#eternally grateful for every writer and artist who looked at them and went 'that is one traumatized motherfucker'

[voidsiblings]

the amount of fanon surrounding THK amuses me so much because if someone heard me talk about the injustice and grief and thwarted love and deep unfairness of their life, they'd probably get the idea that the entire game is about them only to realize upon playing it that they appear for all of about 2.5 minutes

[crow-raven-crow]

𝟐𝟎 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

Tagged by @weemssapphic - thank you, dovey 🤍

𝟏. 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑?

16.. I cross-post everything, but i also just started like three months ago now SO

𝟐. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐎𝟑 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭?

79,333 (i've been seeing this damn angel number everywhere)

𝟑. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫?

Mostly Wednesday right now. I'm getting into Game of Thrones and there are Resident Evil 8 fics in the works ! I want to get into RE8 writing more because I miss our Lady Dimitrescu ;)

𝟒. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝟓 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐤𝐮𝐝𝐨𝐬?

The Protector (series)

I Know You Will.. (lyric fic)

Slow Down, I'm Not Going Anywhere

I'd Hate To Repeat Myself

Monser (series)

𝟓. 𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬? 𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭?

Yes! I try to respond to every comment I get on all platforms. I remember when I would comment on works before I started posting my own. It would feel so cool when I got to talk to the writer/artist about the work or anything to do with their process. It feels amazing being on the other side of that now. Like someone read something I did or saw something I drew and took the time out of their day to say something about it.. It's crazy to me and keeps me eternally grateful

𝟔. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠?

Monster Ch.3 - Retrograde (~4.1k words) - THIS CHAPTER HURT LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER DUDE. The flashbacks, the hopelessness, the deep emptiness that I felt while writing everything in Larissa's point of view literally made me cry. This whole series is just a miserable slap in the face with angst. The final chapter of this fic is a little over 10k words, and I wrote it all in one sitting LMAO. I went insane, but there is angst all over it.

𝟕. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠?

Most of my fics are happy endings because even though i LOVE angst and I'm so drawn to dark fics and things like that, they're so painful to read and write. The pain in angst fics is not for the lighthearted, especially hurt/no comfort. The happiest I think would be the last chapter of The Protector - To Be Found.. This whole series is a bit of a cliche, but it was my first series and post on here.. It's got a special place in my heart

𝟖. 𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬?

Thankfully, no! It was definately something I was nervous about. I think that my writing isn't the best every now and then;;;; But I know that I'm only growing and challenging myself to improve with each step. It pushes me back up and makes me so grateful to everyone who does like what I put out, especially when they're not as popular categories or a bit of a different idea than what has been seen.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do, yes. Always wlw. They're mostly due to the requests I get in my inbox, but that doesn't mean I enjoy them any less. I dip into most things now and probably more as I get more comfortable writing them. I have no issues with it, I just want to translate it well if you know what i mean ;)

𝟏𝟎. 𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬? 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧?

I'm not a big fan of writing them.. I don't think I'd really know what to do if I were to write one. They can be a really hard thing to write, but it makes me look up to the ones who can write them super well. If that's your thing and you love to read them, I'd check out @daydream-cement if you haven't already. They did a really good crossover with Gwen's characters called The Road Trip

𝟏𝟏. 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧?

Not that I am aware of, no.. If this ever happens, please bring it to my attention. I spend hours creating and it's always like a punch in the gut when something so personal and meaningful to me gets stolen

𝟏𝟐. 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝?

Nope

𝟏𝟑. 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨-𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞?

Not yet. I haven't been asked about it before, but my current schedule is too packed for me to even contemplate the idea. One day!

𝟏𝟒. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥-𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩?

I'm very much on the x reader train. I basically only write and read that as well. Don't know if I'd write anything else, but there are a few Lady D x Larissa Weems ones that I've seen a bit ago that caught my eye

𝟏𝟓. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐚 𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥?

Lover Academia.. Literally my next series LMAOOO. Guys.. It's been sitting in my notes since I wrote The Protector....... I changed a big part of it in early September and basically merged two ideas, but I haven't had the motivation to go in and rewrite them to fit together. It's like pages of notes.. AND I DON'T KNOW HOW IT'LL END SO THERES THAT TOO AHAH

𝟏𝟔. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡𝐬?

Setting of time and place. I've always loved describing things. I could write pages to just describe a room alone. I always loved reading stuff like that because it really helped me visualize what was happening, so I guess it translated into my own writing.

𝟏𝟕. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬?

I'm much slower than I would like to be. A big part of that is now balancing school, work, and a social life. I'm thankful enough to consider doing this and interacting with my mutuals as a bigger part of my life. It's crazy to think that I followed these people months ago, and now I talk to and write alongside them. I do so much with school and work that there are days where I could write but I allow my body to recharge for a bit and then pick it up later in the day.

But this also taught me a good lesson because I am not a consumable artist. I don't want to push out mediocure works, I don't want to operate like a machine, I don't want to put works out only for them to be swiped over everyones heads. I want my work to be savored, to be reread, to be saved in folders because "ohmygod that was amazing." As artists in this social world, we are pushed to create as much as we can, but I don't want to be lost within that.

𝟏𝟖. 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐜?

I've never done this before? I think I would when it comes to anything related to Lady Dimitrescu or Donna Beneviento, but I would make sure to get it checked before releasing it. It's a risky game to play sometimes.

𝟏𝟗. 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫?

Wednesday (Larissa x Reader)

𝟐𝟎. 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧?

Monster (series) - It's the way I loved breaking my own heart. It's the way I loved making you all suffer along with me. It's the way the ending was so long but provided closure after the shit show that Larissa and Reader had gone through. I'd love to write one-shots for this universe. I loved it so much and feel like I can write their happier moments that way.

I Know You Will.. - THE LYRIC FICS YOU GUYS REQUEST LITERALLY HAVE ME IN A CHOKEHOLD. This one hurt so good. This is a part of Larissa that I will always want to love and protect. She needs to be reminded of how amazing she is - we all understand this part. But being allowed to feel those emotions and have someone stick with you through them is also oh so special.

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

IGNORE THE FACT THAT I FUCKED UP THIS POST SORRY

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

Tags (no pressure <33) - @sapphos-ode @i-write-sometimes-maybe

consider yourself tagged if you see this

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

x,

~ 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

[tundrainafrica]

Note: Instead of posting a meta or a fic today, allow me to take a quick break from that because I think I really need to appreciate some people here and the fandom overall.  

February 7, 2021. 

Today, I turned 24 and my boyfriend surprised me with a gift I think I’ll be taking to heart for a very long time. 

The story behind the gift was as precious (or even more precious) as the gift itself and I thought I’d share it since it turned out some content creators were involved in this gift and I very much want to express how much this gift has defined this day for me and will place my 24th birthday as one of those birthdays I don’t think I’ll ever forget. 

Apparently, I had casually dropped both my tumblr and my ao3 account during one of our conversations and somewhere around November he had started looking through my bookmarks, my posts on tumblr and some of my interactions with people in the fandom.

I should have seen it coming. It had started with my boyfriend suddenly asking about my hyperfixation with Levihan.

Sav? Shipping? Sav? Binge reading ships and meta posts? Sav? Gushing about a fictional ship?

And I remember gushing about this with my seemingly uninterested boyfriend a long night after explaining what was oddly the most out of character thing for someone like me. 

I was sharing with him my metas and hcs and maybe, I was dropping a few of my favorite quotes along the way and it turned out he was interested. Suddenly he was asking me about my favorite fics, my favorite scenes. Suddenly, he was rereading my favorite fics with me and a few times, he was quoting those same scenes. I did find out he was looking through my blog when I got a random message from a really sketchy tumblr telling me to open my facebook. 

I suspected a few times that he could be planning something. December passed with nothing and eventually he stopped asking so I clocked that as a fevered dream or unnecessary assuming on my end and didn’t think too much of it after. 

It turned out my boyfriend had messaged my favorite authors about their fics and he commissioned one of my favorite artists (if not my favorite) to draw a few photos and bound them into a Levihan Anthology 

And it feels fucking amazing to receive something like this. To get Levihan which helped me through the worst of 2020, bound forever as a book I can just open up and read anytime. And I guess tearing up at receiving such a gift had me thinking of a lot of things at once (which were always at the back of mind) but I thought of sharing now. 

The past year wasn’t easy. Actually. don’t think it’s an understatement to say this past year was dog shit. With the covid pandemic and all plans after that cancelled, I’m sure we can all agree we had our ups and downs. 

I had a lot of my own plans completely thrown out the window for numerous reasons. I had plans of going to law school part time while building a career. And, I got a job right after college to make these plans come true. In September the law school I got accepted to (after working so damn hard the past year to get accepted) denied my appeal for night classes. I decided to drop my enrollment to focus on my career. A week later, my job laid me off. 

And for once in my life, I wasn’t going anywhere. And I lived in a house where everyone was always doing something and as soon as I lost my job I was pressured to find another one. But as we all know, searching for a job during this pandemic isn’t easy. I was still reeling after having dropped my enrollment just to focus on my job only to lose that job the week after with no prior notice. Everyone around me was busy doing their own thing. I had no one to talk to and for a while, I was falling into this pit of depression. 

My days consisted of me hiding under the covers of my bed in between the few interviews I would take day to day. Around that time, I decided to binge watch Attack on Titan as well 

I was never one to get hyper fixated in ships. In fact, this was the first ship since Royai and Victuuri which I have been so passionate. And this is a whole new level of passion. I think this is the first time I’ve ever written so much in this small amount of time. It was slow going. Just like Levi and Hange’s relationship, my fixation with this ship was a slowburn. 

Those days alone, I was reading fanfiction by the bundle, I was scrolling through the Levihan tag like a simp, leaving kudos in ao3 on a throwaway account and just scrolling through random people’s tumblr accounts. 

What happened during the one month? And when I was alone, sad, lonely and stagnant with no one to talk to, when everyone around me was living their own lives, all I had alone in the bedroom was Levi and Hange’s stories to keep me company between interviews. 

And the meta analyses and headcanons I had about their relationship were teaching me things. They were teaching me that life was never about how quickly you progress or how far you go. Maybe the real winners in life are the ones who can build good relationships, build relationships so mutually satisfying they keep each other growing and in those few moments reading, headcanoning ships, I did realize, maybe even as stagnant as I was at that moment, my life wasn’t dogshit. 

No one’s life is dogshit for a few small bumps along the way. Sometimes it just is part of the process of growing, learning to get past the worse, learning to manage relationships. And maybe it’s these relationships which make life worth living. Maybe it’s these struggles depicted in these stories and the bounce back. Maybe it’s the love, the life, the emotions so carefully described and depicted in every single story which makes life, life. 

With every single fic I read and every single fan art I scrolled through. Levihan was teaching my things about love, loss and life. 

Sometimes, these fandoms are the things which can catch people before they fall too low into something. These works and stories authors and artists shared so generously were what pulled me out of this state and are what inspired me to explore this relationship for all the potential its worth and maybe share my own stories and headcanons which people may learn a thing or two from or maybe just find some comfort and hope in.  

And these inspirations eventually evolved to writing. Writing 10,000 words in a day in between three interviews? I never was a writer but somehow, I found myself spending hours exploring the themes of love, loss and life with our favorite pairing 

I didn’t start writing out of nowhere. I didn’t start making metas out of nowhere. I needed the right inspiration, the right content to get me into this point where I could continue writing, reading, meta-ing, appreciating, headcanoning and everything in between.

And I just wanted to express my gratefulness to every single person in the fandom who had made it possible for me to pull out of that blackhole. Fandoms are underrated and I believe there are so many lessons which can be learned from the right content and from the right people. 

To the people who so willingly went along with my boyfriend’s little project: 

@faerielleart​ I saved A LOT of your art and they’re sitting in my google photos under a folder called Levihan and maybe I did share a few of your photos (the cheeks one and the beast titan one and the les miserables) ones to my boyfriend unsolicited just to show him how beautiful Levihan can be. Thank you so much for these beautiful drawings.

@lizaloveslevihan​ You were one of the first people I talked with in this fandom and dreams really was one of those stories that fucked me up a little bit, had me make a few misses on the commute on the way home one day but maybe it did have me explore the angst genre a little more, maybe it did have me explore Levi’s character a little more. 

@ariadneamare​ YELLOW. OH GOD. You know those letters? The ones which Hange left Levi at the end of the story? I ended up copying and pasting them and sending them to my boyfriend right after reading and I remember talking to him about this. We might be facing that same type of story in the future and I guess that ended up becoming a lot of foundation of our discussion and I guess, it’s just proof that there is so much to learn from fanfiction. There’s just so much to explore and fanfiction as a genre just does not get the credit it deserves.

@fanmoose12​​ I was exploring your works even before I started this tumblr up again. Maybe it was even your works which got me building my own headcanons from Levihan and writing from there. And I think I did leave a few anonymous messages telling you how I started exploring other genres because of your fics. Your works got my out of my dark place, it got me exploring a lot of other genres and for that I’m eternally grateful.

And somehow, my boyfriend picked that all up from late night discussions and one-on-one metas. Surprisingly, he wasn’t just playing along to humor his girlfriend. He was exploring the themes of love, life, loss and Levihan right along with me. (And got spoiled about Hange’s death along the way… Oops.) 

And I am eternally grateful for that and I made sure to shower him with a lot of kisses after he kept me in the loop with what has been going on these past few months with his sudden interest in Levihan.

And this huge thank you goes out to all content creators (authors, artists, gif creators, shitposters alike). Sometimes you never know who’s thinking about your work, who’s shoehorning your works and quoting them to their best friends. Sometimes, you never will find out but your work had pulled someone out of a blackhole which they’ve been stuck in and sometimes you never know that your work has been that seemingly small thing that had taught them a lesson in love, life or relationships. Sometimes, that one work turned out to be an inspiration which got them writing and sharing their own stories or making their own drawings

And I guess, the point is, keep writing. Keep drawing. Keep sharing pouring your love, passion and emotions into works of art because you never really know whose heart you touched or whose life you changed.

I have a job now. I decided to push law school a few years back and maybe take the time to work on myself now and maybe spend the next months or maybe years writing metas and fanfictions. I was pulled out of my hole. I was inspired. I have my own stories to tell and I don’t think I would have been here if I hadn’t spent the last few months reading fic after fic, meta after meta, appreciating art after art, 

So anyway, I just wanted to share some pics of my favortie fics, immortalized in one anthology, all organized by my boyfriend. And I think he made some great decisions with these.

(Bookbinding credits to @mayerwien)

[healing-hanyou]

URGENT: PLEASE HELP

Hi everyone,

As guilty as I feel to make such a post, I feel like this needs to be done, if only so I have some kind of chance of a future. Currently, there are two burning issues.

For the past couple of years, I have been renting a room from a particular landlord, so I have a place where to stay during my studies. This is my final year of studies, and, well, this month my landlord has informed us that we all need to start looking for a new place where to stay, as the building that we currently live in will be shut down soon. Whether it is being closed for good, or for some major renovations, I do not know, and it really does not matter - point is, in February, I will be on the street if I do not manage to find a new place where to stay by then.

The problem is that any option I have looked at right now is at least 200$ more per month than my current budget allows - all of the cheapest options have been taken by other students at the start of the semester, and, even though I have a little bit saved up, it is nowhere near enough to cover my stay for the remaining study year - most of my money this year went to my own medical expenses, like cancer threat checkups, and various family emergencies, like helping out the funeral fund of my uncle and cousin. I have maxed out all of the possible working hours I am allowed to legally work while being a full-time student, and, while it covers my current bills and day-to-day existence, I am afraid I will not be able to save up enough to last my stay. This is my last year of university - I need to attend classes regularly to be allowed to graduate, so I need to stay here until at least July. If things get bad after that, I can always move back in with my family at the end of summer, but they live in my home city, about 4 hours drive away, so commuting daily from there to work and uni is not even remotely possible. I do not have any family who live where I study, and I cannot really couch-surf with my friends, as the room I am in came unfurnished, so I need to take furniture with me when I move. I need a decent longish-term solution for this issue, at least until July. 

The second burning issue is my mental health. I am in a very fragile place right now, the previous issue being a major contributor, naturally. I have had untreated PTSD for years, as well as deep depression and anxiety, to the point where it severely affects my social functioning, and my work and studying abilities. I have also been suicidal for a long time. I have found a therapist that I like, however, again, any kind of mental health thing in my country is expensive, as the medical system is biased in an unfair way. Therapy goes for 60-70$ per hour, and that does not include medication, which I am quite sure I will need.

Obviously, the living place search comes first, however, if the situation permits, I would love to attend the therapy I desperately need. Waiting to deal with it is possible, however, it is a dangerous game to play. Every day, I feel like I am walking on the edge of the abyss, and that any slightest thing can blow me into the abyss forever. If it can be done, I would want to address this as soon as possible. My friends and family have been nothing but supportive, but I fully realize this undoubtedly needs professional help - these issues will not go away on their own.

I understand that there are people in worse situations, and I wish I did not have to rely on other people’s generosity in a moment like this. If I could, I would gladly take more job hours, even if it meant barely sleeping. But, currently, what I can do is fairly limited, and my father can only help a tiny bit, as his salary goes to paying his own bills, raising my little brother, and taking care of both of my elderly grandmas. I understand that there are a lot of people asking for help lately, and if you choose to help someone else who might need it more, I understand - in any other situation, I would be the one doing the same. I cannot, and will not hold it against anyone who decides to contribute to something else. But, if, by any chance, you have money that you are able to, and are willing to, donate, I would highly appreciate it, and I would be eternally grateful. My education is important - I am so close to graduating, and I do not want to drop out at the last stretch of the road, and undo the last couple of years of my life I have spent getting there.

My only option to receive donations is through my PayPal: paypal.me/Nepturine, since I do not reside in the US. Currently, I have nothing to offer for them in return - I am no great artist, and not a brilliant writer. But, if you happen to be a writer, I would happily get back to you once my situation has stabilized, and I actually have the chance to put in proper effort - I have an education in English linguistics, and, for your contribution, I would gladly offer my services to proofread, beta, and edit any fanfics or creative texts that you might want a professional eye to look over.

All I ask is the chance to have a place to live, and maybe some mental stability. If you can and do contribute, I thank you sincerely in advance, and, if you are going through struggles like I am, I am also grateful if you reblog this post, and help it circulate. (This post is queued to be reblogged daily. I will make additions to it if any significant developments happen.)

[searchingwardrobes]

Until the Day Breaks and the Shadows Flee: 8/8

A huge thank you to everyone who has gone along with me on this crazy mythological au! I have enjoyed every kudo, comment, and reblog more than I can say, and it kept me going when the muse was as fickle as Venus! Speaking of which, since Cupid and Psyche is a Roman myth, I have been using the Roman names for the gods and goddesses. However, when it was time to head to the Underworld, I just like the Greek names (Hades and Persephone) so much better than the Roman ones (Pluto and Porserpine). Since this is an AU and it’s mine, I just went with the Greek names for those two. Sorry if that bugs anyone!

I also am so grateful to everyone in the @cssns - all the writers and artists for their support and encouragement, and @kmomof4 for heading it all up. I can’t thank my beta @snowbellewells enough, especially tonight when I was finishing this up in the eleventh hour! Also huge thanks to @hollyethecurious for making the banner above which just perfectly captures the mood and setting.

Summary: Every night she traces the contours of his body as Killian whispers words of love against her skin. But can Princess Emma ever be fully happy with a husband who only comes to her in utter darkness? A Captain Swan AU of the myth of Cupid and Psyche.

Rating: M for sexual situations

Words: ~5,000 in this chapter

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Also on Ao3

Tagging: @jennjenn615 @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines@kday426 @nadine200179 @teamhook @bethacaciakay@profdanglaisstuff @distant-rose @shireness-says@mythologicalmango @wellhellotragic @branlovestowrite@xhookswenchx @optomisticgirl @winterbaby89@ultraluckycatnd @vvbooklady1256 @resident-of-storybrooke@spartanguard @thislassishooked @whimsicallyenchantedrose@tiganasummertree  @snidgetsafan @ohmakemeahercules@delirious-latenight-laughs @nikkiemms @gingerchangeling@revanmeetra87 @cocohook38 @effulgentcolors

Chapter Eight: A Seal Upon My Heart

If Emma had to pick just one word to describe the Underworld it would be colorless. The only hues that clung to the scant vegetation were in shades of grey. The very air itself hung thick with a smoky miasma, and it tinged the realm of the dead like a painting coated in eons of dust.

The castle of Hades and Persephone rose before Emma. Cerberus lay at her feet, each of his three jowls distracted by the thick biscuits Emma had given him. Her heart beat wildly as she hurried down the rocky path towards the castle which resembled a tower of jagged, broken glass in varying shades of black. She clutched the strap of her satchel, her feet hurrying lest Cerberus make quick work of the dog treats and come begging for more.

The closer she got, she more she worried. How did one go about making a request like this of a goddess? If Persephone had long held the flower of beauty close, why in the world would she give it to a mere mortal? And even before her request could be made, how did she begin to seek an audience with the Queen of the Underworld? She couldn’t just knock on the front door. Could she?

The decision was taken from Emma’s hands, however, the minute her foot touched the castle’s bottom step. Guards dressed completely in black, nothing but a cold void behind the visors of their helmets, seized her before she even had a chance to cry out. Their hands were so cold, they burned as she was forced up the steps and into the castle.

She was hauled down the black marble corridors. Emma kicked and struggled, but her efforts were futile. Please, she begged to whatever deity would still listen to her, don’t let them throw me in the dungeon!

The guards kicked open a heavy door of steel and dragged Emma into a cavernous room with a domed roof. At the end of it, two beings sat side by side on matching thrones. Relief flooded Emma, and she inwardly whispered a prayer of thanks. It wasn’t the entrance she had hoped for, but all that really mattered was that she had an audience with the king and queen. The guards thrust her roughly forward, and Emma fell to her knees on the hard, cold floor.

“How did you manage to get past Cerberus, mortal?” Hades asked.

Emma trembled as she lifted her gaze to the larger of the two thrones, but not because Hades was speaking in a thunderous voice. On the contrary, he sounded calculating and slightly . . . bored? His crisp suit, closely shorn hair, and neatly trimmed, pitch black goatee reminded Emma of that shady ambassador from the Southern Isles. Slimy her mother had called him. Of course, it woud be suicide to call the god of the Underworld that. Emma swallowed nervously.

“I . . . gave him a treat?” Emma winced when it came out like a question. Her plan had been to exude confidence, not grovel.

To her surprise, Hades threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Did you hear that, darling? Gave him a treat!”

He wiped at tears of laughter as his wife cast a smile in his direction. “Yes, dear. No mortal has cooked up a batch of those since . . . Ulysses?”

“No. no,” Hades corrected, waving a hand in the air, “I thought it was a female then, too. Medea? No . . . she was a witch, though. I think.”

As Hades debated over who last charmed his pooch, Emma took the opportunity to look more closely at Persephone. For someone who lived half the year in the Underworld, her complexion was almost radiant. Her hair was a deep brown, with streaks of auburn, and her eyes were bright amber. She gazed with humor and ease at her husband, her hand idly rubbing his forearm. Together, each detail made hope surge through Emma’s veins. She took a deep breath, then spoke as reverentially as she could while still infusing her voice with confidence.

“I was given the biscuits as a gift from the fairies to aid me in a very important quest.”

“A quest?” Hades asked, a sudden edge to his voice.

“Now, dear,” his wife admonished softly, “none of that.”

“Always with the quests! Do these mortals think I have nothing better to do down here?” he turned to Emma in exasperation. “Do you know what I go through? Do you?”

Emma didn’t know how to respond, so she simply shook her head.

“Processing each soul as it enters, weighing them on the scales. Coming up with fitting penance when necessary. Then processing those who move on to paradise. There’s far more to running this operation than anyone knows. And if that weren’t enough, mortals on quests, seeking guidance from the dead, or begging to let the dead free -”

“I’m not here for anyone who’s dead,” Emma bravely interrupted.

Hades blinked in surprise. “You’re not?”

Emma shook her head. “I’m trying to . . . free someone from Venus, but she’ll only let him go if I can get the flower of eternal beauty.”

“That shallow, insignificant excuse for a goddess,” Persephone snapped, her earlier peaceful facade falling away to reveal a truly powerful deity. “She’s been trying to get that flower from me for eons. Well, I’m sorry you’ve gone to all this trouble, but the answer is no.”

“Please!” Emma exclaimed, feeling no shame in groveling now. “I beg of you. I know it’s

a lot to ask, but -”

“You know nothing, mortal! Venus will waste the juice of that flower on herself though she

has absolutely no need of it. Simply so no one else will ever get their hands on it.”

“Maybe she wishes to have it so she can help those who lift up prayers to her.” Even as the words left Emma’s lips, she knew how ridiculous the suggestion was. She expected Persephone to laugh condescendingly. Venus certainly would have. Instead, the goddess scrutinized her until she was tempted to squirm.

“You’ve met Venus,” she finally said, “and I have a feeling you know full well how ridiculous you sound right now.”

Emma deflated, sinking into a heap upon the floor, her knees aching from kneeling on the cold marble. She lifted her gaze to Persephone. There was only one other option, and that was to be fully vulnerable with the goddess. If she turned out to be callous and cold, she and Killian were both doomed. She prayed that Persephone would prove compassionate instead.

“Once again, I beseech you, goddess of spring, Queen of the Underworld. I don’t ask this for myself. It is for the man I love, my husband. Venus has him under a sleeping curse.”

Hades tsked and shook his head. “She’s taken yet another lover? This is why I prefer these austere halls to Mt. Olympus. So much drama, I tell you.”

Persephone grinned at her husband and lifted his hand to her lips. Emma felt hope surge in her heart.

“He isn’t her lover,” Emma explained, “and he isn’t even mortal. Killian is my husband - Cupid, I mean. The son of Venus.”

“Killian!” Persephone exclaimed with a gasp. “That precious boy loved the springtime, you know. It’s why so many lovers choose that time of year for their wedding vows.” The goddess shook her head. “I say Venus may be the goddess of beauty, but not of love, not truly. No, it his her son who fights for love and heeds the prayers of the star-crossed.”

“Now, my love, I know you have a soft spot for the lad, but this is Venus we’re talking about.” Hades frowned in concern. “Your feud with her goes back eons.”

Emma rose to her feet, her hands clasped at her breast, hardly daring to believe that the goddess would be willing to help her. “I love him so much, but Venus is determined to keep him under an enchanted slumber until I’ve taken my last breath.”

“Unless you retrieve my flower?” Persephone asked.

Emma nodded. “Yet every moment I delay, Killian is one step closer to forgetting me.”

Persephone scowled and rose quickly from her throne, she motioned for Emma to follow her as she swept down the small steps of the dais. She went through an archway to the right of the thrones, and Emma hurried after her.

“Venus is so fickle,” Persephone muttered as she hurried along, “and her memory is laughably short. Yet that may be to your advantage.”

She smiled conspiratorially back at Emma before pushing open a heavy oak door at the corridor’s end. Beyond the doors was the first bit of color Emma had seen since entering the Underworld. It wasn’t much of a garden - only two things grew in the mostly stone courtyard - yet in the vast sea of black and grey, it was a veritable oasis. At the east end of the courtyard, a large tree grew, heavy with pomegranates. Yet it was the pathway to the west which Persephone hurried down.

“Venus has forgotten that I took care of her boy as much as I could, during the spring and summer months, of course. Juno was his other main babysitter, which explains his soft heart for women trapped in arranged or loveless marriages.”

Emma thought of the story Killian had told her of his first love, Milah, and she realized that it was Juno who had sent him to assist her. Ahead of her, Persephone came to a stop in front of a large rose bush. Only these roses sparkled with golden radiance, and even Emma could sense the magic radiating from them. Her mouth dropped open as she looked at the goddess of spring.

“I thought there was only one flower.”

Persephone’s lips widened into a smile. “Oh no, there have always been many on this rose bush, which I have tended with great care for many centuries. I couldn’t let Venus know that, however.”

Emma shook her head in wonder. “Then why not share?”

Persephone’s amber eyes narrowed, and Emma could practically feel the ground at her feet crackle with angry energy. “With that selfish goddess? She would do nothing but wreck havoc with these flowers, causing all sorts of mischief. Remember that golden apple “to the fairest”? Remember that impotent, silly Paris? Venus got us plunged right into the Trojan War. Can you imagine what she would do with a whole bush of flowers that can give eternal beauty?”

The blood drained from Emma’s face at Persephone’s impassioned speech, and her heart sank. “But Killian . . . “ her voice drifted off, for what argument did she have for a goddess?

“Although,” Persephone pondered, tapping her finger upon her lips, “Venus isn’t the smartest goddess. You could take her a flower, and let her believe it’s the only one.”

“Oh,” Emma exclaimed, “I’ll do anything you ask, if you’ll only help me!”

Persephone’s gaze turned serious, “Be careful what deities you make such promises too, my dear.”

Emma swallowed nervously, but then Persephone smiled softly once more.

“All I ask, however, is that you answer a question. Answer correctly, and I’ll give you the flower.”

Emma blinked, her hands grasping nervously at the satin of her nightgown. “I’m . . . I mean, I’ve never thought of myself as . . . . “ she sighed. “What if I get it wrong?”

Persephone reached for Emma’s hand and squeezed it. “I don’t think you will. The question is this: Why did I plant this rose bush here, in the Underworld? Why did I not plant it in the world of the living?”

Emma’s first thought was that she planted it here to protect it. After all, Killian had tried to flee here with Emma so they would be hidden from his mother’s eyes. But then she gazed upon the golden flowers, mesmerized by their incandescence. The longer she looked upon them, the more a feeling of peace washed over her. Their beauty wasn’t just striking; it was soothing. Suddenly, the answer struck her with startling clarity. She turned to Persephone with a small smile upon her face.

“You planted these flowers here for your husband. To comfort him, to remind him of you, in the long months you are forced to part.”

Persephone gave Emma a tiny nod of her head, a flash of pride in her eyes. “I had a feeling you would guess correctly.” With that, she snipped one of the flowers from the bright green plant, then surprised Emma when she picked a second one. The goddess placed both in a large leather pouch. “To keep them from being crushed,” she explained.

“But Venus thinks there’s only one flower.”

“The second is for you. I have a feeling you’ll need it. Keep it close until absolutely necessary.”

Emma bit nervously at her bottom lip as she accepted the pouch. She placed it carefully into her satchel, then regarded Persephone thoughtfully.

“How will I know when -”

“When it’s absolutely necessary?”

Emma simply nodded.

“You’ll just know.”

***********************************************************

Travel via deity was getting old. At least this time, when Perephone teleported her to the home of Venus, Emma actually landed on her feet. She was still dizzy with a pounding headache, but at least she wasn’t slamming into the ground or completely unconscious. Persephone evidently had a gentler touch.

This time, however, Emma wasn’t in Venus’s private chamber, but in a courtyard with abundant greenery and a fountain surrounded by a glittering pool. Though soothing, gentle splash of the water couldn’t mask the shouting coming from a nearby open doorway. Emma recognized one voice as Venus; the other was male. Emma tiptoed closer to the angry sounds.

“You’re willing to let our son sleep for possibly another eighty years just because of some mortal girl?”

“Eighty years might as well be a week when you’re immortal, and since when did you care about Killian anyway?”

Emma was close enough now to peer around the edge of the doorway. Killian had been moved from the dais to the round, luxurious bed that Emma had awoken in the last time she was here. Venus stood on the other side of the room, arguing with a broad, muscular man dressed like a gladiator in leather armor with a red cape flowing over his back. A feathered helmet and broadsword lay at his feet. Emma assumed this was Mars, Killian’s father, and she could certainly see the resemblance in the god’s thick dark hair and startling blue eyes. He had a full, curling beard, and his jaw was tight as he glared at Venus.

“I’ve cared about him far more than you have!” he thundered. “Otherwise he wouldn’t be in an enchanted sleep right now, would he?”

“No harm will come to him,” Venus shot back, “he’s surrounded by a protection spell.”

Mars arched a brow as thick and dark as his son’s, “Or is it to keep the mortal girl from awakening him?”

As intimidating as the god of war seemed, Emma figured this was just as good a time as any to make her presence known. At least one of the deities in the room was on her side. She took a deep breath to gather her courage, then rapped her knuckles on the door frame. Venus and Mars both spun towards the sound, and Emma stood as confidently as she could manage just beyond the threshold. When neither of them spoke, she broke the silence.

“I have completed my quest, and I have brought you what you seek.”

Venus’s eyes widened with delight while Mars rolled his towards the ceiling. Emma glanced nervously at her husband, who slept peacefully through it all. She stepped fully into the room while reaching into her satchel. Just as Persephone had advised, she removed only one flower, and handed it carefully to Venus. The golden rose still glowed and sparkled with ethereal beauty. The goddess took it reverently in her cupped hands, gasping in awe.

“Long have I desired this,” she whispered.

“As if you don’t have beauty enough of your own,” grumbled Mars.

“Keep your opinions to yourself,” Venus snapped at her former lover.

“I brought you what you requested,” Emma reminded her gently, “and I believe completing a quest to the Underworld is sufficient proof of my love for Killian. You must awaken him!”

“I must do nothing!” Venus snapped. “I am a goddess!”

Before Emma could even think of a reply to her callous declaration, Venus had crushed the beautiful flower between her palms. Emma gasped in shock as the broken petals grew dull against the porcelain skin of the goddess of beauty. Only the flower’s inner nectar still glowed in Venus’s palm. The goddess brought her cupped hands to her lips and sipped up the sparkling juice with relish. She then took a deep breath, an almost manic smile filling her face as she tipped her gaze to the ceiling. The veins in her neck glowed, then the shimmering golden hue filled her cheeks and blazed from her eyes. Her hair for a moment seemed to alight like the rays of the sun. Then Venus gave one more shuddering breath, and her countenance returned to normal. She couldn’t have possibly gotten any more beautiful than she already was, and now that the flower’s magic had faded, Emma saw no difference in the goddess before her.

Persephone had been right.

“Please, Venus,” Emma tried again with feigned humility, “free my husband from his slumber.”

“You keep calling him your husband,” Venus snapped, “but you are nothing more than a mortal. You can’t understand the ever-changing needs and desires of a god. We take lovers, not spouses.”

Emma was thankful for what she had seen between Hades and Persephone, for it guarded her against the lies of Venus.

“That may be true for you, but it’s not true of all the gods and goddesses. Killian has chosen me, and I choose him.”

“She brought you the damn flower,” Mars snapped, “wake the boy up.”

“Boy,” Venus sighed, “you never can see him as a man, can you?”

“And you can? All you ever do is treat him as your errand boy, never willing to cut those apron strings.”

“At least I’m involved in his life, which is more than I can say for you!”

Emma inched closer to the bed where Killian lay, frustrated at the time that was being wasted while the two divine beings fought. Had she slipped from Killian’s memory already? She knelt by the bed, reaching forward, but it was no use. Venus’s protection spell was still intact.

“Involved?” Mars was still arguing with Venus. “I can list half a dozen goddesses, fairies, and mermaids who were more of a mother to him than you. Maybe I’ll just wake him myself!”

“You can’t, the spell doesn’t work that way.”

“But I can do this,” Mars spat, lifting an arm and snapping his fingers.

The sound of it was loud, reverberating through the room, and the magical shield surrounding Killian and the bed upon which he lay, shivered and then dissolved. Emma surged forward with a cry, flinging her entire body across Killian’s chest and peppering his jaw with kisses.

She pressed a kiss to his still lips, murmuring against them, “I love you, come back to me, Killian.”

When she pulled back, he was just as deeply asleep as before. Behind her, Venus giggled with deceptive sweetness.

“It isn’t the kind of sleeping curse that your mother was under. That was cast by a mere mortal witch. Your kisses will do nothing to wake him, you foolish girl.”

“Then wake him!” Emma screamed. “You promised!”

Venus shrugged in an almost bored way. “I’m known for my fickleness, and, well . . . I just don’t feel like waking him up.”

Rage surged through Emma’s veins, and she clenched both fists as she stared at Venus. Her knuckles brushed against the satchel she had forgotten that still hung from her shoulder and across her chest. Suddenly, she remembered the second flower and Persephone’s words: Keep it close until absolutely necessary.

Gently, she reached into the satchel and pulled out the second flower. Venus gasped, her eyes widening.

“Where did you get that?”

Emma ignored her and turned to Killian. She cradled his head in her lap. She crushed Persephone’s flower and squeezed the juice between her fingers and past his slightly parted lips. His eyes blinked, then opened. Yet, as they gazed upon her, they looked confused.

“Where am I? Who are you?”

“You don’t know me?” She choked out a sob, clutching desperately at the front of his shirt. “Look at me, Killian! It’s me, Emma, your wife!”

His eyes widened. “I don’t have a wife, and I allow few to call me Killian.”

Behind her, Venus spoke with cold malice. “You’re too late, little mortal girl.”

Emma ignored the goddess as tears slipped down her cheek. “But you do have a wife, and I call you Killian because you asked me to. I love you, and you love me.”

“It’s true, son,” Mars said gently, stepping around Venus and coming closer to the bed.

Killian looked with shocked confusion at his father, and Emma wondered how rarely he saw Mars. Then his bewildered gaze fell back on her.

“Then why do I not remember you?”

“It was your mother.” Emma trembled, terrified that she was too late. Then a spark of hope lit within her. Her parents! Maybe her kiss couldn’t waken him, but that didn’t mean it was powerless. “I - I can make you remember me.”

She pressed her lips against his, and felt his shocked surprise in the rigidness of his mouth. Yet as her tongue brushed gently against the seam of his lips, he responded, opening for her and angling his head to deepen the kiss. She cupped his face, and he grasped the back of her head. Her lips curled into a smile as she broke the kiss, pressing her forehead to his. His eyes were closed, his breath ragged.

“Remember now?”

“Your kisses are intoxicating,” he rasped, but when he opened his eyes, there was still no recognition there. “I wish I could claim a woman as beautiful and passionate as you as my wife, but how can I when I still don’t know you?”

Emma sobbed, dropping her head to his chest and wrapping her arms tightly around him. The rigidness of his shoulders and the awkwardness as he patted her back only made her heart break more. She was too late.

Suddenly, the floor felt as if it were shifting, and Killian grasped her more tightly as they seemed to hurtle through the air. Head spinning, Emma pulled back from her husband to look around, completely disoriented. She blinked to clear her vision and was shocked at what she saw.

They were in another marbled room with tall Grecian columns, yet this one was ten times larger than the private chambers of Venus. Towering over their heads was not a domed roof, but billowing clouds. Surrounding them in this great hall were twelve giant, elaborate thrones. Sitting on each was a beautiful, regal figure. Emma scanned them in awe, startling when she saw Venus sitting on one to her left. She inched closer to Killian, and though he did not know her, he pulled her close to his side. They were in the throne room of the twelve Olympians.

“Princess Emma,” thundered a voice in the center of the room, “come near.”

On trembling legs, Emma obeyed. She assumed this was Jupiter, king of the Olympians, and she lowered herself to one knee. He didn’t look like she had imagined: glowing, with a long beard and a thunderbolt in his hand. Instead, he was clean shaven, muscular, with a smooth, young face, yet his expression was stern and she felt herself tremble.

“Emma, you have apparently angered Venus a great deal.”

“I did not mean to, your . . . majesty?”

Jupiter surprised her by chuckling. “Many beautiful maidens have aroused her jealousy, my dear. Yet none have managed to steal the heart of her son.”

“And steal it she has,” Mars spoke up, and Emma turned her head to see him seated on a throne to her left. “I saw the lengths my son went to in order to save her, and I have likewise seen what Emma has been willing to do to save Killian.”

“I never saw you as a romantic,” Venus snapped from her throne across the room.

“Maybe not,” Mars shot back, “but I do admire those willing to fight for what they want.”

Jupiter lifted a hand to stop the lovers’ spat, and turned his gaze back to Emma. “I understand you completed a quest to the Underworld to prove your love.”

“Yes,” Emma said, her emotional control slipping as a tear tracked down her cheek, “but I was too late. Killian no longer remembers me.”

“If I may, my lord,” Killian’s voice was suddenly there at her side, and she was surprised when he took her hand gently in his. “If this lass truly is my bride, then there’s nothing I could wish for more than to remember her.”

Emma blinked at him in surprise, and he in turn gave her a shy smile before scratching behind his ear. She had never seen him so unsure and confused. Or, more accurately, she had never heard him seem out of his element before. He certainly was now, and her heart grew with love even more.

Jupiter rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. “What say you, Juno?”

“No one is more loyal than our Cupid - Killian,” she said, looking at the young god fondly, “and he deserves happiness after so much loss and turmoil.”

“And what of this Princess, Minerva?” Jupiter asked, turning to the goddess on his other side. “What does your wisdom discern about her character?”

“Tenacious,” Minerva answered, “strong, smart, and willing to die for those she loves. If I’m not mistaken, she’s also a product of true love.”

Vesta spoke up from her place at the brazier that burned in the center of the room. “Oh yes, she is the daughter of the legendary Snow White and her prince.”

“I have a proposition,” Jupiter announced in a booming voice. “Never have I seen a mortal worthy of being wed to a god until now. These two should be wed in the truest sense.”

Venus surged forward on her throne, “But in order to do that, she would have to be -”

“A goddess?” Jupiter chuckled. “Yes, I am aware. I propose making Princess Emma a goddess, returning Killian’s memories, and allowing these two to live out their happy ending without interference. After all,” he turned a humorous gaze upon Venus, “that way she would cause you no more trouble with her beauty.”

Venus pouted and practically slouched on her throne, but she made no reply.

“All in favor?” Jupiter asked.

There was a chorus of “ayes” from every god and goddess, save for Venus. Jupiter clapped his hands, and a thundering wave of magic pulsed outward, washing over Emma and Killian. They both stumbled, their hands pulled from one another’s grasp. Emma shook her head, and turned towards her husband. A slow smile filled his face, and a sparkle lit his brilliant blue eyes.

“Emma!”

“You remember me?” she gasped, tears spilling from her eyes.

“Yes,” he laughed, “but love, look at you!”

Emma looked down to find herself clothed in a figure-hugging gown of purest white, embroidered with silver and gold thread. Gold bangles hung from both wrists, and her hair was piled upon her head in a riot of ringlets threaded through with baby’s breath and tiny pink rosebuds.

Yet it wasn’t her appearance she cared about as she crossed the room in two strides and flung herself into her husband’s arms. He caught her in a firm embrace, pressing her flush against him. Their lips met hungrily, and Emma poured into the kiss every desire she had felt while missing him. Killian couldn’t stop touching her, running one hand up her back and down her arms, his other making a mess of her perfectly styled goddess hair.

Their kiss was interrupted by the clapping and cheers of the twelve Olympians. They parted, a blush upon Emma’s cheeks, and turned to face Jupiter. Killian kept her tucked against his side, his arm holding her close.

“Killian, you are Cupid, the god of love, and here is your bride: Psyche, the goddess of the soul. For it is these two entwined - the heart and the soul - that creates the strongest magic of all: true love.”

***************************************************************

Years Later . . .

Emma and Killian sat in the garden of their estate on top of the misty hill, watching as their two children ran amidst the flowers that the fairies tended. The god of Belief and the goddess of Hope.

Often, Emma and Killian were called away on adventures. Some as simple as answering the desperate prayers of lovers, others as dangerous as battling the gods of Discord, Hate, and Apathy. One day, when they were old enough, their children would join them.

Yet their favorite days were these, with the warm sun beating down, happy and content. Their love now bathed in light; a light that had pushed away every shadow.

[bitchesofostwick]

2018 writer review

i was tagged by my dear friend @veridium-bye​ (thank you love!). i really didn’t start writing fic again until about october, so this is really a review of three months out of this year, but i’m still really proud of what i’ve done!

words written in 2018: 73,770

number of short fics/drabbles written in 2018: 39 (thirty-one of these were OC-tober ficlets, four were art trade/gift fics, and the remaining four were miscellaneous stories for my OCs)

number of fic chapters written in 2018: 11 (three for All of My Walls and eight for A World Alone)

number of chaptered fics completed in 2018: just one! All of My Walls, a three-chapter fic of aurelia hawke and fenris spanning the time between the “a bitter pill” quest through the end of the in-game DA2 events. it was really important to me for two reasons: one, aurelia and fenris are a rivalmance pair, but a lot of rivalmance fics i see are basically...just hate sex? and for fenris, and for aurelia, there are so many more layers and personal history that lends itself to their romance and creates these waves of tension and sadness and anger and heartbreak, but never hatred. i tackle the rivalmance in a bit of an easier (and generally humorous) light in their shorter fics, but All of My Walls is much more serious and i’m so proud of both of them for growing into themselves and each other and slowly allowing themselves love and be loved over the course of that fic. the OTHER reason that fic was so important to be is that it’s the first long(er) fic i wrote in a long, long time, and i consider it my way back into writing. i don’t think it reads as seamlessly as fics i’ve written since then do, but i’m still proud of myself for creating it, and i’m thankfully that it brought me back into the writing world.

fandoms: only dragon age this year! i haven’t touched my skyrim fic since 2017, and i toyed around with the idea of a kotor fic in the spring, but it never amounted to anything.

pairings: mainly ellinor trevelyan x cullen, emilia cousland x alistair, and aurelia hawke x fenris; HOWEVER, i’m eternally grateful to @fourletterepithet (velthei lavellan x cullen), @haloneshiral (letheia lavellan x cullen), @frecklef0x (anon trevelyan x dorian), and @gingerbreton (ysabelle dryden x alistair) for granting me the honor of writing about their OCs and letting me explore the dynamics of other pairings/relationships! writing for others is a really great experience to grow and strengthen your own writing, so i’m really glad i got to do those stories.

proudest achievements: i’m honestly just...proud i wrote anything at all? it’s so intimidating to come into a fandom that’s years and years old and put your content out there for people to see, especially when you haven’t written leisurely in a couple years and you’re really self-conscious of your work, like i am. but i took the leap, and people have been so responsive and supportive, and i’m eternally grateful for the very kind mutuals/readers i have that continue to inspire me to keep going and creating. some more minor achievements include

starting art trades. before doing this, i truly, genuinely did not believe that the brilliantly talented artists i see on tumblr every day would ever value their incredible work as equal to a short fic written by me. to me, it seemed like trading down. it turns out, i was wrong, and i’ve so far traded three one shots for three beautiful pieces of artwork, and as i mentioned earlier, it’s so refreshing and also so beneficial (in terms of writing skill and practice) to write for OCs that are not my own, so i’m so glad to have done these!

forcing myself to write action scenes. if you’ve been following me for a while, you’ve probably seen me complain multiple times about how much i hate writing action (i even made a meme about it that somehow went viral within the writeblr community lol joke’s on them it was made as a result of me rage quitting a dragon battle scene). the only thing i hate more than writing action is writing mage action, because none of my OCs are mages and all of my friends’ OCs are mages and i cannot understand the dynamics of mage combat no matter how hard i try. but, you can’t get better at something unless you practice it, so i wrote plenty of action in an attempt to get better. and i think (hope?) i did.

starting A World Alone!! my pride and joy!! my first longfic!! my favorite OC!! it’s a slow burn it’s an enemies-to-friends-to-lovers there’s tension there’s sadness there’s powerful female friendships there will be love eventually and i could go on about it for forever but instead i’ll just shamelessly plug it here because i love it so much and it makes me so happy.

writing goals for 2019

i would really love to join DWC but so far it looks intimidating to me because i’m worried i won’t be able to sit down for a night and keep up. but i’ll probably do it. i have so many good prompt posts saved in my drafts that i want to do.

more art trades! i have three already planned for the new year, and i’m very excited about them!

maybe finish A World Alone? i’m writing it at a good pace so far, so it’s a realistic goal.

more one shots. i love my longfic (obviously, as i blabbed about it relentlessly above), but i think shorter fics are such great opportunities to really focus in on a singular emotion and delve deep into little moments that are so brief in terms of plot but so big in terms of characterization. there are a few in particular i’m really proud of from this year (x, x, x, x, x, x), but i’m looking forward to more.

tagging friends (keeping it to friends who write, even a little!! any amount of writing is good writing!) @inquisitorsmabari @fourletterepithet @dickeybbqpit @trvelyans @a-shakespearean-in-paris @star--nymph @cullenvhenan @daydreamingdragonage @gingerbreton

[yuniesan]

Girl Meets Season 6 - Episode Eleven – Girl Meets Fear for the Future

Synopsis: The Journey from High School and into College will test everything Riley knew about her life, her friendships and her love. What life lessons will she learn in her first year of college?  

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

A/N: IT’S ALIVE!!!!!!!

A/N: Sorry for not writing, a lot of things happened, including me getting a little depressed about not having any job prospects after graduating, someone I know was diagnosed with cancer, my mother is having surgery, and a million other things including writer's block and insomnia. Have you ever been so stressed out that no matter what you tried it felt like everything was going wrong? Well that was me for the last month. But I thought about it all and figured that, life will go on, and I just have to keep going with it.

So, part of this chapter is catharsis, the other is me filling in the gaps for you guys on the other couples, the majority of this is based on my own friendship with my best friend, who I love with all of my heart, and while we went to college together, I was involved in a million things and she pulled away. I usually send her messages through instagram/facebook messenger/text... etc... etc... Because friends who have known each other forever, can grow apart and find their way back to one another at the same time.

Episode Eleven – Girl Meets Fear for the Future

 There was a moment, just weeks before the end of the semester, where Maya had realized that she hadn’t seen Riley in weeks. She tried to think back to the last time she had seen her best friend and the only image that popped up was from some party that had felt like an eternity away. She was sitting in her dorm room putting the final touches on a piece of art that she had to hand in for the final in her drawing class. Smackle was at her desk typing away on her laptop, mumbling to herself every once and while about something that Maya would never understand. She knew better than to interrupt the genius while looking at some math thing that only Farkle would understand.

Maya and Smackle had become good friends over the last few months, they drove into the city together with Farkle all of the time. Maya usually went to see Josh, but the four of them had somehow found themselves doing double dates in the most unusual places. Smackle wanted to learn about normal non-genius couples, but Maya had learned that it also had to do with the fact that Smackle had wanted to have some fun without all of the work. It was rare for Smackle to do non-Smackle things, so with Maya planning everything the genius got the chance to try new things.

They did these things twice a month, just the four of them, and it had become normal for her to be in the city with her parents and Josh on weekends. But now that she thought back to the last few months the one thing she had always sworn that she wouldn’t do, happened without her even trying. She had been busy, college was a lot harder for her than she had expected, but she loved her classes and tried her best in them. She was the first in her family to go to college in the first place and it had made her mother so happy that Maya hadn’t wanted to disappoint her. But Riley was also family to her and she had barely seen the brunette in weeks.

“Hey Smackle,” Maya called out to the genius. “When was the last time we all hung out together, all six of us?”

Smackle didn’t answer her, still mumbling the problem to herself, Maya wanted to ask again but instead picked up her phone and walked out into the hallway. Everyone was studying or writing papers, since the end of the semester was near so she walked into the stairwell and closed the door, quickly dialing Josh. When he didn’t pick up she sighed and left him a quick message so that he would call her back.

She sat there for another fifteen minutes wondering about what her best friend had been doing the last few weeks, and how they had both let their friendship slip. She was lost in her thoughts when someone sat down next to her pushing her slightly with their shoulder. Turning to glare at the person intruding on her thoughts, she was greeted with a warm smile of her other childhood best friend.

“Hey there,” she said smiling at Farkle. “What brings you over here this time of day?”

“Smackle sent me a message, she said you needed someone to talk to,” he said with a smile. Maya hadn’t thought that Smackle had been listening at all, but the girl had ended up calling for reinforcements. “She would help you but our professor posted an impossible problem the other day, he swore no one could figure it out, so she’s been working on it trying to prove him wrong.”

“And why aren’t you working on it?”

“I’ll have my chance, I wasn’t interested in the problem right now,” Farkle gave her a small smile. “Plus, I want Smackle to shine.”

“You’ve got a soft spot for her if you’re giving something like this up.”

“Well she has my heart, all that matters is that we’re both happy” he smiled. “Now what’s bothering you that had Smackle worried enough to call me over here.”

Maya sighed and stared at the wall in front of them, “Farkle when was the last time we talked to Riley, or hung out with Lucas and Zay?”

Farkle gave her a small smile, it must have been something that had been weighing on his mind lately, “It’s been a while,” he said as he looked down at his hands.

“Do you think Riley’s noticed?” she asked wondering why her best friend hadn’t thought to check in with them. “I mean it’s weird right?”

“Well we all have different schedules, at this point different lives,” he said before looking up at her. “You and me, we hang out more now than we used to, I’m grateful for that because you’ve helped Smackle come out of her shell just a little more, she’s trying so many things because of that.”

“But it’s not the same,” she finished before he could say the worlds. “It feels like a phantom pain, we should have known it was missing but it feels like she’s still there.”

The two of them didn’t say another word, only sitting there in silence as the light outside faded into darkness. They both had things to do, but for some reason they weren’t rushing to go do them. Someone had been walking up the stairs when they had finally realized that they had been sitting there in silence for almost an hour. Maya was surprised to see Josh standing at the bottom of the staircase looking at the two gloomy friends.

“I figured I’d visit this weekend,” Josh said smiling at her, and she knew he was trying to cheer her up. “I listened to your voicemail, and figured that you needed some comfort.”

Josh sat in front of her, his back against the railing, as he took her hand in his and held it towards his heart. Maya’s mind was at war with itself, she couldn’t figure out if she was happy or sad, there were too many things going on and no answers. No Riley to pull her back from the darkest parts of her heart.

“What’s wrong,” Josh asked them when neither had said a word.

“We just realized that we haven’t seen Riley in a while,” Farkle answered for the both of them. “I guess we just miss her.”

“You’re afraid that you’re losing her,” Josh said a sad smile on his face. “I’m pretty sure that’s not the case considering she sends me weekly emails, I’m pretty sure she sends them to you too.”

“What emails?” Maya’s head shot up at her boyfriend’s words. “Riley knows I don’t check my emails, most of the time they get lost in a sea of spam and I just leave it alone.”

“Maya, you probably have a million emails from her, just search for her name and they should pop up,” he said smiling at her. Josh somehow always tried to make things a little better whenever she unsure of something.

“Have you check your emails,” she asked Farkle who shrugged.

“I don’t remember getting anything from Riley, but I think I’ve only used my school email because of all of the assignments we’ve had, so I should check them shouldn’t I,” he said before running his hand through his hair. “I’ve been a little busy.”

“Yeah I know, you’re trying to save the world, how about you start with Smackle and get her away from what she’s doing since she’s been mumbling to herself for a while now,” Maya said as her heart felt lighter for a moment. Then she realized that if Riley had been emailing her and she hadn’t replied then she had been the horrible friend.

“Don’t think that,” Josh said as if he had read her mind. “Farkle go check on your girlfriend, I’m going to talk to Maya for a while.”

“Will do,” Farkle said with a smile. “Don’t worry Maya, Riley will be there for us even if we’ve been too preoccupied.”

She nodded but it didn’t stop the feeling of dread in her stomach. “See you later,” she said trying to sound happy as he walked off.

“Seriously,” Josh said once Farkle was gone. “Don’t think too much about it, Riley knows you’re busy, she tells me all of the time,” Maya watched as he pulled out his phone, and opened the email app. “I know Maya gets too obsessed with her art projects, just make sure she has a little fun this weekend… She sometimes forgets things when she’s in her art haze, she’s going to be a famous artist, but she needs to remember the outside world,” he said smiling at her.

“I didn’t know I went through things like that,” she said feeling herself blush, it felt so out of character for her to even do that.

“She always sends me stuff like that, let me see,” he said as he opened another email. “She likes ring dings the most, so if you take her on that picnic make sure you pack some.”

“That’s true,” Maya said with a smile.

“Her favorite color isn’t red, no matter how much she tries to tell you otherwise, her favorite color is yellow, so get her the yellow dress.”

“Really Riley,” Maya said before burying her head in her hands. “How many more of these little tidbits does she have?”

“I have them all saved, because while I know you extremely well, I’m not Riley and she pays way more attention than most people.”

“She’s my best friend, I feel horrible for not seeing these, or even calling her.”

“Maya will try and tell you that she feels bad about doing something, but it’s not her fault, we’ve been busy and I realized that I can’t always take care of her, but she has you now, so I know she’s in good hands.”

Maya felt the tears fall down her face, Riley knew her better than anyone, she always knew what to say and it filled her heart with joy.

“She’s afraid of what the future will bring, but I will always be there for her,” Josh continued as Maya cried next to him. “She needs this time to grow, and when she’s ready she’ll come looking for me,” he finished as he pulled her into his arms. “She cares, kind of reminds me of my mom with how she knows everything.”

“Did she only write that about me?”

“No, she actually wrote things about my brother, and her mom, and Auggie, somethings about Ava too, she cares about everyone in her own way. I actually got an email one day that was twelve pages long. I think everyone else emails her back except for you, Smackle and Farkle, but she will always tell me things about all three of you for weekends we hang out together.”

“Maybe we can all get together after the last final,” she said smiling at him, the one person who had somehow filled her heart with happiness, while at the same time making sure to remind her that her best friend will always be there.

“I think that would be a good idea, but I also thing that you should read all of the emails she sent you before then, send her one too telling her everything that had happened in the last few months.”

“Art haze,” she said to herself for a moment. Thinking back, she remembered there being several projects that she had been working on. One of which had been a present for Riley’s birthday which was the same day as the end of the semester. “Who knew that there was such a thing?”

“Well you do get this glassy eyed look whenever you think up a new project,” he said smiling. “I like watching you draw, it’s like watching something amazing as it happens, I can’t describe it, but Riley is right about one thing, you’re going to do great things in the future.”

“I just can’t fear it,” she said smiling at him. “There’s something scary about being afraid for the future, even when there’s so many possibilities about there.”

“The best thing you can do is believe in yourself and you’ll get over that fear,” he said to her before standing up, pulling her up with him. “You’ll always be afraid of something, but as long as there are people around to help you, you’re always going to come out on top.”

He kissed her the moment he finished talking, running his hands through her tangled hair, it felt warm and sweet, and perfect in that moment. “Thank you,” she murmured when they separated.

“Well you’ve been helping me so much this semester, I figured I owed you a few helping moments.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she smiled at him, she knew this was the person who she would be with for all of her life, and it was weird to know something like that when she was just eighteen. “Come on let’s go save the geniuses.”

“What do you mean save them?” he asked as she pulled him along. Just as they reached her hallway, she hard Smackle scream out at Farkle before a pillow was thrown out of the room.

“Smackle, please you need to get some sleep,” Farkle said as Maya and Josh reached the door. “You will get the answer after a few hours, I promise.”

“No,” Smackle screamed out, Maya rushed over and started rubbing Smackle’s head, remembering how Mrs. Matthews had been during freshman year of high school. After a few minutes, Smackle had started mumbling to herself, and just as Maya passed her over to Farkle, the other girl had all but passed out in her boyfriend’s arms.

“See saving,” Maya said with a smile as she settled in her own bed with Josh next to her, pulling out two pairs of headphones so that they could watch a movie as the geniuses slept in the other bed.

[phynxrizng]

Dandelions

How I Found Paganism:

The Origin Story of a Druid Priestess

July 4, 2017

by Melissa Hill

Religion was a method of exclusion. It was not fair. It was not kind. I learned this as a child. I felt it when I stayed overnight with my friends and ended up going to church on Sunday morning with them. When I had to stay awkwardly in my seat while all the good Catholics went to get their sacred snack. I didn’t know the code words or the songs, I was alone in a sea of people who knew the chorus. I was unclear about this Jesus guy.

They all said he was so great. I wasn’t so sure. I had read the Bible, or parts of it at least. As a young person, probably 11 or 12, I started with Genesis and then read all the books of the Bible that were named after women: Ruth and Esther. I can’t say as I was super impressed. Time went on and my best friend in High School was a Jewish girl.

Her family wasn’t very intense about their religion. They had a Hanukah bush and I learned to love the latkes that her mom made. My favorite lab partner was a Muslim girl who was shy about why she wore a hijab and so I learned not to ask because I didn’t want to upset her. I was just grateful that she was careful, competent, and was fair about sharing the fun tasks, unlike the boys in our AP chem class.

I decided I was not Christian. I refused to participate in a system that would send my friends to Hell because they were in a different religion club. Assigning someone to eternal torment because they had different songs and different handshakes seemed insane to me.

My boyfriend at the time was horrified. He wanted me to get in line and go to his cutsie poofy cloud land when I died. I told him I’d rather not.

So I entered into a time where I was agnostic. Because no matter how much I resisted their handshakes and their songs I was a deeply spiritual person. I knew there was spirit that resided within and throughout this world because I felt it. I interacted with it. As a young child there was no difference for me between the “unseen” and the “seen” worlds.

I remember speaking with the gnomes that lived under the pin oak in my backyard. I also remember learning to talk to the cardinals by mimicking their speech. Those were both real things for me. I had dreams of the future and knew things I couldn’t have known. My mother told me the story of how when I was a baby she always knew when a relative died because the night before I would cry incessantly and then she’d get a phone call from her mother the next day.

This was just my experience of the world. Going to school was an education in many ways. I found out I was too sensitive, too smart, too weird, too awkward. I did not fit in with my bird songs and stories of the witch woman who lived in my basement.

I learned to keep silent about my visions. I learned to choose my own path independently of the crowd. This was in the days before Silver Ravenwolf and Harry Potter. I sought for traces of understanding of my own experience. Narnia, Dune, The Secret Garden, the fairy tales of Anderson and Grimm all taught me bits of wisdom. It was a fiction book I read in college that finally led me to find my religion club.

I don’t even remember the name of it now. It was about people in modern North America who turned into these magical save the planet elf things. It mentioned two books: Starhawk’s Spiral Dance and Margo Adler’s Drawing Down the Moon.

I skipped my classes and took the bus to the bookstore the next day. I had to know if they were real books. They were real, as most of you reading this know.

MORE PAGAN ORIGIN STORIES AT PATHEOS PAGAN

How I Found Paganism by Voodoo Priestess Lilith Dorsey at Voodoo Universe My Paganism: Nature, Nurture, or Choice? by John Beckett at Under The Ancient Oaks How I Found Paganism When I Wasn’t Even Looking by Angus McMahan at Ask Angus Amen And a Couple of Women by Annwyn Avalon at The Water Witch. How I Found Paganism From a Kitchen Witch  by Rachel Patterson at Beneath the Moon The Many Phases of My Paganism by Bekah Evie Bel at Hearth Witch Down Under Finding Paganism by Jason Mankey at Raise the Horns

That rather silly story about people turning into elves changed my life completely. The words spoke to me of a religion club I could belong to. Some place where I was not insane, awkward, or going to Hell. A place where the things I had seen in fact had Names. Where the energy I had felt, the healing I had done, the spirits I had talked to were Real. My lived experience of life was validated by others who knew more than I did. I was ecstatic.

I read Cunningham during lectures on the physiology of the brain. I built an altar in my dorm room and took it down every time my parents visited. I saw a chalked invitation to “Green Spiral: MSU’s Eclectic Pagan Network” written on the university sidewalk. It took a great deal of bravery for me to go to that first meeting, but go I did. I began long journey that has never ended, that led to me meeting my husband, my vocation, my children, my life.

I am a priest, a spiritworker, a friend, a teacher, a writer, an artist, and an activist for the earth and Her folk. In a very real way paganism has shaped my entire existence. I found the place where I was willing to learn the songs and the secret handshake. A place where no one was excluded who wanted to be included. Where no one had to go to eternal damnation for being different. Where more than one way to the divine was encouraged. I found my home.

FILED UNDER: COMMUNITY TAGGED WITH: AUTHENTICITY, CHOICE, DRUIDRY, NATURE, ORIGIN STORY, PAGANISM, RELIGION, SPIRITUALITY, THEOLOGY «

Source found in, PatheosPagan/ DANDELIONLADY.COM

About Melissa Hill

Melissa Hill combines ancient lore, modern science, and the best that druidry has to offer to explore ritual design, sustainability, and spiritual artistry. She posts every other Wednesday.

REPOSTED BY, PHYNXRIZNG

[sleeplessinsiswati]

Create Heaven Here—My Story

For the record, this probably should have been the first “official” post for this blog. My bad, I’m a learn-as-you-go type so I’ve been messing around and BOOM well, here we are.

*clears throat* ahem...

When I was young I wanted to be a writer. I always dreamed of being a writer; of my words mattering to someone. The unique ability of being able to eloquently articulate thoughts and touch someone else deeply was nothing short of a poetic wonderland in my childhood imagination. Now I am older, and I realise that words, these words are all that I have to give. I once believed that this was not enough; that the sum of who I am had to add up to more than what I can say about this life, or what I have seen of it. I now understand that it does not have to be more than this so much as it has to be true, no matter if the impact of those words is great or small. I am writing this because I wanted my first post in country to be about me; here I will paint an in-depth portrait of who I am and why I am here.

________________________________

It is a common theme in stories originating from the continent of Africa that history is intertwined with mythology, and so too the story of my life is told. Before I was born, my father wanted to name me Shaka Zulu in honour of the infamous, Southern-African warrior. My mother protested, worried that I would endure ridicule and shame because of a lack of understanding from other children or teachers. And with that wisdom, I was instead named after her, Desmond—the son of Desiree. If only they had saw fit to ask the Creator to not give me the soul of a warrior since it was decided I would no longer be receiving the name. I was born with asthma. Mom would later tell me that it was because even before I was born the evil of this world wanted to steal my breath, to take my words.

In early childhood, I found it hard to have a voice for myself. As a matter of fact, for the first year and a half of my life my parents did not think that I could talk at all; my older brother, Gerald, would always speak for me. Whatever he liked, I liked; whatever he wanted, I wanted. It wasn’t until one fateful Sunday School class where there was an option of cheese or peanut butter and jelly crackers that I had spoken publicly at all. With whatever self-esteem I could muster up in my infantile body I stated very clearly, and to the surprise of all in attendance, that I wanted peanut butter and jelly crackers. That would be my first fight; my brother wanted me to have the cheese crackers. From then on my life would be a series of advocating for myself or on behalf of others, and willingly paying the price no matter the cost.

I got into a good number of fights as a child. I was more passionate than I was “boy”. I had a spirit of fire and wind; free, scorching, and bold. I went from unspeaking and timid to outspoken and determined. Dont ask me what I was determined to do, though. To this day, I do not know what I was so serious, so keen on grasping at prepubescence. I was raised in the church like most Southern Louisiana, Black boys. It was here that I was able to find comfort and a sense of pride. Along with the classroom, the sanctuary was a place where my words were accepted; it was a place where intelligence and passion could meet, and where adults were impressed and were quick to take promising young pupils under their wing. Many teachers spoke highly of my performance in the classroom, and so did ministers at my place of worship. Unfortunately for me, there was a great degree of protection that was in the church setting that was not remotely available in an inner-city elementary school with a magnet component.

I could never understand at the time, from the background which I came, why “Church Boy” was an insult. Honestly, it didn’t bother me so much as the implications that came with it. Implications like that I could not defend myself; that even if I could not, that I had parents who would quickly take up for me; that I was weak and afraid of a world that was unknown to me; that someone else had the right to take these things from me. These statements were made between curled lips and clenched teeth and clenched fists; from smacked lips and cold stares I learned that having two parents in one home and having an identity rooted in church life were things to be snickered at. With those snickers came threats, boys posturing themselves to be perceived as men; willing to play at absolute dominant power in the face of what seemed like a helpless Christian kid. And with that, I let those assholes eat my fists. Never one to back down from a fight, I got in more fights in and out of school between my elementary and high school years than I care to remember, in and out of school. I lost many of them, I won some. One thing I never did was back down. I would be felt, I would be heard, I would be respected.

This philosophy came to frustrate my parents who constantly reinforced a message of choosing battles. Though I felt an angst from the outside world, there was no difference in emotion concerning the place that I called home. My mom has always been a jewel in my mind; her beauty, poise, and radiance will never fade and will always be priceless. My dad, my protector; a strong tower and defender of his family, which for him was his pride and joy. En lieu of these praises I now sing, the truth is as a child I felt very much alone and afraid. My dad would often invalidate the words I would say as foolish or thoughtless, and it was a rare sighting for my mom to protect my emotions from his aggression in those moments. Mom was an artist in her day, and I would say very much so an existentialist. She taught her sons to feel, and to feel deeply the offerings of this life; what a gift this is, and it is one I will forever be grateful for. But, what a curse this was, when under the weight of the absolute terror that is an emotionally insensitive parent. As if the words and insults of a man you see as your protector and provider were not enough, the inexplicable silence of that other person who built you as this fragile human being made for a combination that never ceased to knock the wind out of me.

Even in sports, which I did not particularly excel in for some time, my brother and I were not seen by other players as much more than the coaches’ sons. With this came the same insults and curses that I experienced at school, but only this time in an environment of high passions and high volatility. Myself, being the more hotheaded between Gerald and I, always took the bait of these insults only to be publicly humiliated by my dad once word reached to him. It was inescapable, this fog of perpetual pain that occasioned seasonal rays of artistic expression and raging passion that served as my outlets. The one haven, the castle on the hill in this experience was the church. I was a child that was made vulnerable to everything, and therefore I felt everything. This eternity of feeling left me ragged and tired of many things, and as a result I became a very cold and methodical young man. I became what others would refer to as “mature” and “wise beyond my years” or “strong”; I never wanted to be any of these things. I never wanted to be strong, I just wanted to be safe.

Through sheer determination and willpower I did well both academically and athletically in high school. I graduated, and went on to undergraduate studies out of state. More than anything I wanted to leave behind Louisiana and it’s incessant ignorance and backwards logic; how wrong was I to think that it was a regional issue. I decided in college that I wanted to be a different person, a more visible leader and advocate on behalf of myself and other. I think it was this thought that guided me to make a vast majority of the decisions I would come to make, both good and bad. I would hold a few positions on campus and ran track my first two years of college. These points are not why this era in my life matters, though. It was here that my life would first fall apart, and largely because of my own doing. Somewhere between my university studies and my out-of-class experiences I no longer believed God had an active role in my life. I mean sure He was up there and guided me to the school in the first place, but looking back on my life I did not see a reason to believe that there was this ultimately powerful being who had been looking out on my behalf; again, the God I knew made me vulnerable, transparent to a world that sought to destroy my faith in it and in Him at every turn. If that was the God that had been watching me since birth I wanted nothing to do with Him, or, rather, I think we needed to spend some time apart.

And so, I lived my life and I lived it grandly. Unashamedly infatuated with luxury, opportunity, and prestige, I was well-known on campus; in some ways, I was notorious on campus. Eventually, that notoriety caused me to make some ridiculous college kid decisions, as most college kids do, that almost had very adult consequences. Regardless of what did not happen, one particular situation had consequences that resulted in a very loud, very public fall from grace; I was ashamed. That summer, on my annual return to Louisiana, I was broken and lost. I felt alone, embarrassed, and trapped, not much different from how I once felt as a child. It was in this season that I began reading Thich Nhat Hanh and meditating. I began shaving my head, a sign of consecration to a purpose I had long thought I lost or forgotten, and cut all meats out of my diet except for fish.

Yet embarrassed because of the terms on which I left the university, I told some of my peers and fraternity brothers that I more than likely would not be returning. The weight of the guilt and reliving the chaos of the preceding year seemed too much to bear. In the midst of these thoughts came the same soft, cool, all-consumingly overwhelming feeling that led me to the institution, initially. In that moment, to my soul came the urge to return and that if I were to not return I would be a coward. “What has kept you, will not sustain you”. Those words, words that came, in my opinion, from the universe directly to my spirit were the words that I rode all the way to Nashville on a 12am Greyhound bus.

In this final year of university, I discovered more about myself that I can explain; who I was, who I was not, who I wanted to be, and who I was willing to become. The magic of the moments in that year seemed to meet me in roaring waves of enlightenment and revelation; I was alive, fully alive for the first time. In this season I began to see the early formations of a personal philosophy that would become the cornerstone of a dream—a dream to create my own reality. It would be this dream that would propel me to achieve another lifelong dream of mine: becoming a Peace Corps volunteer.

Peace Corps was, and is still, an opportunity for me to connect with people world’s away; to learn their language, their ways of life, what life means to them, and what love means to them. For me, this was, and again still is, perfectly in alignment with who I wanted to become and had been a dream for me for quite some time. Well, after finishing my undergraduate studies, a two year completion of graduate studies back at home, and a marriage-to-my-best-friend later, I and my partner were granted the opportunity to become Peace Corps Volunteers in eSwatini (Swaziland). After months of training, going from Septemeber 27th to December 12th, we were able to be sworn in, officially, as volunteers of the United States Peace Corps. These past few months have been riddled with their own, unique challenges. Viewing life as an adventure helps me to make light of these experiences, and to examine them objectively, in the grand scheme of life.

The experiences I have had the blessed opportunity to be a part of and the future experiences I will have the chance to live and feel will be documented and scribed here for two main purposes: to tell a story that often times is not told; the story of the Black male minority, who has a rare opportunity to go places that many other Black people may never have the chance or the courage to. The second purpose, is to be transparent about the hard work and the beautiful struggle that is connecting, living, and loving other human beings. Despite the difficulties, despite language barriers, despite whatever obstacles, I believe that all people seek peace and connection, wholeness and reconciliation. It is this belief that has guided me, that has become my personal philosophy, and that continues to guide me.

To close, I refer to the Biblical passage of the story of the Tower of Babel; all of humanity came together with the grand cause of building a tower to reach the heights Heaven. Not only were they successful in their united endeavors, but so much so that the hosts of Heaven feared that humanity would ascend into the Heavens because, when they were united, there was nothing they could not accomplish. As a result, humanity was called to speak different languages in order to cause division and confusion amongst themselves. I am here, and walk this Earth, with the intention of rebuilding that tower; or rather, to bring about the revelation that Heaven was the ability to have peace and love, united in a cause for the benefit for all of humanity.

Once there was an endeavour to build a tower to reach unto Heaven. Why build up when what you truly seek is inside and around you? You do not have to wait until you die; you do not have to wait for an act of God. You are the act of God; your life is an act of God. Come on; let’s Create Heaven Here.

[blackfeminismlives]

Gratitude: The Barnard Library Wall

I was in the Barnard library at a desk facing the window when I decided that was where I wanted to go to college. I wrote my first paper at another desk facing the window in the library. It was about June Jordan and Phillis Wheatley (I handed it in, but clearly I never stopped writing it.)

When the Barnard College archives used to be one room in the basement I spent hours and days in there looking for pictures and information about Black women at Barnard to share and remember. That library was always my favorite, even while it was in deep need of renovation.

I always visit the library when I return to Barnard’s campus. One time I even visited the alumae authors shelf and imagined where my book(s) would go someday. http://ift.tt/2iQ3y9C

All that is to say, that being honored this way on the wall of the Barnard Library, with my words about how we can love each other to liberation alongside Zora Neale Hurston, Grace Lee Boggs and Ntozake Shange is making me cry because it is a physical manifestation of something that has been true for a long time. I am always in the Barnard Library. When I first saw it, I knew I had been there before.

The Barnard students who decided to put this on the wall did not do it because of the feelings it would make me feel. They put it there because they know what I know. We create sacred space with words, and we must create sacred space for words. We need desperately to see writers, because we need urgently to be writers. They put this there because they thought it would make their own words and worlds more possible.

And that’s why I’m feeling it all. Everything.

My mom gave me my first copy of Ntozake Shange’s “For Colored Girls…” She said: “This is important to me.” I read it as a sacred text. That text, Sassafrass, Cypress and Indigo and Betsey Brown were books that shaped my experience and understanding of my own black girlhood. Ready or not.

When I was a first-year at Barnard College I went to the archives to make a timeline of the presence of Black women at Barnard for BOSS’s celebration of Black Womanhood Week. I looked through the year books of the time when Ntozake Shange and Thulani Davis were at Barnard and the beautiful poetic spreads they made in protest of the limits of the institutions and in brave celebration of themselves and other Black women. I plastered my dorm room wall with quotes from “For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide, When the Rainbow is Enough.” In the summer I went home and looked at Thulani Davis‘s papers at Emory to see how she and Ntozake documented their time doing the same things I did at Columbia. Fighting for black studies and ethnic studies, using poetry as a tool for clarification, struggling to build unity between black folks at the different colleges within the university, loving each other as sisters and comrades.

The summer before I graduated from Barnard I went to Berkeley’s Bancroft Archive to write my writing sample for my grad school applications, a study of the dynamics of Ntozake Shange’s early work with Shameless Hussy Press and other experimental groups in California. (It worked! I got into grad school!)

In Durham, when brilliant Black girls asked me to create an afterschool program where they could cultivate their magic together, I knew that Ntozake Shange’s character Indigo would be our spirit guide. When grown black women needed ritual space to gather, when it was time to create a week long gathering of warrior healers, I turned to Shange’s work again and again.

I came back to Barnard the year that Africana Studies dedicated to Ntozake Shange to be part of the beautiful conference in her honor:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O9XMBgIm3-4 and to contribute to this video about her legacy:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O9XMBgIm3-4

Really these are just the highlights. The point is, I am overwhelmed with gratitude to have my words, name, picture on the wall of the Barnard Library alongside Ntozake Shange. Not just because she is one of the most influential artists of our time, but because her work has shaped my relationship to myself, my relationship to Barnard, my relationship to my work and my relationships to spirit and possibility so deeply.

The fact that current Barnard students looking for affirmation and reflection would put me in the same sphere with Shange, lands on me like a sacred trust. If my work can offer them a fraction of what Shange’s work has offered me, then I am keeping my agreement. Gratitude unending.

Meeting Grace Lee Boggs was one of the best things that has ever happened in my life. I didn’t know about Grace when I was at Barnard, but after I graduated I met her in Detroit at my first Allied Media Conference. Grace was in her 90s and just went to the sessions and was as eager to learn as anyone. What Grace said about education in the first session of the AMC that year inspired me to create Eternal Summer of the Black Feminist Mind as an intergenerational solution-based learning space. I am grateful for ever.

I am grateful to Grace’s family of mentees especiallyJenny Lee, Invincible Ill Weaver, Adrienne Maree Brown, and Mike Medow for giving me so many opportunities to listen to Grace, to be with Grace, to celebrate GRACE!

It wasn’t until I watched the documentary “American Revolutionary” that I learned that Grace was a Barnard alum. I excitedly shared the info and the link to the film with my sisters in the Fierce & Fabulous {Barnard College Alumnae of Color} group. And I played the recording that I heard in the film over and over again where Grace matter-of-factly tells a group of white liberals that black people don’t want to be like white people.

When Grace became an ancestor, I knew immediately that it was up to all of us to embody the values that Grace carried for us for more than a century. Every day for the month after Grace passed I started my day by Embodying Grace. I meditated to the sound of her voice. Those of you who are connected to me on social media might remember, I shared a different piece of her writing or speaking every day.

I refuse to live in a world without GRACE (or a world without CHARITY for that matter.) At this time Grace is called for, Grace is called on daily by those of us accountable to the evolution of this species.

The fact that Barnard students would put me in conversation with Grace by putting my words and face on the wall of the library alongside her is a gift, transcended only by the original gift of Grace’s revolutionary life and the gift of my comrades in Detroit who brought me into her world. I am honored to be part of the necessary multitude embodying Grace right now.

I was reading Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God when I decided I HAD to be a writer. That book showed me how with words, the dead can move the bodies of the living. That connection, through language beyond life and death shapes every moment of my work.

At Barnard, I quoted Zora Neale Hurston almost everyday. I reminded my classmates about her reflection on tokenization: “I became Barnard’s sacred black cow,” she once said. I said it so often that my friend and comrade Elodi Dielubanza (CC 04)  would quip back “How now?” I had her words all over my dorm room walls.

I was honored to be part of a dramatic rendition of Hurston’s short story collection Spunk. I was blown away when I heard Valerie Boyd speak on campus about Hurston’s life and the ancestral communication and presence she felt while writing the biography Wrapped in Rainbows. I was humbled when my advisor Monica Miller asked me to introduce Hurston’s longtime champion, archeologist and legacy builder Alice Walker at a huge gathering celebrating 75 years since Hurston’s time at Barnard: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iUyOQ3DpqzM

When Ebony Noelle Golden taught at North Carolina Central University and when Zelda Lockhartannounced she would be teaching there, I thought right away YES. In the legacy of Zora Neale Hurston. I am so honored to learn from sisters who teach and have taught in her legacy right here in Durham.

Even now, today I am writing about Alice Walker’s relationship to Zora Neale Hurston’s legacy and the actual digging it required in preparation for the Dig: Womanist Archeologies Intensive next week.

I am so honored that my words, name, face appear on the wall at Barnard College alongside Zora Neale Hurston’s. Not because it means I have arrived, but because through their knowing, the current students at Barnard have manifested one of my oldest and most consistent desires.

I just want to be with Zora.

And the beautiful thing is that the students have taught me that, in a way, I am.

  via WordPress http://ift.tt/2iJ1sYy

[shirlleycoyle]

‘Wet Ass Postage:’ Sexualizing the Post Office to Save the USPS 

Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stops the mail, so the USPS slogan goes—but sometimes, a bored and horny housewife can, in porn tropes at least.

The United States Postal Service, long underfunded and under-appreciated, has accelerated its slide into a threat of collapse due to terrible decisions made by the new postmaster and the Trump administration. It's a mess, and in an election year when more people than ever are going to vote by mail-in ballot to avoid coming into contact with a deadly virus at the polls, it's terrifying.

In early August, Twitter user @BonniePuns put into words something we all felt deep down: only a mass effort of making the post office sexy could salvage it, now.

Writer Ira Madison III tweeted the incredible idea that the post office should start an OnlyFans—since everyone else is doing it, from Bella Thorne to Cardi B—which also went viral:

People in uniform—cops, firemen—are a common porn trope, so it's no surprise that mail carriers are hot again. I've probably seen more of William Harper Jackson's Good Place character Chidi in a tight little mailman uniform in the last month than any other image—and in the episode he wears it in, Kristin Bell's character admits a sex fantasy about fucking a mailman.

Now that it's in danger, everyone's got a boner for the post office, but the thing is, slipping packages on doorsteps and mail through slots has always been sexualized.

Like the stripper-cop trope, the mailman-meets-horny-resident has been around forever, too. The trope used to be the milkman stopping in every day to visit the bored housewife, but that shifted to the postal worker when milk delivery became obsolete. One of the most popular examples of this in pop culture is attributed to the show Kids Say the Darndest Things, where one of the kids says, "I don't look like my Mommy or my Daddy. I look like the mailman.

In a more modern example, Paige Steele plays a pissed-off customer who makes the mailman come inside and watch her test the dildo he just delivered.

Interestingly, there's a notable lack of women mail carriers in mail-porn, even though there are lots of them in real life—slightly less than half of carriers are women, and women have been letter carriers since at least 1845.

Even with years of porn and film and TV examples, horny mail goes back farther than that. Jean Shepard and Ferlin Husky's 1953 song "Dear John" was about sending a breakup letter to let a soldier know he'd been cucked back home by his own brother, and became shorthand for dumping someone via letter. Brian Hyland's 1962 "Sealed With A Kiss," the Marvelettes' 1965 "Mister Postman"—these songs all eroticized descriptions of the act of sending and receiving mail, in a time when getting a letter that smelled like your lover was probably the hottest thing imaginable.

Here in 2020, things are a little different. We slide into DMs, not mail slots, and our mailboxes are mostly virtual. And with precarious funding and incompetent leadership, the post office is in trouble.

Inspired by the "sexualizing the post office" tweet, TikTok user Siete White bought a mail bag from the USPS store and paired it with shiny black short shorts to twerk on a mailbox:

She told Buzzfeed News that the bag sold out after her post, which got more than 605,000 likes. "It’s empowering to know, wow, I made a 15-second-long video and people actually went and used their hard-earned coins to go and make their own individual difference," White said.

Others on TikTok and Twitter took a page out of K-pop stan fancam playbook and made video mashups of postal workers delivering mail and petting dogs to "WAP" and "In the Party" by Flo Milli:

Much like artists who coped with Covid-19 lockdown by sketching toilet paper and hand sanitizer Corona-chan waifus and sex workers who sold nudes to raise money for Australian wildfire relief efforts (2020 has been so weird), people are turning their concerns about the fate of the USPS into art.

Alexandra Kiselyov, a graduate student studying television writing and producing, is also selling art in exchange for proof of USPS support—but instead of nudes, she's taking illustration art commissions. While they aren’t necessarily sexualized, she was inspired by others doing similar fundraising campaigns. For every $10 or more spent on USPS stamps with proof of receipt, she'll illustrate whatever you want.

"I wanted to give people incentive to buy stamps for the USPS, primarily because I'm extremely concerned about mail-in voting and what the Trump administration has been doing in the background," she told me. She's concerned about the state of mail-in ballots for the election, but also since she runs a small business through eBay, she relies on the USPS to ship to customers.

"I'm eternally grateful to those that did purchase stamps, and I hope people will continue to support artists and the USPS in the future,” she said. “The most important part is that people are learning that the USPS is in dire straits, and that small businesses and rural communities are going to be affected by it."

Cosplayer Katie Simrell told me she decided to do a postal-themed look after being inspired by the @BonniePuns tweet. "Immediately I thought about how I could make a cosplay from this idea to raise money from the USPS," she said. "Making silly lewd/sexy costumes out of innocuous characters or inanimate objects or ideas or… govt agencies apparently (lol) isn't a new idea of course."

The USPS doesn't sell uniforms, so she found an old one on eBay, and like White, she bought the messenger bag from the USPS store. A matching blue and red microbikini and ingenious stamp pasties complete the look.

Like Alexandra's commissions, sending proof of purchase from the USPS store got you a lewd photo in her USPS-chan outfit, as does proof of texting "USPS" to 50409—which returns a Resistbot that automatically emails your local representatives to urge them to support the Delivering for America Act. Simrell said her DMs exploded with purchase receipts, she said, "which could either be a great sign of people really wanting to help the USPS and they love the idea, or equally, people just being horny."

The response has been mostly positive, which surprised her. "Usually I brace myself for a torrent of misogynistic or mean-spirited comments but there have only been a few small outliers," she said. "The most baffling response has been the handful of political retorts. Somebody tried to say 'the dems are offering nudes now to join their party,' I guess trying to demean me? Or as if the USPS is a service that only one political party can use."

Urging individuals to buy stamps and art commissions probably won't, in itself, save the post office. The job of funding one of the country's oldest and most important institutions is a lot bigger than OnlyFans can handle. But if the postal worker ever goes the way of the milkman, future generations could find themselves jerking off to a lot more UPS and FedEx porn fantasies.

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