think what pissed me off the most about this situation was the fact that these girls are not even my friends and felt the need to go tell someone else about it. If they knew about my past, I would understand. But they know nothing. What hurt the most was I was in the best place I had been to date, and it wasn’t good enough for them, which means it might not have been good enough for anyone.

I told myself not to overthink this situation, but with my amazing mind (sense any sarcasm?), I couldn’t let it go. I was damaged. I felt like I needed to be a better everything but I had nothing to use to do this because I had already used up everything I had to get to my perceived great mental state. What made everything worse was the fact that my best friend who I live with was concerned I wasn’t okay because these other girls were concerned, which burdened me with the task to check on her all the time. She loves me so much that when she worries about me, she worries too much and it effects her mental state negatively. This is turn effects mine negatively as well. I hated that she expressed all of her worries about me to her mom. My best friend in high school also did this, but her mom is the woman who has bullied me since the minute she met me in kindergarten. I believe that I first felt suicidal because of the way this mom treated me for all of elementary, middle and high school. (Fortunately, I did leave this mother’s daughter behind half way through high school. I spent eleven years waiting for her to stand up to her mom for me, and she never did.) My current best friend telling her mom everything about me reminds me of the one person I hate in this world, and all it leaves me with is a brick constantly spinning in my gut.

I think I was able to reassure people I was okay. Unfortunately, this only lightened my stress load for a bit because during this whole disaster, I couldn’t concentrate on school and kept asking for extensions on assignments. I am now facing these assignments over winter break. Who in the hell would want to continue school for an extra four weeks? Thank you to everyone who stressed me the fuck out and made me feel anxious and depressed because you thought I was anxious and depressed when I wasn’t. You suck.

Thanksgiving arrived, and I saw how sick my aunt had become. She was diagnosed with cancer five years ago and fought so, so well to get better. She was not supposed to make it but she pulled through like an absolute champion. The week before the holiday, she was fine. Then her disease hit her out of nowhere like a truck. On December 1st, my aunt lost her battle with cancer. I am still struggling to accept that five of my cousins have lost such a beautiful mom.

One day later, on the night of December 2nd, I broke my ankle in four places. Long story short: I was walking home with my best friend, wanted to ding dong ditch our friend’s house, ran down the front porch stairs, and fell off the last step into a small pothole in the grass. I think it was probably about time something seriously bad happened to my ankle. After hurting it so many times tap dancing for ten years, it was tired of all of the strain.                                                  [This is the morning after the break]

I went to the hospital the next morning, was put in a splint, and was sent on my way. Thankfully, I only had one more week of school. I finished the week out thanks to Sierra giving me rides to and from campus. On Thursday, I came home. On Friday, I went to the doctor’s and was told I needed to have surgery. Okay fine. Then I was told I was not allowed to go to Cabo in a week. Not fine. I cried and was a little bitchy but left accepting the fact there was no way I would be able to fly and spend a week on the beach six days post op.

That Friday afternoon, my family and I left town to go to my Aunt’s funeral and to spend the weekend with my family. It was emotional, sad, happy, overwhelming and fun all at the same time. I am just so glad I was able to be there with all of my cousins, aunts and uncles.

Monday the 11th was surgery day. I went in with my mom and brother at 10:30 am to be ready for operation at 11:30. 11:30 am became 6:30 pm. My surgeon was stuck in another surgery where he said things went from bad, to worse, to disastrous. Thankfully, his patient survived the operation. I am proud of how calm I was during my long wait, but my mom claims the nurses gave me something for my anxiety. I don’t remember being wheeled out of my room and into the operating room but my mom did take a video of me forcefully pushing the door all the way open for my doctor and then waving goodbye with my eyes half open. Surgery was a successful hour and a half long procedure. I was woken up thirty minutes early though because I wasn’t breathing very well. Story of my life. Because I was awake before planned, I was conscious while a doctor was putting a nerve block in my leg. I’m so glad I don’t remember this however. A nerve block is a catheter which drains medicine into my body in order to numb my nerves in the desired area. I think this bad ass mechanism only worked for a day. Post op days three, four and five were excruciating. Yesterday I found out that my splint was digging into one of my incision sites. For the past week it has hurt like a bitch and so the nurses took my splint off and put me in a boot ten days early. Bless their souls. I still can’t walk until the 29th, but as long as my pain isn’t unbearable, I’m cool with it.

Overall, I would highly advise against breaking your ankle and getting surgery because it debilitates you in so many ways and leaves you feeling depressed and bored out of your mind. I am actually tired of laying down, sleeping and watching TV and movies. I can’t drive (which might be good because I therefore cannot go out and make more stupid decisions), but I hate having to rely on other people to help me get places…not that there are many places I want to go to when I can’t walk. I weened myself off of the prescribed hydrocodone I have been taking the past three weeks and finally got over the withdrawal symptoms. This whole experience has really humbled me. I never really stopped to think about how hard life must be for those who can’t use certain parts of their body. I am just thankful I will get to walk again, unlike so many others who will never have the ability to walk again.

Below are some pictures of my ankle surgery and recovery process.

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And I'm not able to get up. I'm writing out of anger and maybe a little bit of sadness. As 2017 is coming to an end, I'm remembering how excited I was at the end of 2016 to have a great new year.