#i can give myself every gentleness in the world but gentle hands don’t form clay…. gotta be a little hard on myself to better myself

[americiumam]

when you disappear for a while but not like really disappear but kind of so you’ve missed stuff and you wanna be there to support your friends but you’re not really mentally there and you miss talking to people but you don’t feel like you’re deserving to their attention after you’ve dropped off because you’re just gonna make things about you. floats away

[danbisroom]

Ep. 18 - Shatter my long-frozen heart to carve the proof of my life

Hello my beloved fellow souls,

welcome back to Danbi’s Room, your weekly dose of safe space. Go grab a cup of something warm and get yourself cosy.

I hope you had a nice week where you had the opportunity to slow down, or maybe you received some kind of good news.

I was reflecting on words that start with the letter C. Creativity and creation. Counter-intuitive. Courage. Clay. Colour. Can, as in the verb meaning “to be able to”. Carving. Cycle.

I’ve just been through a death cycle. Actually, I’m still coming out of it. But that’s slow, as it should. Planted seeds need their time to sprout. Nebulas explode during a climax, birthing millions of new lives, but it takes time for new stars to actually form. It takes time for the snake to shed its skin and it itakes time for the caterpillar to shift into its butterfly form. Creation, gestation, birth, growth, death. The constant circular flow, always the same and always different. Death is an act of creation: in fact, there’s a magical moment where the two overlap, intertwining as lovers, holding each other tight.

Now I’m kind of hermiting inside my shell, feeling the first rays of filtered sunshine, until, in a bit, I’ll be able to crack it and fly high and to the Gods again. It’s just how things are, we need to give ourselves grace to love them, too. I know I always end up talking about love, but in all honesty, one way or another, it’s really just about that. And I always, constantly, feel it. Always. Even when I’m out of myself in the pits of desperation, I feel love. I feel love holding my soul and my body. If I think about it, it’s such a nice thing. It’s soft and fierce at the same time. I think there’s nothing like it, it is the ultimate synthesis of everything. So choose love. Choose to direct your energy towards things that serve you and your contentedness. Contradiction might hide truth and treasures. What’s evil can reveal a kind side. Even apparent stillness continuously swings, all the time. Just see for yourself: stand up, close your eyes and observe the little dance your body wisely choreographs. We find warmth in a cup of hot and fuming cocoa, but fresh blood is warm, too. We admire waterfalls, jewels of the forest, then why do we frown upon pearls falling from our eyes? Suppressing flows is always bad. There’s a difference between pause and stagnation. Connect your bare feet to soil, and feel all the earth within you. Whisper to a tree, and hear your ancestral mothers giving you answers. What were you before your current form? Maybe a holy bull guiding a people to their land. Maybe a daisy adorning a bride’s hair. Maybe both. If you look carefully and patiently inside yourself you might be able to see that. Whatever you find, love it. Don’t let go, take a little walk in the world inside, call your own names, rest on the knowledge this will never ever end, for eternity. Walk in, untie your hair, lose your breath, empty your lungs to gain new air every time. Breathing itself is the junction of life and death. Everything’s odd, but all the odds are in your favour, so be extraordinary. There’s no easy part, but don’t let the noise blind your senses, go live and breath in life. Count five stars making a yellow wood and let the levanter wind guide you through the maze, hearing the gentle tinkling of those same rocks we call stars. It grows and grows until you finally understand the sound is from within you. You? This massive accident generating a cascade that tells a neverending story? You? Me? I am not, you might say. I am who, to hold all of the universe in my hands? It’s because you are me, and I am you. If you lead the pack, then let me be the shield of your neck.

Today’s song recommendation is Ichizu (One Way), by King Gnu. As trippy as this episode, but also as deep and questioning.

I hope you enjoyed this episode and that you have a beautiful week ahead of you!

I’ll see you in the next one, big hug!

With love, yours,

Danbi

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (60) || atz

“You shouldn’t have done that, Wooyoung-ah.”

At the sound of your voice, the head gunner turns away, completely silent, dark anger boiling beneath his skin. He’s clearly not in the mood to have a talking to now. But you have no fear, not anymore, anyway, and seat yourself next to him on the bed. Your bed, you realise.

Wooyoung’s mouth is pressed in a tight line, edges of his lips curling white in something crossed between a frown and a sneer. There’s a big bruise on his cheek, presumably put there by Jongho again, and he’s looking away very determinedly, set on not meeting your eye.

Unfortunately for him, your stubbornness more than rivals his own, and you’re not about to let him off the hook so easily. He punched his captain, for god’s sake. That’s not typical Wooyoung behavior. “We can sit here all day, you know? I have all the time in the world.”

You really don’t (haha brain, very funny joke), but fingers scratch irritably over the cover of your pillow, Wooyoung chancing a quick glance at you before his eyes have flitted elsewhere. The tension is so thick it’s practically suffocating the two of you alive, but you’re not about to give in anytime soon.

You wait.

Waiting doesn’t take long. Wooyoung’s personality loves comfortable silences or noise. Awkward silence? Not so much. He opens his mouth once, hesitates, closes it, and opens it again with a swallow.

“How... how’s your hand?” He’s still not looking at you.

“This?” You raise the empty stump, the phantom itch still throbs strangely. You’re strangely calm for someone who’s just lost their hand, but knowing death is right on its tail really puts things into perspective. “I’m fine. I was injured by Gunho during the battle and, well, you know the rest.” you shrug, turn away yourself. He really doesn’t, but it’s easier not to go into the specifics.

Wooyoung flinches a little, but you see it. Then an angry growl leaves his chest, fingers digging so hard into your pillow they turn white. “I should have killed that bastard when I had the chance.”

“You couldn’t have known what he was going to do.” You tell him gently, glance out of the porthole and watch the sky outside slowly turn from inky black to midnight blue. Silence lingers between the two of you for a moment before Wooyoung finally puffs out a breath, licks his dry lips.

“How’s Captain?”

Your captain snorts a little as you dab water at his nose. “If Wooyoung had been serious about beating me up, I’d have a lot more than a broken nose.”

“Well,” you shrug, bringing your knees up to your chest, “you nearly broke his nose, gave him five different bruises, very big ones, I may add, and almost gave Master a heart attack.” Wooyoung makes a satisfied noise, patting his raw knuckles fondly.

“He deserved that much, at the very least.” He mumbles, drags a hand across his face, but he looks relieved. “Five bruises was letting him off too easy.” You glance at him for a second, turn back to the world outside, the sky and sea separating as the first hints of day draw a line of light across the horizon. Beyond the heavy wooden door of the sickbay, orders are called, the thud of boots resounding across the deck as the crew rush to carry out said orders.

“I’ll be fine, really.” You find yourself saying, though he hasn’t asked. His eyes find yours and more words start to spill out of your mouth unchecked. “I might have lost a hand, but at least I’m not dead, am I?”

The second you say that, you feel like you’ve somehow slapped both Wooyoung and yourself in the face, metaphorically, of course. At least I’m not dead, your heart gives a little self deprecating chuckle, and you resist the urge to cut off that loose tongue of yours for its stupidity.

Great job, you.

“Get ready to storm the island! I want every one of us to find that Captain Kang and drag him to the Treasure by the knees! Do you understand me?” You hear Mingi shout from behind the door of the sickbay and you make to rise to your feet, “we should go check out what they’re up to-”

But you’re stopped by a familiar hand. “Wait.”

Frowning, you turn back, arch an eyebrow. “Why?” You ask, a little confused. Wooyoung glances up at you with deep green eyes, soft and serious with emotion, and one by one, his fingers lace around yours, squeezing gently. Your heart skips, tumbles a beat, but you keep your eyes on his face. “Wooyoung?”

“Just listen to me for a moment.” He says, voice pleading and for some reason, it makes you nervous, like you’re not ready for whatever emotionally weighted words he’s about to unload on you. “I just need to say something.”

The two of you probably really should get going, but something about the way he’s talking makes you pause, nod for him to go on. “When I was on that island... and we realised that it was a trap for the Treasure...” a shudder runs down his spine, the pad of his thumbs tracing small circles on the inside of your wrist, “I can’t begin to say just how damn terrified I was. And while I was running back to the ship, all I could think about was just how stupid I realised I had been.”

“You couldn’t have known it was going to be a trap, Wooyoung.” You remind him firmly, intent on stopping him from blaming himself just like his captain did, gods were all of them going to be like this? “No one knew, not even Captain, and we all came out fine, so there’s no harm done-”

“That’s not what I meant.” Wooyoung interrupts. The chains rattle as his hand falls to his side, as heavy as his words. “What I meant was... pushing you away, thinking that by distancing myself, I was keeping you safe, but in reality I was just a coward who didn’t have the balls to face my feelings.”

What?

“When I was running back to the Treasure, one thought kept replaying in my mind.” He bites on his lower lip, an agonized look crossing his eyes as he stares at you so longingly, so painfully. “What if the last thing you remembered of me was leaving you alone on that mast and removing myself from your life without knowing how I really felt? What if...” he chokes, head bowed, “what if the last thing you had thought of me was that I hated you, and you died without knowing just how untrue that was?”

You don’t even know what you’re hearing right now. The words, you hear them, but you don’t really hear them. Wooyoung doesn’t hate you, that... that’s amazing to know, but why do you feel like that isn’t the end of it quite yet?

“Chin Hae.” He looks into your eyes, so piercingly you couldn’t look away even if you tried. “I’m scared of women. I’m terrified of them. I have scars all over my body, and I can’t forget the way they touched me, how I was forced to serve them until Captain rescued me. After I left that life behind, I played women like toys because I wanted to convince myself that I was no longer the victim, no longer the powerless.” He takes a deep breath, searches you with a defeated smile. “But it seems like I was wrong, and I find myself powerless in front of a woman once again.”

Your thoughts swirl like the raging waves, a jumble of noises and words and so much emotions. “Wooyoung, what-”

“I love you, Chin Hae.”

“Wait, give me a moment-” You try to collect yourself, but Wooyoung smiles gently, squeezing your hand lightly again and that affectionate, familiar gesture grounds you like a lifeboat in the middle of a storm.

Gentle eyes meet yours.

“You don’t need to love me back.” He tells you, smiling a little wistfully. There’s peace in that lopsided grin, as if a massive weight has finally been lifted off his shoulders, as if he hasn’t just dropped the emotional equivalent of his 42 pound cannon right into your arms. “I just wanted you to know. You... you’re really precious to me, Chin Hae.”

You try to find words, and only one comes to mind. “Buh...” You’re immediately disgusted by your own apparent inability to form complete sentences. What is your brain made of, clay?

...probably.

At your flustered state, Wooyoung breaks into peals of laughter that resemble an entire pod of happy dolphins, slapping his thigh in amusement. Fumbling about, you throw your headrest at him, only making him laugh harder when it bounces off the wall next to head. “Wooyoung!”

“I’m sorry!” He laughs, not sounding sorry at all. You glare at him, not amused, but squeeze his hand back, like you always have.

“I don’t know how I feel yet.” You tell him honestly, linking your fingers together. Wooyoung nods earnestly, purple hair falling into his eyes. “You... you might only be saying this because you almost lost me, so I want you to think about what you feel again, after all of this has calmed down... before you tell me this again.”

Wooyoung shrugs. “I know what I feel, but if it makes you feel more assured, alright then. I’m fine with waiting.”

A breath of relief escapes you, and you nod seriously, but before you can say anymore, there’s a knock on the door, and it swings open to reveal-

“Captain.” Wooyoung rises to greet his captain a little awkwardly, scratching his head. The corner of Hongjoong’s lips lift in a slight, weary smile at the sight of the two of you seated on the bed, pausing slightly at the door.

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Not at all.” You wave your captain over and Hongjoong takes a step, but his toe dances lightly at the door right before it crosses into the room, and stops to squint a little at his head gunner.

“You’re not going to throw another punch at me the second I step into this room, right?”

Wooyoung lets out a humored chuckle. “God, no, even if I wanted to.” The ice broken, he bumps shoulders with his captain and Hongjoong finally cracks a smile, although it seems a little... off, somehow. “Though I still think it would have been an improvement to your looks if I’d broken a few things on your face.”

Your captain gives a good-natured snort for someone who’d just been beaten up less than half a day ago. “Well, it’s good to have you on the same side again. I was wondering if I could borrow your gun and your eye in,” he glances out of the door onto the deck with a grim smile, “maybe about a few minutes or so.”

Something about the way he says that has something sinking in your chest.

“Just my gun and eye?” Wooyoung tries to lighten the tension by joking with a raised eyebrow, similarly on edge at the tone of his captain’s voice, his fingers shifting towards the long flintlock at his hip as he gestures at himself. “You know you have to get me too, right? We’re kind of a package deal.”

“I might throw in a bonus if you come along.” Hongjoong shrugs, still gazing out of the door. The angle the two of you are at, you can’t quite see what’s happening on deck, but the shouting from outside is loud enough to reach your ears and you’re immediately tensed.

“Appreciative enough to spare me bilge bailing duty for a week for rearranging your face?”

“Maybe. If you ask nicely. Actually, no.” Hongjoong replies, turning to look at the two of you with a smile that’s a little too strained for your liking. “Well, someone has just approached the ship from the island, and-”

“Captain Kang says he wants to talk.”

[lovely-ateez]

Ice Cream Pt. 3~

ꕥPosted: 11/6/20

ꕥGenre: Fluff

ꕥPairing: FemReader! x Seonghwa

ꕥWord Count: 2.7k

ꕥWarnings: Slight language

ꕥA/N: This is honestly one of my favorite fics I’ve written and I really hope you all like it too! Let me know if you’ve got any suggestions! Also! I changed up my pics at the top of my fics! Whatcha think?

Your POV

The warm, gentle breeze rustled my hair as I sat beneath what quickly became my favorite tree in this park. Its tall Oak branches provided plenty of shade and the grass beneath it always felt so soft to the touch. In the middle of summer, it was the perfect place to be.

Flipping another page of my book, I yawned loudly, awaking the warm body that laid beside me. Seonghwa’s sleepy eyes met mine as I gave him a sorry smile.

“I didn’t mean to wake you. You can go back to sleep if you’d like.”

He brushed a strand of hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear, “Don’t worry, I’ve slept enough anyhow.”

It had been roughly two months since we first met. In the first month alone we went on five dates, still unable to get enough each other. It was faster than I had moved in previous relationships, and at first a part of me was afraid I would lose interest, but I hadn’t. Not even in the slightest.

Seonghwa’s eyebrows crinkled, “Whatcha reading, babe?”

I gave a slight smile. “The Outsiders. Last time I read it I was about fourteen. I remember loving it so much. I’m really glad I picked it up again.”

Seonghwa nodded. “That’s a good one.”

A comfortable silence fell between us as I attempted to resume my reading, but the dark orbs I felt on me led my attention elsewhere.

I spoke without bringing my eyes from the book. “You know I’m having an awfully difficult time reading when you look at me like that.”

A sly smile appeared on Seonghwa’s face as he moved closer, “And why might that be?”

“Because staring at someone like they’re your next meal isn’t necessary the most relaxing feeling.”

He responded with a soft chuckle and placed his head on my shoulder. My stomach fluttered and I did my best to ignore it as I stared at the pages before me, but it wasn’t working.

I’m getting too distracted. There’s no way I’ll be able to continue where I left off. Not with Seonghwa being so close to me, anyway.

Placing a bookmark inbetween the pages, I closed the book and placed it in my small backpack.

Turning to my boyfriend, an idea formed. “Have you ever made pottery before?”

Seonghwa blinked a few times, looking off into space. “No, I don’t believe I have.”

A large, toothy smile lit up my face. Grabbing his hand I pulled him off the ground and started leading him in the direction of my second favorite place in the world. The first? Wherever Seonghwa was.

Seonghwa’s POV

I grasped her soft hand harder in an attempt to keep ahold of her. She quickly skipped in what I could only assume was the direction of the closest pottery store, stringing me along.

“You walk awfully quick given your short legs little legs, you know that?”

She turned around and squinted at me, clicking her tongue, “Rude.”

I did my best to hide a smile. Her flowy jean overalls and large, pale blue shirt practically swallowed her which already made her the cutest thing I have ever seen. The feigned annoyance on her face just added another layer of cute. Not that I’d tell her outright.

Or hell, maybe I would. I’d love to see her cheeks flush again.

We approached a quaint store front that displayed the most intricate pottery in the windows, alternating with floral arrangements.

I read the store name aloud, “Soul Glaze?”

She gave a hum. “I’ve spent most all of my summers here. This place means a lot to me.”

Wiggling her fingers that were intertwined with mine, she reached for the door and opened it, revealing a group of children running about, laughing, and attempting to make pottery.

“Birthday party?” My girlfriend asked a young woman with bright red hair who appeared to be working there. She spun around, noticing us for the first time. The woman’s eyes lit up as they made eye contact.

“Oh my god! It’s so good to see you!” The woman yelled, promptly giving a bear hug to the woman I was holding hands with. She let go of my hand and hugged the redhead back.

“You look so good! How have you been?”

“I’ve been great! Actually...there’s someone I want to introduce you to.” Both women looked at me.

“This is my boyfriend, Seonghwa. Seonghwa this is Kim. She was my best friend in high school.”

“Very nice to meet you, Kim.”

She smiled in response, “You as well! I’m glad to see my bestie found someone. She certainly deserves it.”

My girlfriend flushed slightly. “So we were actually hoping we could maybe make some pottery. Do you have any space left?”

“Of course! Always for you!”

Kim lead us to a room separate from the children, thankfully. Not that I didn’t like children, but I was looking forward to spending some time alone with my girl.

“Alright I’ve got everything here that you need and I know you won’t need any help but if you need any more supplies just let me know. Have fun you two.” Kim gave a friendly wink to her best friend and left, presumably to help the children with their pottery.

My girlfriend squealed, bouncing up and down like a child. “It’s been so long since I’ve been here!”

As she walked around the room examining everything, the glint in her eye which I’ve come to love so deeply returned. But it wasn’t just that look in her eyes I loved. I loved all of her. Every smile, every laugh that she gave me made me feel like a lovesick teenager. Every flip of her hair, every sultry gaze made me forget to breathe. I loved every witty and sarcastic comment that she made towards me, how she challenged me in every way. In a good way. She made me want to be a better man for her. I needed to be a good man for her.

Wait.

I froze, afraid of my own thoughts.

I love this girl. It’s literally only been two months how can I already be in love with her? Oh god. Maybe it’s just a fleeting thought?

But as much as I tried to push down my feelings, the words kept repeating over and over in my head.

I love her.

Your POV

“You okay Seonghwa? You look a bit pale.” I could hear my voice laced with concern.

He shook his head slightly and laughed. “It’s just cute to see you so happy.”

I didn’t even have to see my face to know that it was gradually heating up and I closed my eyes as if that would prevent him from seeing it. Before Seonghwa could tease me about it I heard the loud voice of a young boy yelling my name. I turned and saw him running towards me.

“Stevie!” I smiled as he approached me and gave him a tight hug.

“How’ve you been? Gosh you’ve grown up so much since I’ve last seen you! You’ll be a grandpa in no time!”

The boy giggled, “No I’m only four! You’re the grandpa!”

“I’m the grandpa? Oh you’re gonna get it now!” I laughed as I picked him up and held him above my head.

Stevie squealed and laughed loudly as I lifted him higher. I set him down after a moment or two and he pointed at the man beside me.

“Who’s that guy?”

I let out a soft laugh. “This is my boyfriend, Seonghwa.”

Stevie looked at Seonghwa. “I won’t remember that so I’m calling you number two.”

“Why number two?” I inquired.

“Because I’m your first man!” He pouted and puffed out his chest.

Laughing, I squatted down to his height and ruffled his thick brunette hair, “You sure are, bub.”

I made eye contact with my boyfriend. “This is Stevie, Kim’s son.”

Seonghwa squatted down, holding out his hand to shake his hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, young man.”

Stevie gave a skeptical look as he shook Seonghwa’s hand and pointed at him. “Treat her good! If you don’t I’ll take your place, number two.”

My boyfriend raised a hand to his head in a salute. “Yes, sir!”

I did my best to hold my laughs but it didn’t work in the slightest.

“You two are cute.”

“But I’m cuter, right?” Stevie asked with wide eyes.

I glanced at Seonghwa and leaned down to whisper in Stevie’s ear, “Definitely.”

The young boy cheered and told us he had to go back to his friend’s birthday party. I waved goodbye as he ran out of the room.

“He’s just the cutest kid. I-”

Seonghwa swept me up and kissed me, gently resting his arms on my hips as he deepened the kiss.

“What was that for?” I asked, breathless.

“Just being you.”

I bit my lip and looked down, smiling slightly. He always said such cute things so easily and it flustered me every time.

“When Kim got pregnant with Stevie she was so nervous. We were still relatively young and she didn’t think she’d be a good mom.” I shook my head, “She was worried for nothing. She’s the best mom anyone could ask for.”

Seonghwa smiled, “You’d make a fantastic mom yourself.”

“Maybe one day.” I smiled back. I honestly never wanted kids. I was always more content with being an honorary aunt.

But I don’t think I would mind them with Seonghwa.

I set down my little backpack on a nearby chair and took some clay, placing it on the pottery wheel in front of me.

“Alright babe. Let’s get started.”

Seonghwa’s POV

My heart swelled the instant she pulled Stevie into her arms. I never knew that she was so good with children. We never really talked about it, but in that moment I could picture a life with her.

I could picture myself proposing to her, how sweaty my palms would get beforehand, how I’d likely forget half of what I wanted to say, how she’d look at me when I get on one knee, how afterwards she’d kiss me and I’d gently place the ring on her finger.

I could picture our wedding, watching my soon-to-be wife walk towards me, her favorite colored flowers in her hand, the dazzling smile on her face that makes my stomach do somersaults.

I could picture our first dance as husband and wife, tears in both of our eyes from the overwhelming happiness that we’d feel, the world seeming as though it disappeared in that moment.

I could picture how beautiful she would look pregnant, the tears in my eyes when she’d tell me, the unbelievable excitement for the next stage in our lives we would feel.

I could picture going clothes shopping for our unborn baby, my wife fawning over how cute the small clothes looked, probably buying every outfit possible.

I could picture lazy mornings in bed with our children, showering them with love and warmth, making sure they’d feel nothing but safety and comfort for all of their years.

I could picture sunny days in the park, pushing our children on the swings and listening to their joyous laughs as they’d ask us to push them higher.

I could picture growing old with her, watching our children graduate and having a life of their own, the grey in our hair that would slowly show, our kids teasing us about our age.

I could picture always protecting her and being there for her. I didn’t try to fight it anymore. I knew: she’s the one.

I was forced to push my thoughts aside as she began to teach me the basics. She was impressively good and I was embarrassingly bad, even with her instructions.

“No you’re doing great!” She told me when I voiced my thoughts.

I gave her a deadpan look and she giggled. “What? I was terrible my first time too, but you’re trying and that’s all that matters.” The kiss on the cheek she presented me with sent my heart flying, yet I tried to suppress it.

Time flew by and before I knew it our pottery had been made to our satisfaction and placed in a kiln. My girlfriend explained that it would take awhile for the pottery to be fully ready so we’d have to come back in a few days.

“Fine with me. That’s just more time I get to spend with you, doll.”

She bit her bottom lip and rolled her eyes, playfulness in her voice, “Yeah I guess so.”

After paying and bidding adieu to Kim, we left and wandered back to the park, my girlfriend slightly teasing me about my attempt at making a bowl.

“So when did Yeosang say he was gonna meet us?” She asked, wrapping her arm around mine.

“In about an hour. He’s bringing Aurora, by the way.”

I could sense her nerves, “You’ll like her, I promise. Your personalities are pretty similar so you’ll get along fine.”

“I sure hope so.”

Your POV

Aurora, Yeosang’s girlfriend, was someone I felt I’d become indebted to. Without her, I never would have met Seonghwa. This was my first time meeting her and I was nervous to say the least. I’d met Yeosang several times before so I wasn’t necessarily nervous about seeing him again. I just hoped I would get along with Aurora.

“Hey.” Seonghwa turned to look at me, “Don’t overthink it. It’ll all be okay. Even if she doesn’t like you—which she will—that’s not gonna change things between us, alright?”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that. You’re my girl. I’ve gotta stand by your side.”

I was quiet for a moment or two. His words meant so much to me. I wasn’t sure how to express it so I kept it simple. “That makes me happy.”

“You make me happy.”

I gave him a playful shove and giggled, “Get outta here.”

Seonghwa scoffed. “How dare you. I confess my true feelings and this is how I’m treated? Heartless.”

I moved in front of him, forcing him to stop walking. I looked deep into his eyes and I could feel the heat return to my cheeks at his gaze alone.

“Then let me confess mine.” Standing on my tippy-toes, I cupped his face and whispered into his ear, “I’m falling for you.”

I didn’t get a chance to see his reaction as I poked him in the cheek and began to run away from him, “Tag! You’re it!”

The wind once again flew through my hair, although this time it was more chilly, making me wish I had brought a jacket. The sun had begun to set and the cotton candy clouds meshed with the pinkish-yellow sunset. I slowed down unintentionally to take in its beauty, and that’s when I felt a pair of arms wrap around me and drag me to the ground.

I yelped and Seonghwa nuzzled my neck, pressing kisses to my most sensitive spots. “That’s what you get for challenging me.”

Although I wish I could say I had a clever comeback, I didn’t. I was too in awe of how truly handsome he was. I ran my fingers through his dark locks and played with the hair at the nape of his neck as he looked a me. His smile slowly faded as he broke eye contact.

I gave him a questioning look. “What’s wrong babe?”

Seonghwa opened and closed his mouth a few times as though he was trying to find the words to say or maybe work up the confidence to say something. Perhaps both.

His voice came out in a whisper, “Did you mean it?”

I tilted his head so that I could reach his lips. I kissed him lightly and smiled against the kiss. I pulled back and made sure he looked me in the eyes.

“Every word.”

He kissed me with more fervor than he ever had before. His hands wondered to my own, pinning them down.

“I. Am. So. Far. Beyond. Falling.” Seonghwa said between heated kisses.

The cold of the wind was long forgotten as the warmth inside me started to spread. I didn’t have the words to communicate how I was feeling so I resorted to kissing him back with even more passion. Until something occurred to me.

“Wait. We’re supposed to meet Yeosang soon.”

Seonghwa hurriedly checked his watch. “Shit, we gotta go.” Standing up and helping me off the ground, we both began to run to our usual meeting spot with Yeosang.

“It’ll be okay if we’re late, right?”

“Oh yeah totally, it’s fine.” He smiled. “We should probably run a bit faster though.”

[docholligay]

Time and Tide

@amberlilly requested “Michiru realizing she loves Haruka.” This is me INTENSELY on my bullshit, and I hope you enjoy grabbing your closest dictionary, i got to use so many words I rarely get an opportunity to use, I love you Michiru. 

It is terribly odd how one’s life can change, and how you believe it to be in a single moment. But that isn’t how things happen, not really. It is only that in one single moment, you realize what has been true for some time. Love is not a strike of lighting, that is only true of fools and children. Love is the tide coming in, so slow and so sure that it hardly seems different from the last moment, and then you are underwater, awakened to the knowledge that the world is not as you last left it. That this harmless thing has come in and covered everything you knew. 

There is a fortress in France, where the tide runs in, and separates it from everything, and island unto itself, and this has been my experience of love. Perhaps a better person might be as a dock or some seaside restaurant, the water only filling the space that it was always meant to, and making it lovelier, but for me it has surrounded me fully. Such it is with all things that do not prepare for love to come, I suppose. 

Rest assured that any long philippic you might offer about the nature of my heart and all its empty and cavernous spaces is already quite known to me. I reflect on that now, so desperately loving her, knowing I do not deserve her. I look at her in the long, thin blades of moonlight that cross her body and know that I am owed every ounce of pain that my heart is served.

It wasn’t always this way. In the beginning, things were so much simpler. I am a spoilt child, and this has always been true, and I wanted her as one wants a doll or a pony. I am not accustomed to being defied, and I don't care for it. The moon had already given me my twenty lashes, and so it owed me a reward. If I was trapped in this fate, at least there would be a lovely bauble to call mine and mine alone. She was handsome, and she was tall, and she was bound to me whether she wanted to be or no. 

That was enough, then. I seduced her as I have plenty of other women, thinking only that she would be a lovely mark on my record, that her low breeding and total lack of polish would annoy my parents and give my friends a good laugh. She was slow to warm to me, of course, so shy and unsure in the ways of romance and seduction, even as she puffed her chest and played the big butch. 

Maybe that was the first moment, that first gentle lap of the tide, when she took off her shirt, and she trembled, and I saw how very inexperienced she was. Haruka. I knew I had said her name, before then, but that was the first time I had tasted it on my lips. Sweet as cream, delicate as rosewater. Unburdened of the layers she put on to protect herself form the world, she looked so vulnerable, so thin and bright, a string of spun sugar catching the light. I might have loved her in the first moment then. 

She loved me, certainly. Haruka would call it a curse, that she can give her love so easily, that affection touches her so deeply, that kind words write themselves upon the sand of her soul and struggle to stay as the waves of her own self-regard wash over them. She finds herself silly, I know, for her softness. I found her silly as well, I suppose, when she became besotted with me, while trying to hold herself at a distance, a dance for which she had neither the training nor the skill. I saw her immediately for what she was. 

I wish I could say this tempered me, that I found some humanity within myself where I did not wish to hurt her. It would be a lie, and I endeavor not, at the least, to lie to myself. I was pleased. Being raised in such penury, she would need me as much as she wanted me, once she became accustomed to all those finer things, I assured myself. I wanted her to be my lapdog, my toy, the clay upon which I could mold a splendid little thing for my own decoration and delight. 

I laugh at that girl, now. How foolish she was to believe she could be so near Haruka, and feel the weight of her love, and remain dry, and safe, and in control. You have never known a girl like this one, I would tell her. She is a beauty, and she will transform you, beast that you are, into something that can almost be called human. Something that can feel fear and pain, the very heart of love. 

Perhaps the tide of love came in at my ankles when she accompanied me to a gala, when she asked me to dance and waltzed, her frame beautiful, her feet light. When she beamed and told me she had found someone to teach her, and she’d been fixing up their car in exchange, and how she wanted to surprise me. She could learn how to be classy, she whispered into my ear, and she would do her best. Flowers slipped into a tiny bud vase, served alongside an evening glass of wine. Lovingly written billets-doux describing my hair and eyes and hands, artless and plain-spoken. That earnestness. What a cruel thing. 

But I was blind even then, to how I would come to love her. I have always thought myself intelligent, and perhaps this is a sign of my greater folly, to think myself so logical against the flood that comes for so many. Perhaps I can blame the moon even for this, for bringing me this vulnerability I for so long saw as peccant. 

Even now, it frightens me, to see how I love her. What a perfect little fool I’ve become, to love something that can be taken away. 

I am often asked, what made me love her, now that we have been together these few years, and I find myself ever at a ramble. I suppose I have not done much better here. I have outlined so many small things that drew me to her, little laps of water growing higher and higher, and I could outline a dozen more at the least, all in very florid and unnecessarily embellished prose. I am almost a Rococo caricature of myself, at times, and I suppose this is cross anyone who cares to read this will be forced to bear. 

But I can tell you when I realized that love. When I realized that life slips like water through one’s fingers, and that I could know fear. 

We were in some manner of battle. This, I know, begins so many of my stories, but it is impossible to take into account how many battles I have been in and chide me overmuch on the subject. We were in battle, and it was heated and difficult. Mina was on the ropes herself, and certainly you must know how irregular a moment it was for us all. She wanted to regroup, to rethink. She did not declare us beaten, for I cannot believe that Mina would ever draw breath and consider a battle she had not won finished, but we needed to take a moment and find our footing. 

Haruka hated herself nearly as much as she loved me. I am not certain this is the venue to describe all the ways in which she has struggled over the course of her life, trying to find a reason she was born. Perhaps it is enough to tell you that her own mother was unkind on the subject of her birth, and there was little in the way of anyone to dissuade her that it was true, and the improvident moon did not consider that such a girl might be the wrong one to put into danger. Handing her something to die for, to prove her goodness and worth by her willingness to be hurt, was always a foolish gamble. 

She did not wait. 

Haruka ran toward the enemy, even as Mina yelled her sign, and I was caught quite flat-footed. Haruka did little without my go-along, you must understand, and I was so arrogant as to assume that would always be true. That even in the heat of the moment, her deference  to me could overwhelm her desire to play the hero. None of us could catch her. She was determined to have the moment of surprise. 

I remember seeing her fall to the floor. I am, despite even my own protestations, not an unfeeling creature, and perhaps any of my comrades at arms, falling in such obvious pain, might have pulled at my heartstring. But I assure you it would not have caused the immediate flash of fear and pain, so like a dagger in my chest, sharp and cold, the very breath stolen from my lungs. For a few brief moments, I could not move. I was chilled by the knowledge of which I now had possession. 

I would die for her. Worse than that, I would kill for her, I would let every single soldier beside me, all the world, crumble to ash if it could spare her life. Haruka had found something to die for, but the moon had given me something to destroy for, and if it played the fool with Haruka it had done oh so much worse with me. 

I left the girls, then. I drew my dagger as if I were pulling it from my own chest and not the buckler that made up my mirror, and I did not look back. I heard Mina call my planet, too, curse me for my own special brand of cowardice. I cared not. Court-martial me, and put me to my death, but do not ask me to endure the loss of her. I had not known, before that moment, that I was such a fragile thing. That I could so easily be undone, the ice princess in the high tower brought low by the very idea of her plaything being wounded. Knowing that no longer was she the plaything, but the princess, and I her prince, her ardent defender, the Orpheous that would happily walk myself into Hell and Hades to be at her side. 

I may have made a miscalculation, but the enemy had, as well. For you see, I am a great and terrible opponent, when I have something to lose. It seems the enemy was as unknowing as myself, and they paid for it in blood. I never even noticed its death, too busy running to Haruka’s side. 

All’s well that ends well, I suppose. Mina barked something to me about orders, but she could only say so much when my great foolishness had won the day. It matters little how one wins the battle, so long as you win. Haruka was hurt, and angry that I had saved her, and touched that I had wanted to, and afraid that she could never be worthy of that desire. She said none of these things, of course, but she has no gift of emotional legerdemain, and I could read it all so clearly. 

I knew fear. I have never know how to express that fear. To say I am afraid she will die is too simple and easy, for we all hope our nearest ones will live. I am afraid of so much more than than that. I am afraid that she will die, and so will every good thing in me, that the tide of love will recede and all that will be left is the exposed shipwrecks of what I am underneath it all. 

And yet, here in the night, writing this for whoever might care to read when I am gone, I will tell you now: I would make this Faustian bargain again in one beat of my heart. 

Love has made me a fortress, cut off from the land, but it has given the fortress a thing to protect besides itself. It has given me purpose. 

It has made something inside of me alive.

[renaroo]

Super Brothers (1/12)

Disclaimer: Superman and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics. Warnings: Child Abuse, Gender Dysphoria, PTSD and Anxiety, Character Death Rating: T Synopsis: Jon Kent knew he pretty much had the perfect family life, but something still felt wrong with himself. At the height of feeling like an alien in his own skin, however, his world got turned upside down when his parents took in a troubled child who embodied everything he felt he lacked. However, becoming a brother ended up being the smallest of the trials brought by adopting Christopher Kent. And being best friends with Damian Wayne has not exactly helped keep a neutral perspective on the matter.

A/N: I have made no secret over the last few years just how disappointed i’ve been by the treatment and reintroduction of Chris Kent, aka Lor-Zod, in DC Comics. This little guy is one of my favorite comic book characters in existence, and it feels so dirty to see what has become of him. For a while, I’ve wanted to do a story that really tried to rectify the Rebirth version of Chris and the continuity at large with the core of the character I love, so this story is my attempt at that. I can only hope that I bridge that gap gracefully.

On the other end, I didn’t want to erase Damian or Jon and all the positives I have seen with their relationship and additions to the DCU at large. For their parts in this story, I want to focus on being in the middle school age range, all the confusion that entails, and open a dialogue about issues of gender and acceptance. 

Obviously, these are a lot of heavy topics, and I am certain that despite my intentions, there can and will be things I mess up. My hope is, when that happens, you all can keep an open dialogue with me on the subjects. I want to learn and better myself and my portrayal of the issues. 

That being said, please pay attention to the warnings throughout this fic. I will touch on dark subjects, and I don’t want anyone to read and feel unprepared for the subjects broached, which is part of the reason I chose to make an opening scene that is rather dark and disturbing on some levels. It won’t be ALL dark and uncomfortable, but I want to make this plea now rather than later. 

I hope the story is still worth your read <3 Thank you for your time!

Chapter One: The Cost of Friends

Jon hates this.

At the absolute worst of times, his tiny body reminds him of just how unreliable it is. He can’t count on it, it’s not consistent — it’s not a Superman body no matter how hard he tries to fit it in as one. His limbs are gangly, his bones poke through pale kin, and his messy black hair curls untamed out from around his ears. It’s not good it doesn’t do what he needs it to do.

And at that moment, Jon’s terrified that it’s about to get himself and his best friend killed.

Ordinarily, being half-Kryptonian, Jon would easily burst through chains and bindings without a second thought. And he’s still strong, he tore through the ripe around his waist like it was taffy, but the chains keeping his legs and neck locked to the floor aren’t budging. And Jon’s getting progressively tired.

There’s something strange about this macabre carnival where he and Damian take the center ring. Of course, there is, because it’s Professor Pyg and he’s the stuff of nightmares. But beyond even that, the spotlights on them show with a heavy red glow that is making Jon sluggish and weak.

So weak that he’s less than a circus ring away from Damian and he still can’t get to him.

“Come now, come now, wait your turn,” the grotesque villain squeals in delight toward Jon. “Little Bat has been scheduled for this appointment for such a long time! You must be patient, my little bird. So patient. Everyone has their time with the professor.”

“Superboy!” Damian snarls from where he is tied up, flat and without his utility belt. He’s laying on a gurney that looks far from sanitary and, if Jon didn’t know better, it might even look like Damian is actually concerned. “Focus! Red sunlight radiation shouldn’t dull your brains as much as it does your strength!”

Blinking, Jon looks up to the spotlights again and can see, with what vague telescopic ability he still has, that there is something unusual about the spectrum of light coming from them. “Is that what this is?” he asks, voice small but filled with relief all the same.

“Oh, my, I cannot, must not, pass an opportunity to educate my subjects, inform them of their peril,” Professor Pyg pantomimes his way from the circus ring with Damian toward the center stage with Jon.

Immediately, Jon feels his body stiffen on instinct. He looks warily at the flabby, disgusting pig mask as the rest of the pudgy and unkempt professor makes his way toward Jon. He knows he should be focusing on getting free, but it’s a difficult thing to do when he’s being approached by unmitigated evil and brutality.

He isn’t sure how Damian gets his suit on every night if this is what Gotham patrols are really like.

“It is your body,” Pyg snorts and chortles.

A cold splash washes over Jon. “My body?” he repeats with wide eyes.

“Get away from him, Pyg!” Damian roars, his gurney shaking and rocking with struggle.

“It isn’t right, doesn’t fit on your bones,” Pyg bemoans, jerking out his hip and slithering his own arms around his chest and waist. He sways back and forth on his feet with a sashay of his hips. “It misses the shape of your spirit, the delicate frame of your face. And it’ll only get worse with age.”

Despite himself, Jon feels his struggle slow to a complete stop. His eyes widen as he looks at Pyg. There is a chill that travels from the base of his spine up, standing all his hair on end.

Deep inside of Jon’s chest, muscles tighten and his heart thunders. He feels a shiver move from his core. No oh no oh no oh no. HIs guts churn, his jaw trembles.

“Oh, you feel it, don’t you, that deep deep down,” Pyg continues, approaching. “You’re in the last years of it being passable, of being acceptable. Before your bones grind and the sinews snap into shapes thick and unbecoming of your gentle nature. I see what you are, in that deep deep down, because I am an artist who shapes and molds my subjects out from their souls.”

“You’re a monster,” Jon whispers, his voice giving up halfway through.

Pyg’s eyes shine with something dangerous through the outsides of his mask. He reaches forward and cups Jon’s cheek with his itchy gloved hand. Jon doesn’t even know when he got so close; when he started towering so tall over Jon.

“You’ll be one of my finest Dollotrons,” Pyg promises, rubbing his thumb just under Jon’s eye. “But your clay’s too strong, have to soften you up, get you nice and fleshy, then I’ll shave and I’ll cut and I’ll shape you right up.”

It doesn’t come off as a promise, so much as it does a threat, one that terrifies and unsettles Jon deep down within himself.

Jon’s mind draws a blank, his eyes wide and unfocused and he attempts, desperately, to come up with some intelligent response. But he can’t, not while a fear racks his every nerve and turns his muscles to stone.

It takes Jon completely and utterly by surprise when a familiar whoosh in the air flies overhead before glass crashes and electricity sparks. He catches a glance at the familiar shape of a Batarang lodged into the spotlight directly overhead.

He’s instantly overcome with relief.

Pyg releases his cheek and steps back wildly, looking around. “No! Not now! My art is not ready!” he cries out before letting loose some piglike squeals and sobs.

Looking toward Damian, Jon expects to see his friend released but is surprised to see Damian still trapped. He squints, uncertain of what’s happening when a second then third Batarang plunge into the remaining red sun spotlights.

“Batman?” Jon wonders out loud.

“Ugh,” Damian lets out in frustration before struggling with even more force against his bindings. “Overdramatic, sanctimonious, can’t believe—“

Dollotrons are racing onto the tent floor while Professor Pyg whines and bemoans his ultimate fate, but as the lights extinguish one by one, the shadows take on a new form.

She moves like a dancer, each step and hit against the army of zombified victims perfectly paced and timed. She is all in black, save for her golden accents and bat, and she spares not a single motion. A kick becomes a launch for a leap becomes a smack becomes a twirl becomes a fist to the face of the blubbering Professor. And each and every movement grows in its momentum.

Jon has never seen anything like this outside of super speed, and he certainly hasn’t seen it using the shapes and silhouettes of the shadows like a comforting show curtain. He has so many questions and so many concerns that he forgets himself and getting free. Even if he could, with his body still unresponsively slow and dulled from the radiation.

Damian, at the least, is in motion, finally getting one of his hands free and using the points of his gauntlet to slice through the leather of the other bindings. He is muttering to himself, annoyed and embarrassed based on the flush in his cheeks. It’s not a rare sight but it is unusual for Jon to see Damian this way around one of his multitudes of siblings.

The shadowy bat launches into a final attack, knocking out the last of the Dollotrons before pouncing on the escaping Professor Pyg like a hungry lioness.

With her full weight on Pyg, the Bat narrows her eyes and for the first time can really be seen by Jon as she reaches over and yanks Pyg’s disgusting mask off of his face. Her lips curl in displeasure, but it doesn’t take away from her fair features or the delicate, smooth control she has over her body.

“Wow,” Jon hears himself say as Damian reaches his side and begins pulling out a small blowtorch for the chains. “Is that your sister?”

“SHH!” Damian hisses.

Jon strains to listen to whatever is being said between the Bat and Pyg, but it gets him nowhere, only words at a time coming in clearly as his powers remain in flux. Regardless, Pyg is squirming and blubbering too much for it to matter anyway.

“Took her damn time,” Damian snarls, letting Jon lean on him as he glares toward his sister.

“She saved our lives,” Jon reminds him.

Damian’s nose curls. “Tt, debatable.”

Cassandra apparently finishes whatever minor conversation she was having with Pyg and flips him over, handcuffing him swiftly. She’s powerful and strong without losing her leanness or size, it mesmerizes Jon in a way. By the time she looks up at them, her expression has completely changed.

“You okay?” she asks them both.

“No thanks to you,” Damian says at the same time Jon gets out, “All thanks to you!”

Something approximating a smile crosses her face before she gets to her feet and reaches up to her ear. “Oracle. Done.”

Looking at Cassandra, Jon feels like he’s found yet another new hero. “Whoa, your sister’s awesome. And cool. And so in control,” Jon tells Damian, his strength returning. “You’ve got so many siblings, can I have your sister?”

“Father would be displeased, otherwise I’d say yes,” Damian huffs in that way that Jon cannot tell, for the life of him, if it’s sarcasm or not.

***

Damian watches as his friend flies off.

It took the better part of an hour as well as a stop at Big Belly Burger for Jon to feel up to the task, but the half-Kryptonian flies home after departing from them and Damian watches him go.

Cassandra, as it turns out, is also there. She leans back against her motorcycle — a sleek but redundant design, like any of the numerous other bat-themed motorcycles or vehicles any of their extended family has access to — and watches Damian more than Jon.

They haven’t had much time with just the two of them. Their paths rarely intersect. And Damian is pretty sure he prefers it that way.

His cheeks are still on fire from the embarrassment of being rescued by her.

“I would have gotten out,” he informs her, crossing his arms. “Pyg was distracted and far away from me. I was working on my restraints.”

She tilts her head at him, a frown tight on her face. “Distracted you, too,” she points out.

And Damian knows she’s right about that, he was distracted. Just the look on his friend’s face, the growing horror and dread. Jon isn’t used to the types of villains that Gotham can throw at people, the psychological toll it takes. Damian is, or at least he likes to think he is, but Jon still can be scared and surprised.

But what looks crossed Jon’s face at that moment were unexpected even to Damian. He had never seen anything like it. Jon had been soaking up every word and phrase like it had been ripped straight from his dreams.

It was enough that it frightened Damian for his friend, and he didn’t even know why.

Over the course of an hour and a Big Belly Burger, Jon had refrained from mentioning a single thing about it.

That, too, was very unlike Jon.

Such things could be dwelled on at another time, though. Damian had the pressing matter at hand of his own reckoning. And his so-called sister.

Without looking up to meet Cassandra’s gaze, Damian kicked at the ground. “What are you going to tell father about tonight?” he asks.

“Truth,” Cass answers unhelpfully.

Gritting his teeth, Damian looks back at her, eyes narrowed and angry. “That’s not fair, you know,” he growls at her. “You never come around, never work with any of the rest of us, and then you pop in and judge us from on high. No wonder father speaks highly of you. You’re just like him.”

Her brows come together in a way that wrinkles her forehead. It’s hard to read her expression, even with her modified mask and hood. “I’m not,” she says. Her words sound final, but she apparently thinks better of them and shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Judging you. I’m not.”

Damian looks her over. She hasn’t moved from her bike but her arms have dropped to her side. She is looking at him rather intently and it makes him want to squirm in his combat boots.

“Tt, sure you’re not,” he finally snaps back. “You’ll still tell father that I was captured by Professor Pyg.”

“Yes,” she said too casually.

“And that I let Superboy get captured, too,” Damian glowered more at that one, his eyes rest on the asphalt beneath his feet. He kicked again.

Cassandra paused slightly longer with that one.

When her hand snaked its way onto his shoulder, Damian flinched bodily. He slapped her hand away and twisted around to get away on instinct. He hated that — no one should be able to sneak up on him. He was trained by League of Assassins, he had been prepared since before he could speak to be on guard.

But Cassandra had, too.

She looked at him passively. “Not your fault, happens,” she said, in reference to Pyg.

“That’s not what father will think,” Damian snaps.

“I’ll tell him,” she promises.

Damian stares at her for a moment, sizing her up and considering all the ways he could make her more respectful to him. But it fizzles out quickly. He knows, as much as he resists the thought, that he isn’t upset with her.

He’s upset with himself.

“In the League, they trained us that there is a cost to every relationship formed,” Damian informs Cassandra like she doesn’t intuitively know from her own history. “Partnerships, even necessary ones, would cost you heavily. They could be deadly. And more relationships than strictly necessary should be avoided. All this family and friendship that is just around me all the time now. I don’t want to pay the cost for them.” He looks to the skies where Jon once flew. “I don’t want my friend to pay for them either. It’s not worth it.”

Cassandra stays quiet, but she places her hand on Damian’s shoulder again. He doesn’t attempt to knock it off this time.

“Sometimes it is,” she tells him.

But Damian isn’t so sure. Especially not hearing it from her. Cassandra does not work with others to the same degree as the rest of their family. She doesn’t go to school. She doesn’t join teams outside of father’s pet projects. She doesn’t operate in a daily partnership like Damian has with Grayson or father.

She seems to be living by those lonesome standards that the League taught Damian. And all anyone can do is praise her.

What sort of lesson is Damian supposed to learn from that?

***

Jekuul feels oppressively hot outside of the crystal palace.

Lor has watched his parents stand, looming in the skies, over the land’s natives as they constructed the palace for them. He watched as their eyes glowed threateningly each time the native population faltered, and he remembered how easily their bones cracked and snapped when corrected by the general and his lieutenant. It was equal parts thrilling and terrifying to witness.

Inside the palace, things are smooth and temperature regulated. The pantries are stocked with foods far greater than anything Lor had tasted within the Phantom Zone, but still foreign and sometimes unexpected.

If he questions what was on his plate, he is quickly reprimanded.

So he doesn’t ask.

It should be easy, if not simple, to follow the rules at this point. Stay in the palace, eat when told without questions, listen to his lessons from the Sunstones without fault.

He is the Last Son of Krypton, and he is supposed to inherit everything the universe owed them for their lost greatest civilization. All he has to do is stay in place, not ask questions, don’t be, don’t move.

But he was not born on Krypton, nor was he born on Jekuul — New Krypton, by his father’s declaration — he was born in the perilous depths of the Phantom Zone. A prison.

Inside of the Phantom Zone, there was no movement, there were no questions, there was not being or doing or screaming or aging — that had been the only thing he’d ever existed and it was torturous.

Outside of the Phantom Zone, he thought, things are supposed to be different. He is supposed to move and change and grow, he thinks.

So even though there is every reason not to leave the palace, Lor-Zod leaves in the oppressive heat and feels the sun against his Kryptonian skin as he flies under the two yellow suns.

As he moves across the lands, the violet skinned natives of Jekuul fall to their knees and avert their eyes. They whisper and whimper in a tongue completely foreign to Lor-Zod and it feels, well. It feels good.

Lor-Zod knows that they react this way to his parents, but to have even adults of the alien race fall in reverence to him, he feels more powerful. He feels like the Last Son of Krypton that his father insists he is.

He wonders, vaguely, if it is something his father would like to see.

Deep down, Lor hopes so. Because it is easy for Lor to imagine what his father would think or say when he doesn’t like something Lor has done. He has no concept of what would happen when he makes his father pleased.

He is nearly at the end of the primitive village when Lor’s eyes fall on an unusual sight.

One of the Jekuul natives, a young female no older than Lor and having not yet earned her yellow stripes, stands and stares up at Lor. She doesn’t drop to her knees or avert her eyes.

For a few seconds, Lor continues flying, arching his head back to watch for the girl to finally do as she is supposed to but she never does.

Aggravated and surprised, Lor turns in his flight path and descends, landing promptly in front of the girl.

“Why aren’t you kneeling?” he asks before his feet are even secure.

She stares at him, head tilting. Her black eyes are large and reflective, Lor can see himself in them.

He huffs at her, crossing his arms like he has seen his father do so many times before. “Don’t you speak Kryptonian?” he sneers.

After a quiet moment, she scratches at her head and looks around. That seems to answer Lor’s question for him.

“You’re supposed to kneel,” he groans. “Look, like this,” he says, bowing down to one knee and lowering his head. He’s seen so many others do it before.

Then he hears laughter.

Lor looks up and sees the girl covering her mouth as she giggles before she gets down on both her knees and dips her body down in a silly, teetering display. A mockery. Then she gets back to her feet.

“No!” Lor snaps, getting back to his own feet and grabbing her shoulders.

At first, she stiffens, surprised, and looks at him wildly. Her hands grip onto his wrists and she seems afraid.

“Like this,” Lor repeats, then pushes down on her. He dips with her, down to the ground on their knees. But when they both lower their heads, they immediately smack foreheads.

It feels like nothing to Lor, but for the girl, she jolts back and begins rubbing at her skull.

Instinctively, just like he follows his parents’ motions, Lor reaches up and rubs at his own head. They stare at each other as they both sit there on their knees, rubbing their heads.

Then, despite himself, Lor giggles.

The girl giggles.

They both giggle.

Once the giggles subside, they are both sitting on their knees in the dirt and staring at each other expectantly. They don’t speak the same language. They aren’t remotely the same and, yet, Lor has never felt more of a need to communicate with someone in his life.

He points at his chest, at the house emblem emblazoned on his armor. “Zod,” he tells her. “Zod,” he repeats.

For a moment, the girl is quiet, absorbing his words, then she points at her chest and the purple skin. “Jekuul,” she says.

“No, not what you are,” he mutters, catching on quickly. “I’m not…” He is a Zod, though. Maybe more than he is a Kryptonian, if only in his own mind. He sucks in a breath and tries again. He points at his face. “Lor,” he tells her.

Understanding fills her expression and she points at her own face. “Ti’ahl.”

And, maybe for the first time, Lor feels a wide smile cross his face.

From that moment on, their afternoon is filled with delight.

Ti’ahl points at every structure, every creature, every plant with words and phrases that will not stop saying until Lor repeats. Repeatedly, Lor picks Ti’ahl up easily, flies her from location to location, lifts up every boulder and animal they come across as she claps in delight.

It’s thrilling — and Lor laughs more than he has ever laughed before in his life.

By the time the second sun begins to set, a chill quickly crosses the lands, and Lor can see Ti’ahl gain a shiver. It makes Lor feel bad to see Ti’ahl uncomfortable in any way.

“Hold on,” he calls to her at one point, slowing her run through the grass. He reaches up and carefully unclips his cape from his armor. Grinning, he floats toward Ti’ahl and drapes her with the heavy fabric.

After Lor ties the cape closed over her neck, Ti’ahl looks down and touches the knot. A funny look crosses her face and she looks at Lor.

Ti’ahl leaps onto a nearby rock, standing tall and crossing her arms. “ZOD!” she declares herself.

Realizing what is happening, Lor giggles and drops obediently to his knees. “I kneel!” he laughs.

At first, Ti’ahl joins his laughter, but then she becomes strangely quiet.

Confused, Lor looks up at her. “Ti’ahl?” he asks before realizing that a shadow has crossed over them both.

Heart sinking, Lor twists around and sees his father, arms crossed, standing over them both. He looks displeased.

“Father,” Lor gets out, voice thin.

“Is this how I find the Last Son of Krypton? Kneeling before his lessers?” the general snarls. He drops his hands to his sides as Lor begins to stand up and easily kicks Lor back down. “If you lower yourself in the dirt for a mongrel child, you will stay there for your leader, do you understand?”

Breath catching in his throat, Lor nods. “Y-yes, Sir.”

“To the palace. Immediately,” General Zod orders, his gaze carrying over to Ti’ahl. “There will be a price to pay for this, Lor-Zod. Let us see if you are grown enough to pay it.”

Lor cannot bring himself to look at Ti’ahl as he leaps to his feet and takes off in the air. His blood is rushing to his ears, tears building up in his eyes even before he reaches his top speeds of flight.

It isn’t until he was home that he realized he had left his cape.

[goddamnwritersblock]

Edda, Elizabeth, and Jade

Chapter 2

847, December 359

That woman. Edda. She was with the church and let me tell her what they were actually doing. She believed me. She told me that she had some thinking to do and left before she could even eat the meal I had made. What a gullible girl. It’s almost charming. I’ve only talked to her once and it was a sensitive topic for both of us and yet she never leaves my mind. I don’t know if that’s a bad thing yet or not.

847, December 360

I want to see her so desperately and I don’t know why. What reason do I have to be so infatuated with her? She’s just another woman! And yet… there’s something different about her that has me in its hands. Maybe if I see her again this feeling will go away.

847, December 363

Well, I finally saw Edda again. But now the feeling is stronger than ever! Why did it have to be me Freyja? Why with her? I suppose I shouldn’t question you.

848, January 002

She came to me in a panic today. She said she had converted to my religion and announced her leave and that she had nowhere else to go so she came to me. She’s in the spare room sleeping. Freyja I don’t know how much more I can take of this. I think I know what this is but I’m still unsure. Please give me strength.

With that being said and done I leave the book where it lays to clean up the mess from tonight’s meal, feeding the scraps of meat to Bjorn, and setting the bones out to dry for later use. My mind keeps wandering to her. Checking on her won’t hurt right? I nudge the door open seeing her sleeping form. I’ve never seen her without that headdress on. Now it’s strewn about across the pillow and the bed eventually falling off the edge. It was quite long actually. It’s beautiful. Long, straight and snow-white, I’ve never seen anything like it before. She stirs a bit in her sleep so I decide to leave the room. Perhaps I’ll visit the shrine.

With my warmest furs on I write a quick note to Edda which reads:

“Edda, I have left to go visit a shrine two towns over.

Perhaps you should have come with me to learn more about the gods but I am in dire need of answers to a personal issue.

I’ve left some basic recipes on the back and the locations of where to find utensils and ingredients. If I’m not back by the day after tomorrow and you have food leftover feed the meat to Bjorn and set the bones out to dry. I like to use them for many things.

Just don’t burn down the home! I mean that in a joking way, sorry.”

I pet Bjorn goodbye and walk out into the cold of winter dawn and begin my journey. I’ve only just reached the end of the small dirt path when I hear the sound of feet hitting the ground getting closer and closer. Turning around I see Edda quickly approaching trying to fasten the buttons on the fur cloak I’d gifted her.

“I saw your letter! Do you think I could come with you? I want to see what it’s like.” I do really want her to come with me and she could give a prayer if she wants to and it’ll be educational.

“Alright. When we get there please stay close. I don’t want any accidents.” As the words left my lips a big grin appeared on her face. It was a kind of joy I’ve never seen on her before. Surely it can’t actually mean that much to her, right? “Well, let’s go. It’ll be a bit of a walk.” With that, we begin walking side by side, Edda admiring the bare trees and talking about this and that. I’ve learned that she likes sweet things and she likes the different shades of green and brown. She learned I like storm clouds and stars. She told me she likes living with me more because I’m kinder than they were both in my actions and words. I’ve noticed that she flinches away whenever I raise my hand and I don’t think I want to know.

We walk a few hours more in silence, the only noise coming from animals and the freezing wind that blows occasionally. Every now and then I think I catch her looking at me with a certain look on her face. It reminds me of the looks my father would give my mother after a long day working in the fields. He would come home, give her that very same look, and hold her as close as he could until she pushed him away to share the expression. I doubt Edda would actually be looking at me the way they looked at each other no matter how badly I want her to. Wishful thinking I suppose. I must admit that I’ve been looking at her too whether I’m supposed to or not.

We finally decided to stop once the sun started going down over the mountains. Wanting to help she took it upon herself to gather wood for a fire while I hunt for a rabbit or a bird to eat. I only have five arrows in the quiver I brought so the shots need to count. After catching two smaller rabbits and returning to the camp we set up, I start preparing everything to eat later on. Edda sits next to me happily drawing pictures in the dirt with a stick. They aren’t very good. I’ve taken to whittling a small figure, I don’t know who or what it’ll be yet I’m just carving as I go. Soon after I hear a startled gasp come from the red-eyed woman next to me and when I look over her face held an expression of excitement and fear looking into bushes across from us.

“Mjoll, look!” She points at a pair of glowing yellow eyes staring back at us. With slow movements I leave my dagger and wood laying on the ground, reaching for my bow. Knocking it I take my aim. “Hey! What are you doing?” She exclaimed in a hushed voice.

“I’m going to shoot it, what does it look like?!” I match her volume as to not make whatever is in the bushes run away. It could be useful to us later on.

“You can’t do that! It’s just a fox, he's done nothing to you!” She seems to really care about it. Despite my gut telling me to shoot the damn thing I put the weapon down and watch as the fox slowly and carefully makes its way towards the two of us. Edda reaches out, letting the fox cautiously sniff and lick her open hand. She starts petting it with gentle touches, it flinches away but soon melts into the touch.

“Mjoll you have to pet him he’s so soft!”

“No.”

“You’re no fun.”

“And here we will have our first lesson on the gods. Loki is the god known for mischief and putting others in danger due to his own recklessness and personal pleasures. He’s not to be trusted and one of the forms he likes is a red fox.” She stares blankly, simply pointing to the fox that has curled up and fallen asleep. “Yes. For all you know that could be him trying to gain trust for some ridiculous scheme of his.”

“Well… If it is him then I guess I’ll just have to suffer the consequences.” Why would she think this is a good idea? I just told her it could be dangerous!

“Okay, you do that. I’m going to eat and go to sleep.” All she does is give a hum in response and let me eat alone, paying more attention to the fox. Eventually, I lay down with the last thing being heard is Edda cooing at the animal as if it were a human child.

Another day and night pass before we reach the shrine. There are not many people here which I suppose is a good thing. I whisper to Edda letting her know that I’d be praying at one of the singular shrines within the building. She simply smiled and nodded. I sit and finally start my prayer while she looks around. I mumble through my prayers for a few minutes seeking some sort of answer to why I feel like this. Why do I want to spend almost every waking moment with her, why I want to be so close to her, why do I want her to hold me in her arms and never let go? Why do I catch myself looking at her the way my father did with mother? Why is she one of the most beautiful people I’ve seen? The feelings are amazing but I hate that I can’t make sense of them. My heart always speeds up and I get almost anxious when she’s around. My face heats up as well, I always feel like I look like a red rose but one that’s starting to wilt. I feel like a very soft clay or maybe mud. I hate it. I get pulled away from my concentration by the sound of something falling. When I turn to look at what the noise was I see a statue of Freyja rolling away on the floor and Edda scrambling to catch it and put it back on the pedestal. She finally catches it and I go back to my prayers without another thought. She comes over and sits next to me simply watching as I continue my work.

”So, Mjoll. What exactly are you doing?” She asks with seemingly all the curiosity in the world.

”I’m praying to Freyja.”

”Is it for forgiveness? Like what we had to do in church?”

”No, it's a… A personal matter.” She lets out a soft ‘oh’ and looks at the floor for a bit. ”Well I’m finished. Are you ready to go?”

”I want to make prayer too. I don't know who Freyja is though.”

”She’s a goddess of things like love, fertility, beauty, gold, and cats. Women often come and ask her for help with fertility and love. They leave her offerings. I actually have some I need to put by the altar.”

”Were you asking for love? I think that's what I'll do.” My face goes red at her question and I quickly deny it. Even if she had someone she liked it definitely was not me. I walked over to the altar and opened the bag I brought with me and pulled out a honey nut cake wrapped gently in cloth and a small jar of honey cream both of which I made the day before we left the hut. The tie on the cake has a golden pendant that I have no use for anymore attached to it. I place them gently among all the other offerings of food, fine wine, mead, gold, and figures of cats in various metals and materials. I was very lucky to get everything to make them.

”Mjoll? I’ve finished.” I jump slightly in surprise, it's like she appeared behind me out of thin air. I turn and nod and with that, we start walking back home. Hopefully this time without a fox to distract her.

We return home and Edda goes straight for Bjorn to start petting him, which he thoroughly enjoys. Meanwhile, I begin making dinner which, honestly, isn't much. Just some fish and herbs which will be fried on a pan over the fire with some vegetables. I prepare the fish, herbs and the other greens before lighting the fire and cooking everything together. It takes longer than I expected it to but, eventually, it’s finished and I’m able to serve everything at the table. Before we start eating I cut off a small portion of my fish and give it to Bjorn on his own separate little wooden plate. The meal was silent for the first few minutes before I broke the silence.

“So… Remind me, what did you pray about?” Her answer came out very casually as if it weren’t actually that big a deal.

“Love.” That was it. Nothing else came out.

“What does that mean?”

“I mean the romantic kind. The kind you see between all the newlyweds. Only I’d like it to last.”

“Do you already have someone you like?” She choked a bit at the question and turned very red in the face. Perhaps it’s just because of how pale she is or maybe it really was that personal or embarrassing.

“I mean um… Maybe I do, maybe I don't, who really knows?”

“You should know Edda. After all, it’s your own feelings.” Her eyes darted around to anywhere except me. She looked at her cup, the fire, the cat, the tapestry on the wall, everything but me.

“Is there anyone you like, Mjoll?” I sat silently debating whether I should tell the whole truth or not. I decided on a partial truth, after all, it seems like she already has her eyes on someone else.

“Yes. But I doubt they’d like me back. I haven’t even known them for that long and I’m already head over heels for her- THEM! Head over heels for them!” I give a nervous chuckle and take a long drink from my cup and keep my eyes averted, hoping she didn’t hear my obvious mistake.

“You like girls too?” When I looked up at her she had a very hopeful look on her face.

“Well I like men but I’ve found myself looking at the women too. I guess I like both but I feel like I shouldn’t. It feels wrong but at the same time it feels so natural.”

“I understand how you feel.” She reaches across the table to take my hands in her own. They’re soft and delicate. Like they’ve never had to work a day in their life, yet they are riddled with small thin scars. “When I was with the church I revealed my thoughts to one of the sisters and she told me that I was being sinful, that God was sure to send me to hell if I didn’t set my mind straight. That Lucifer had taken hold of my heart and was twisting my thoughts. She told Father Williams and… Well, he did a few things that I don’t want to talk about. They all made me feel like I was an abomination but the romance I feel for women feels right.” Her voice started trembling when she mentioned Father Williams. I try and comfort her the best I can and we continue eating once she’s calmed down.

The table has been cleaned along with the dishes. It would’ve been much easier if Bjorn would stop tugging at my skirt and pawing at my legs. Once everything was put away I decided to follow him only to end up right in front of Edda. I would walk away to get more of the housework done but he kept dragging me to her. This went on for a good week. He just wouldn’t leave me alone. When he did finally give up he did the same with her for, again, a week straight but she enjoyed the attention he was giving her. And that’s when it hit me. He was acting as a messenger. Both of us had prayed for love related things. I wanted to make sense of them and to know if there was any chance of her liking me back in that way and she said that she asked for a good and true kind of love. Over the two weeks, we’d become more comfortable and got to know each other even more.

I think today is the day where I’ll tell her. I asked her if she wanted to come with me into the forest to hunt for mushrooms and other things of interest. She immediately perked up at the question and agreed quickly. In the meantime, I had been teaching her how to weave a basket which she was actually quite good at. I wish I could say I was a fast learner like she is, it took me until last summer to get the hang of it. Edda had finished it early this morning so she was ready to go. We both get ready in our own rooms, getting our boots on, our heavy dresses, our hoods, and whatnot. Bag and quiver at my sides and bow and basket in hand I walk out to the main room where she was already waiting for me. When she noticed my presence she got this big smile and a sort of softness in her eyes before she came over and brought me into a firm hug. It’s been so long since I’ve had physical contact like this that it took me a bit to react and hug her back. The height difference made it slightly awkward, with my face having nowhere else to go but her chest. My short arms also couldn’t quite reach all the way around her body. We stood like this for maybe a minute before separating.

“Well, I really liked that.” She has her hands on her hips and looked very pleased with herself. With all that said and done we leave and wander into the forest.

It didn’t take long to start finding the things we were after. We found some berries that were safe, mushrooms, some bones, things like that. The entire time we made small talk about the flora and fauna and which ones were safe and which were not. Somewhere along the lines of words, we started talking about our feelings on various things, for the most part we agree. I was thinking of when I should pop up with the things nagging me. But so far there hasn’t been enough silence between topics to actually say anything. It wasn’t until noon that the silence I was waiting for appeared.

“Edda?”

“Hm?” The noise was cheerful, the mood Mjoll was trying to get her in.

“I think I have something I want to tell you.”

“Oh dear, is it serious?”

“Yes but not in a bad way! I um…”

“Yes?”

“I think… We should pick up some oysters from the market before we go home.”

“Oh yes, that sounds great!”

She’s now talking about how we should have them what should go with it. I’m angry at myself, I don’t understand why I couldn’t do it. Perhaps it’s the fear of rejection that’s holding me back.

[letters-to-lonely-souls]

My thoughts: Please Hear What I’m Not Saying

When I was in Inpatient the most recent time, we read a poem called “Please Hear What I’m Not Saying” that I related to, so I’m going to share it and give my thoughts on it.

“Don't be fooled by me.

Don't be fooled by the face I wear

for I wear a mask, a thousand masks,

masks that I'm afraid to take off,

and none of them is me.”

I like to act. I think my natural draw to theatre is that I play characters often. I am trying to stop hiding but I have fear. What if I’m left behind because who I am is too much for any one person?

“Pretending is an art that's second nature with me,

but don't be fooled,

for God's sake don't be fooled.

I give you the impression that I'm secure,

that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well as without,

that confidence is my name and coolness my game,

that the water's calm and I'm in command

and that I need no one,

but don't believe me.”

As much as I hide, I do wish I could just easily remove my mask, to not be tempted to tie the strings of my smooth, smiling mask onto my head.

“My surface may seem smooth but my surface is my mask,

ever-varying and ever-concealing.

Beneath lies no complacence.

Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.

But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it.

I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.

That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,

a nonchalant sophisticated facade,

to help me pretend,

to shield me from the glance that knows.”

Weakness is something I fear people seeing. It’s why I try not to cry because crying shows I can succumb to my emotions and I hate people knowing how much my emotions control me. But I am so weak, I’m in pieces. It’s a puzzle I can’t quite solve.

“But such a glance is precisely my salvation, my only hope,

and I know it.

That is, if it's followed by acceptance,

if it's followed by love.

It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself,

from my own self-built prison walls,

from the barriers I so painstakingly erect.

It's the only thing that will assure me

of what I can't assure myself,

that I'm really worth something.”

Love is so powerful. It’s something pure and deep and complex. I have so much love for all the people who are so wonderful. They try to tell me how I am loved and worth it, but out of all the love I have, I don’t know how to return it to myself. I do wish I can see what they see when they look at me, and not the monster I see who wrecks all that is lovely in the world.

“But I don't tell you this. I don't dare to, I'm afraid to.

I'm afraid your glance will not be followed by acceptance,

will not be followed by love.

I'm afraid you'll think less of me,

that you'll laugh, and your laugh would kill me.

I'm afraid that deep-down I'm nothing

and that you will see this and reject me.”

I feel many lonely souls do this. At least, from some I’ve met and from myself. I guess part of it is that people have told me it wasn’t real. That saying that ‘I think I feel depressed,’ is too strong because I’m too young. It’s funny, in a sad way, that after over two years of this continuous back and forth I’m too young. I wonder if I’ll always be too young and when I’m old, I’ll be too old to be this depressed. I have been told that I just was overreacting. So the next time I ‘overreacted’ , I kept it to myself. I can’t be too young or attention-seeking if no one knows, right?  

“So I play my game, my desperate pretending game,

with a facade of assurance without

and a trembling child within.”

I am always that small child. My hair may be colored blue, I may have it cropped short, I may be taller and wider and older and look more masculine, but when I think back on my trauma, I am back as the young child who once thought they were a girl, with long blonde hair. That part of me still stays when  I have nightmares or panic attacks over my past.

“So begins the glittering but empty parade of masks,

and my life becomes a front.

I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk.

I tell you everything that's really nothing,

and nothing of what's everything,

of what's crying within me.”

I talk a lot. Like, a lot. But the amount of things that I say that are just white noise is most of it. I rarely use my voice to speak of the darkness in my head. That’s something else I’m working on. I have a lot of things that I need work on. 

“So when I'm going through my routine

do not be fooled by what I'm saying.

Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying,

what I'd like to be able to say,

what for survival I need to say,

but what I can't say.”

Like my last post said, there are so many things I wish I could say. I hope this is a place where I can say all the things that we keep in the closet. I hope maybe someone reading this can feel safe enough to share here or anywhere some of your secrets shrouded in darkness and mystery. 

“I don't like hiding.

I don't like playing superficial phony games.

I want to stop playing them.

I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me”

I miss the me I could’ve been. The one that is always optimistic, the one that has it together. But instead, I’m stuck in a game where I play this person while being the one who cries in the stairwell, the one who writes sad poems only the night and they will see, the one who feels so much pain that they use all the bad means to keep it down.

“but you've got to help me.

You've got to hold out your hand

even when that's the last thing I seem to want.

Only you can wipe away from my eyes

the blank stare of the breathing dead.

Only you can call me into aliveness.

Each time you're kind, and gentle, and encouraging,

each time you try to understand because you really care,

my heart begins to grow wings--

very small wings,

very feeble wings,

but wings!”

I feel alone. Maybe part of that is that I worry about opening up, that I secretly wish I pushed everyone away so I wouldn’t hurt them. But each time someone shows me that they what to hold my hand, to wipe my tears, to encourage me to keep working on healing. My heart is still heavy with all the guilt, shame, and pain, but each day I have someone who is full of love, my heart is trying to learn to grow lighter with their love.

“With your power to touch me into feeling

you can breathe life into me.

I want you to know that.

I want you to know how important you are to me,

how you can be a creator--an honest-to-God creator--

of the person that is me

if you choose to.”

Again, the people in my life I treasure, are creators with the love they give. The love they have helps mold and sculpt the shapeless, messy lump of clay that is me.

“You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble,

you alone can remove my mask,

you alone can release me from my shadow-world of panic,

from my lonely prison,

if you choose to.

Please choose to.”

I never choose me. I never would choose me. Yet I wish others will choose me. As selfish as that sounds, I want to be held as I strip my mask off and come honest. I want to be able to cry in front of someone and not feel so vulnerable but to feel protected.

“Do not pass me by.

It will not be easy for you.

A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.”

I don’t believe I am loved because I can’t see how any can look at me and see any worth. I don’t see myself as good enough for anyone. So when I say I don’t believe what sweet people tell me, it’s not that I don’t trust them. I just don’t have a way to connect the kind, caring, handsome, funny, and smart person they say I am with the demon who is stupid, worthless, a bad friend, and ugly that I face in the mirror.

“The nearer you approach to me the blinder I may strike back.

It's irrational, but despite what the books say about man

often I am irrational.”

I am logical, at least, I’d say. But mental illness makes me irrational, makes me believe things that don’t have strong enough evidence for. And it causes a battle of logic and irrational thoughts that clang around all the time. 

More often than not, irrational thoughts win.

“I fight against the very thing I cry out for.

But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls

and in this lies my hope.

Please try to beat down those walls

with firm hands but with gentle hands

for a child is very sensitive.”

The line ‘But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls’, is one of my favorite lines in this poem. Love is so strong and I like the idea of love, such a wonderful thing, breaking down things built from self-hate, fear, shame, and all the darkness that keeps me on edge. And once again, I am but a mere child, I am still growing. It’s odd, knowing how I matured faster than others due to trauma, but yet I haven’t grown or learned some basic things. I haven’t learned and accepted that love is a gift, not something I need to pay for by being “good enough” for others. 

“Who am I, you may wonder?

I am someone you know very well.

For I am every man you meet

and I am every woman you meet.

Charles C. Finn

September 1966″

I think everyone carries a little bit of being a lonely soul. I’m not saying that to say that everyone should be able to deal with it the same way and easily. We have struggles, some bigger and some smaller. But we all have some form of darkness. And for many of us, we mask and we isolate and wish for someone to stop us because we don’t know how to fix ourselves and sometimes don’t want to. We’d rather hide instead of the effort to make it real when we smile. But slowly picking up the pieces and ridding of the masks, that is where growth and change can be found.

This was written over 60 years ago. It makes me think about how many people have sat at night, crying and feeling hopeless, alone, and so scared. And I think about how many people kept going and persevered on. 

Thank you Charles C. Finn, for making me at least feel a little more seen, a little more heard, and a little more understood.

Love,

A Lonely Soul

[tea-with-thea-blog]

30 Questions Makeup Tag!!!

Hey everyone!

Firstly, I would like to say thank you to those who have motivated me to start blogging and share my thoughts with the world! None of this would’ve been possible without the support of my loved ones, thank you once again!

I’ve decided to start my blog with a question tag so you can get a glimpse of what I’m like especially with makeup! ;)

Questions from: http://thebeautysection.com/30-beauty-questions-tag/

♥.·:*¨¨*:·.♥.·:*:·.♥.·:*¨¨*:·.♥

1. Do you remember your first makeup item? YES! It was a foundation from Maybelline!

2. Describe your perfect mascara. Have you found one that fits your specifications? The perfect mascara is smudge-proof, water resistant, thickening and lengthening. As of now, I would have to go with Too Faced’s Better Than Sex waterproof mascara. Undoubtedly, the normal one is less drying imo however I prefer the waterproof one also because it holds my lashes up throughout the day (after curling it).

3. What kind of coverage do you prefer from foundation? I prefer full coverage because I tend to have prominent red skin which shows even under medium coverage.

4. Favourite high end brand? I absolutely love Tarte and Too Faced. Tate works well with my skin (I have hypersensitive skin so I’m prone to allergic reactions and acne) and most of their products are breathable so they’re comfortable to wear throughout the day. Too Faced has adorable packaging and I love the quality too! I’m obsessed with their eyeshadow palettes and gorgeous lip cosmetics.

5. What cosmetic brands have you always wanted to try but still haven’t? Wet N Wild, BH cosmetics, Lime Crime, Morphe, Juvia’s Place and Colourpop!

6. Favourite drugstore brand? ELF and Nyx. Hands down.

7. Do you wear fake eyelashes? Yes I do! I do not wear them often (yes, Instagram can be misleading) because I don’t have enough confidence to wear them out hah.

8. Is there any kind of makeup you can’t leave the house without? Several things to be completely honest! I hate leaving the house without BB cream on, mascara and slightly darkened brows (I’d use a brow mascara minimally).

9. What is your most cherished beauty product? Everything to be frank. I cherish my products equally being drugstore or high-end because these were bought with hard-earned money and even if they ever happened to be sent by a company or so, it would still be deeply cherished because it’s a privilege!!!

10. How often do you shop for makeup? Do you like to pick up an item here and there or get lots of goodies at once? *nervous laugh* It really depends on my budget because if I want to spoil myself, I go all out. If I have to replenish or buy an alternative, then I will.

11. Do you have a “beauty budget” or you spend freely? I do have a budget. I am still a student and live with my parents so I prefer using my own money otherwise I would ask my parents if I could get something haha (they’re normally there with me while I shop).

12. Do you utilise coupons, reward cards and sales when you shop for cosmetics? Yes, as much as possible.

13. What type of product do you buy the most of? ANYTHING FOR MY LIPS.

14. Is there a brand that you absolutely can’t stand? I do not think so…

15. Do you avoid certain ingredients in cosmetics like parabens or sulphites? As much as possible yes, however I do not wear makeup for long hours and take them off as soon as I am home (so it isn’t THAT BAD ) because I’m particular about my skin.

16. Do you have a favourite place to shop for makeup? It is Sephora as of now because I live in Asia and the choices aren’t that great per se (well, I am referring to products that work with my skin).

17. Do you like trying new skincare products or do you keep a certain routine? I prefer keeping to a fixed routine; a clay based cleanser and water based facial moisturiser. I have sworn by this ever since I found my cleanser because it cleared up my acne and my skin stopped flaking as well as burning.

18. Favourite bath and body brand? I won’t deny that I still wash myself with baby soap HAHAHA however I really like The Body Shop though I am not fussy a bath and body brand. Most of the products I use for my body are homemade or natural.

19. If you could only buy from one brand, which brand would you choose? If you’re referring to makeup… I would say Tarte because of the variety; they’ve got gorgeous falsies, amazing products in general and their cosmetics are cruelty free (plus point for anyone who is particular about animal testing)!!!

20. What brand do you think has the best packaging? This is such a hard question ugh. I love Kat Von D’s edgy and dark packaging. I love Tarte’s earthly packaging. I love Too Faced’s food-related packaging. UGH HELP ME!!!!

21. Which celebrity always has great makeup? I DON’T ACTUALLY PAY MUCH ATTENTION TO CELEBRITIES BUT I LOVE BRETMAN ROCK AND PRINCESS MAE’S MAKEUP ALWAYS (plus, they are insanely fashionable).

22. Do you belong to any online makeup communities? NO!! :( but I would love to!!!

23. 5 favourite beauty gurus There are too many to choose from however these are some from the top of my head: Amanda Ensing, Marzia Bisgonin, Nikkietutorials, Comethrumaya and Daisy Marquez

24. Do you like multifunctional products like lip and cheek stains? Hmmm I don’t because it really messes with my emotions like I’m super inflexible when it comes to products; if a product is used for several things, I would still find that SOLE PURPOSE FOR IT. However, I hope that my inner-neurotic-and-obsessive-behaviour would subside and allow me to give versatile products a go.

25. Are you clumsy in putting on makeup? YES. I would normally redo and reapply makeup at least 5 times. For instance, I can’t actually do a winged eyeliner without messing up 7 times (I’m serious).

26. Do you use makeup base/primer for the eyes? Yes, I use a primer.

27. How many hair products do you use on a typical day? Nothing besides shampoo and conditioner. On days that I swim, I would use a protein hair mask or use coconut oil.

28. What do you apply first, concealer or foundation? Foundation! :D

29. Do you ever consider taking makeup classes? I have not because I would say that I’ve learned a lot from Instagram and YouTube.

30. What do you love about makeup? DANG THIS IS A BIG QUESTION! I absolutely love how makeup is an art; you are free to express yourself through dramatic, sultry, simple and/or any type of makeup. It warms my heart when people break societal constructs such as gender norms and perceived forms of beauty through makeup. Everyone is liberal to customise their God-given beauty in whatever way that makes them most comfortable and confident. I love it when people are bold enough to try something new and improve from their mistakes or initial steps. We all start off somewhere and within this generation, many are often supportive of one another who choose to wear makeup (and even if they don’t). Makeup is not discriminative in any way so people of different backgrounds and personalities could express themselves through it! :D

That’s about it for the question tag, don’t forget to follow for more posts and feel free to give this a go! Thank you so much for reading!

Thea x

“Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through bond of peace.” Ephesians 4:2-3 (NIV)

[wanderlearn-blog1]

orange face mask No Further a Mystery

Papaya is full of antioxidants, and its enzymes support to slough away aged, dry pores and skin cells for your glowing, balanced complexion. Jasmin Fiore from the Deva Life swears by papaya masks as Component of her therapeutic regimen, and sings the praises of this rejuvenating ponder-fruit. Orange is a huge source to the Vitamin C and has numerous implications in elegance and fairness market. The elements utilized to arrange the orange face mask have orange as their source product and their properties can be concluded as underneath: Didi’s choose: “The mask, which I painted on using a basting brush, is evident and dries promptly, in order to wander around the household with it on. It smelled so contemporary and felt so neat that I kept it on For an additional 5 minutes. Curly, frizzy or straight hair, just about every fantastic hair fashion starts during the shower. That’s why you’ll want to safeguard and handle your hair with the top hair care products which include shampoos and conditioners. There are a selection of shampoo and conditioner formulas which can help you take care of boring or damaged hair. Whether it's shampoos, conditioners, hair oils, hair colours, styling applications or treatment method solutions, you’ll discover all of it on Amazon India below a single roof to your ease. Get on-line hair care and styling products and solutions, filter outcomes based on manufacturer, value, consumer opinions or Unique offers and special discounts. I Individually find that honey entirely calms my acne-inclined pores and skin. In reality, that’s The main reason I commenced utilizing the honey mask to begin with! Oats absolutely are a pure, gentle exfoliator, However they're also well-known for his or her comforting powers—great for a write-up-Seashore handle for the skin for when you (yikes! Wow, honey is so delectable, and it seems it's really useful! It truly is like the ideal of both of those worlds, it is so fascinating that in some cases the best cures are present in mother nature. Voted up! Didi’s just take: “I acquired to disassemble the tacky shell necklace I bought at Disney a several years ago and make better utilization of it. The unstrung, chilled shells stayed cold for 20 minutes—at which point I now not had to operate them in excess of my under-eye bags, because they ended up absent.” Lemon offers the necessary dose of vitamin C During this pack. Take a person tbsp of coffee powder, just one tbsp of honey, and squeeze in a couple of drops of lemon into it. Combine properly and use on face and neck. Rinse off soon after 50 percent an hour or so. Fragrance – The uplifting odor on the orange is mesmerizing and calls for a inspiration up coming time. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ohpSB-4xC_I 've compiled some fantastic facial scrubs that function just and also the dear scrubs, but all genuinely all organic and natural and cost actually pennies. Activated charcoal has powerful absorbent Attributes that make it a superb remedy to eliminate oily skin and blackheads. Introducing pure clay results in the better absorption of sebum from the skin, even though utilizing raw unfiltered apple cider vinegar, which aids Manage its oiliness. I didn't realize that strawberries Normally have salicylic acid in them! I realized to search for the ingredient when acquiring face/acne washes, but under no circumstances knew I'd some in my fridge previously. I really like learning new such things as that! :) Egg whites serve to tighten the skin pores and Test the formation of blackheads. Making use of this egg white–dependent peel-off mask will assist you to extract and stop blackheads, at the same time nourishing and enriching your skin.

strawberry face mask for Dummies

Combine one tablespoon of prompt coffee powder and more than enough freshly squeezed lemon juice to create a thick paste. “We are a participant in the Amazon Expert services LLC Associates Method, an affiliate promotion application meant to supply a indicates for us to receive service fees by linking to Amazon.com and affiliated websites.” Good piece. Great to get back to Basic principles and out in the chemical laden cosmetics. I'll be seeking honey tonight. Here you can master what are the top beauty therapies with yogurt and the way to come up with a honey and yogurt face mask for acne. Stepping into the deeper layers with the skin, yeast fungi start to actively metabolize Body fat during the cells, remove toxins, and excellent influence on metabolism. Wow, honey is so scrumptious, and it turns out It truly is incredibly beneficial! It's like the best of the two worlds, it is so attention-grabbing that at times the top treatments are located in mother nature. Voted up! Yeast is rare, but Yet induce allergy symptoms,for that reason, ahead of implementing the mask towards the face, pre-attempt the solution on a little inconspicuous area of ​​skin set up. In case you have any redness, itching or some other detrimental reactions on the pores and skin, you are categorically forbidden to complete this type of mask. Don’t rub or therapeutic massage while you clean it off simply because you don’t want the components to exfoliate your skin far more. It will go away the skin dry, resulting in your oil glands to generate a lot more sebum, which can bring about extra acne! You can even achieve an even better understanding of the product by undergoing helpful person created responses. Immediately after finalizing your option, possess the item sent to your doorstep and full the transaction by using a single of many effortless payment options. Find the best skin treatment products on the internet by buying at Amazon India. I conform to Inhabitat's Phrases of Use and Privacy Coverage, and to using cookies explained therein, and I also consent to the gathering, storage, and processing of my knowledge in The us, where by facts security legislation could be diverse from those in my state. Below https://www.facebook.com/steptoremedies/posts/2088297497930186 are my 4 recipes for honey face masks intended with particular pores and skin forms in mind. They are fully foods-primarily based and you probably have almost all of the substances with your kitchen area at this time. Hurray for simple! Honey face masks can assist you fade acne scars and in many cases out pores and skin discolouration, providing your shiny and toned skin. A important element of the Do it yourself coffee face mask is cinnamon which is made up of cinnamaldehyde and proanthocyanidins and is answerable for protecting against clogging with the skin pores although reducing inflammation due to microbes. https://www.wikihow.com/Make-Face-Masks-Using-Natural-Ingredients : Ensure if you are allergic to any on the components during the mask by making use of it on a little patch on the wrist after which you can look ahead to a handful of hrs. If rashes look or in the event you exhibit other indicators of allergy, will not use this mask on your face.

Top diy face mask Secrets

Nicc job! I am a Skin Therapist myself and I do prefer to advise numerous homemade skin treatment solutions for my shoppers. On https://steptoremedies.com/diy-body-scrubs-bath-bombs/ do use a product line that works properly way too. For starters you should moisturize dry skin. To do source:- steptoremedies , that could match this mask: chop sauerkraut; This item is my holy grail. I are already making use of this solution for a week now, and my skin has already grow to be so comfortable, supple and radiant. I have an Unquestionably dry skin, and just after working with this merchandise I haven’t appeared again. It is totally worth the cash, you invest in this item! UPDATE!!!!!!!!! Give up Clendamycin AND Retin A. ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AwX1XUeWKS4 of months ago, and one recently) I believe they failed to assist just as much as I preferred them to, but still consider this does and may continue on to make use of it. We may possibly use conversion monitoring pixels from marketing networks such as Google AdWords, Bing Adverts, and Facebook as a way to identify when an advertisement has effectively resulted in the specified action, for instance signing up for the HubPages Assistance or publishing an article around the HubPages Service. Egg Yolk Face Masks—Egg yolks, Conversely, are known for their ability to moisturize and hydrate skin, leaving it that has a nutritious glow. These masks are ideal for people with dry pores and skin. Want to produce bouncy curls and waves? https://en.search.wordpress.com/?src=organic&q=face+mask to flaunt correctly straight, shiny, workable hair? Take a look at various hair styling instruments at Amazon.in, which include straighteners, hair dryers, curling irons as well as other hair appliances on-line. You’ll find hair styling appliances from various brands such as Philips, Panasonic, Vega, Denman, Bris and Many others. You could shop flat irons on line to flaunt a straight glow look with adjustable heat settings, assist dry your hair more quickly with hair dryers or find curlers to implement with the curl you wish to accomplish. We may perhaps use conversion monitoring pixels from promotion networks such as Google AdWords, Bing Advertisements, and Facebook so that you can determine when an ad has properly resulted in the desired action, like signing up for that HubPages Provider or publishing an posting within the HubPages Service. Entering into https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MSLMK7qzPNQ with the pores and skin, yeast fungi begin to actively metabolize Unwanted fat during the cells, get rid of toxins, and very good influence on metabolism. Yogurt can help to normalize the manufacture of fat and yeast cope with clogged pores and cleanse them. In lieu of yogurt, you can use sour cream, the result would be the exact. When you have blend skin, you may strategy this kind of mask: Thoroughly clean just one banana peel; In the basket of nature, we're right here with an exceptionally successful and all-natural skin therapy referred to as; strawberry face mask. Strawberry could be the little berry fruit, exotic and tasty! It's full of vitamins and minerals. get more info exploit only Clean brewer's yeast with a little drinking water or milk or lemon juice (for who usually takes this) or vegetation tea, create a paste, apply on face, go away ten-15 mins, rinse, swipe a cotton ball entire chamomile or tilia tea after which put Calendula oil or Macadamia oil-> perfection! The substances you may need are primary and customary in almost any kitchen area. Get a container where to mix everything, just like a cup; a spoon; a little water; and what remains right after producing your morning coffee. Take one tbsp of orange peel powder and 2 tbsp of yogurt. Blend perfectly. Utilize on https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SB0QLruqRrQ and wash off after 20 minutes to get distinct, contemporary, and toned up restricted searching pores and skin. This is often An immediate rejuvenating face pack which you'll be able to apply right before a party or any large function.

Facts About orange face mask Revealed

Here are recipes for the highest three face masks for acne. Be sure you eliminate all make-up and wash your face comprehensively right before making use of these natural face packs. Cleaning your face helps unclog pores and enables the masks to penetrate deep into your skin. I attempted the honey and cinnamon mask, and I do think it labored…? It didn’t sting or leave my face pink, like other people explained. I believe it depends on what pores and skin style you've. Should I exploit this mask each morning or in the evening? Will it make a difference After i use it? Utilize the mask towards your face and neck employing a makeup brush (you don’t want to stain your nails and fingers yellow!). There are numerous face masks recipes from yeast with several different accessory ingredients. Choose the kinds which can be ideal for the skin kind. Bear in mind yeast is particularly very good mask for oily pores and skin and for skin inflammation. The citric acid from the orange peel also exfoliates and brightens up the skin. Here are some orange peel face masks that you can make in the home for the radiant glimpse. A strawberry face mask can make the pores and skin glow furthermore search stunning, and really helps to cure acne and acne scars. This face mask is finest for oily pores and skin. Add 1 tablespoon of clean yoghurt. If https://www.wikihow.com/Make-a-Banana-Facial-Mask is not really offered Then you can certainly utilize a tablespoon of curd also. To start with you'll want to moisturize dry skin. To accomplish this, that can match this mask: chop sauerkraut; Chilly temperature can aggravate rosacea, leaving faces reddened and blotchy, and in some cases bumpy at the same time. The apple cider vinegar helps to stabilize the pH of the skin, although the oatmeal lessens discomfort and the other substances soothe and moisturize. Add the drinking water in your oatmeal and stir for a few minutes right until it’s plumped up nicely. Incorporate the honey and yogurt, and place through a blender to smooth and Incorporate it very well. Slather this all over your face, leave on for 10 minutes or so, after which wash with heat h2o. Pat dry. It’s been an aggravating quest to find out my ‘HALLELUJAH!’ substances that just erase all my pimples, blackheads, whiteheads and scarring/hyperpigmentation away. Not surprisingly I are aware that drinking lots of h2o and never taking in far too much junk food items/sweets also plays a crucial portion, Which’s why I’m wanting to consume extra water (and inexperienced tea lol). Just another day I designed a scrub with with inexperienced tea leaves and honey and my face felt very nice and sleek, complexion appeared a little bit much more even, and by the following morning, my pimples and redness experienced calmed down. Very little spectacular, but it had been noticible, my pores and skin likey ^.^ Steaming your face can help you repair service ruined skin That could be triggered due to air pollution, sun publicity etcetera. Look into ten benefits of face steaming & methods to get it done properly below at our web site. If one is struggling from any kind of a fungal disease, then the use of a yeast face mask is without a doubt not suggested. A warning when working with lemon juice: Lemon may also make the skin photosensitive. Rinse your face comprehensively and use sunscreen in the event you’ll be out in the Sunshine quickly afterward.

https://www.facebook.com/steptoremedies/posts/2099810723445530 to coffee face mask

A warning when working with lemon juice: Lemon also can make the pores and skin photosensitive. Rinse https://www.pinterest.com/pin/722616702689546927 and use sunscreen for those who’ll be out while in the Sunlight quickly afterward. Combine a tablespoon of finely floor coffee beans with two tablespoons of floor oat along with a tablespoon of honey. Distribute the combination in your face. Leave it on for twenty minutes and afterwards rinse with lukewarm h2o. First off, place all of these elements in one food items processor and up coming combine them well till there is a uniform and smooth paste that will stick to the face without having operating off. Software: Implement the mask in your face (particularly on affected areas), and depart it on for 10 to 15 minutes. Then, https://www.facebook.com/steptoremedies/posts/2099808380112431 off your face with lukewarm drinking water. Adhering to that, clean your face once again with chilly h2o. Step one should be to peel and chop banana. Future increase the banana, yogurt and strawberries to your blender and then blend well. If you want to immediately do away with acne, it truly is perfect for this mask: clean up grapefruit and grind it right into a blender or grinder into the consistency of porridge; What is actually in period could make the skin glow! Not simply when It is really portion of the diet regime, but even if it's utilized right on the skin. In fact, in the situation of oranges, just the peel has way more Vitamin C compared to orange itself. Do https://www.wikihow.com/Make-a-Facial-Mask want the best of science-backed overall health & nutrition facts in the inbox? If yes, be sure to share your e mail to subscribe. Please how much time till I start off seeing final results After i commence using the face mask( orange peel powder, oatmeal and baking soda) and how often need to I utilize it in weekly? Yeast face masks Use a rejuvenatingeffect since the product consists of higher quantities of vitamins B, C and PP. By acting over the pores and skin together with enzymes, amino acids and minerals, nutritional vitamins and aligned wrinkles make refreshing complexion. for oily skin: no other beauty products is able so would make slim enlarged pores and eliminate without delay harmful glow in the face; The coarse granules of aspirin do the exfoliation, and the rest is cared for because of the antimicrobial and antioxidant Houses of honey. Avocado masks are used by celebs like Victoria Beckham and Jessica Biel, along with the best part is which you could take in the next fifty percent that you just don’t use on the face. पित्त प्रकृति क्या होती है, ऐसे लोगों का खान-पान कैसा होना चाहिए ?

[ejarttherapy]

How Art Materials allow for a range of behaviours and emotions to be expressed

Fig 1, Group Artwork made in our Tutor group (Emma James:2017)

Wanted to share my thoughts/learnings on materiality, namely art materials in the art therapy space.

You can do to art materials what you cannot do to people (act out sexual/aggressive feelings).

Materiality - the what, why and when - may trigger a reaction in a client.

The types of art materials used allows for a different range of emotions to be expressed.

Art materials can be used in a ‘concrete’ way or a ‘reflective’ (as if) way.

You can’t always symbolise something and you can’t expect that it always symbolises something. 

Art materials allow a range of behaviours. Often behaviours not allowed - mess, aggression, sexual. 

If too distressed to talk - use sensory materials i.e. wools (pulling strands apart). 

Art materials and art work can be looked at together.

The outcome of working with art materials cannot be predicted because the artwork ‘talks back’.

Art making has a rhythm of anxiety and disappointment.

‘I won’t harm you, but I’ll listen to you and you can hurt the art materials’ 

‘Often the hands know how to solve a riddle with which the intellect has struggled in vain’. Jung, C (1960:86)

Working with Clay - thoughts and feelings from the Ceramics Experiential Workshop

Clay the medium, as a metaphor for the therapeutic relationship.

Clay is a vulnerable material.

Clay is ambiguous. Make and breakdown and re-make. However on the wheel, clay can get exhausted and needs to be reformed to its original state. Then it can be re-worked again.

Analogies with clay and people and relationships.

Such a rich material when dealing with internal journeys.

Its ‘forgiving’, ‘attachment’, ‘tenderness’, ‘gentle’ and ‘hardy’. Gives you the ability to speak through your materials.

Keep going, keep playing, incorporate found materials - leaves, paper, metal findings, marbles, etc..

A piece of clay work is like a baby, you need to attend to it a lot.

Has an alive feeling - it is a material of the earth.

When the clay is ready to go into the kiln (you turn up the heat - another level of engagement). You check if the clay is too cool to fire by placing it against your cheek - if cooler than body temperature, its not ready to fire. Similar to being a therapist - taking the risks with the person.

Takes on knocks, finger prints, takes on you.

Life in the clay needs looking after.

Responsibility/custodian of pieces of work.

What do you do if you don’t like a piece of clay work - you can bury it your garden and the ground will absorb it in time.

The clay was an agency for change.

Clay can enable both a metaphoric but also a concrete experience.

The medium is considered to be essential for the development of object relationship (Milner 1952:49).

Fig 2, Clay work made in first session (Emma James:2017)

Clay is one of this world’s great natural resources. It has been used by man for longer and for more purposes than any other material. Earth (clay), water and Fire are the 3 elements of clay modelling. In its raw state, its malleable whereas when fired its hard and durable and sometimes breaks and splits.                        

Clay can be gritty and earthy, or soft and satiny - it invites the hands to mould and shape it. It exists in many colours - grey, brown, terracotta, and can be itself coloured with englobes and glazes.

The main tool and paramount in every case is the hand. In practically no other craft is the relationship of hand to material so important.

Clay figurines were made 1000′s of years before clay cooking pots. Needles were created long before the wheel. Image making existed 10,000s of years before the written word was introduced. Written words have only existed for 3,000yrs.

Neolithic man-made crude artefacts out of clay and burned them in bonfires to make them hard.

Fig 3, Clay work glazed after 2nd session (Emma James:2017)

Client use of Clay in Art Therapy

Clay can be used to symbolise experience, if struggling to. The smallest gestures with a lump of clay makes a mark or indentation. The tactile sensation makes the child feel instantly in control, sensually aroused, compelled to continue exploration, usually at a deeper unconscious level.

Clay work offers many opportunities for marking, destroying, bashing, smearing and cutting without losing its quality.

The sense of clay having a ‘body’ that can survive punishment is useful as the pliability of the clay encourages aggression to be overtly expressed. Giving shape to pent up feelings develops a sense of mastery, potency and self-esteem.

Clay can be used in many contexts in art therapy, notably clients who have experienced sexual abuse, those with psychotic minds and Anorexics.

Art therapist Caroline Case describes 3D aspect of clay for ‘creating this separate third object with an internal dialogue with the self enables many aspects of unconscious processes to emerge which can then be put into words and meaning takes place’ (2005:182).

Rabiger (1990) cites the properties of clay in the development of self and other with an awareness of ‘inside’ and ‘outside’.The clay can be changed, broken, fragmented into tiny pieces, put together, moulded and put back in the bag. Sagar (1990) suggests that clay helps children who have been sexually abused to establish clearer body boundaries.

Clay can be used with other materials - paint, sand, string, paper and plastic containers.

Dalley whilst as a member of a therapeutic team working with multi-family groups in the treatment of anorexia. They used clay for sculpting family members to enable different dynamics to emerge. Foster (1997) and Killick (1993) who use clay with people in psychotic minds, suggest that the importance of clay lies in the concrete properties and its 3D, as opposed to 2D form. Making 3D forms in clay offers the anorexic an experience of boundaries of the self that do not engulf her.

Printmaking - thoughts and feelings from the Printmaking Experiential Workshop

How the difference of process and therefore emotion when working in print versus clay. With print making, the cutting away of the lino and layering and changing of the printed image gives a feeling of ‘deconstruction’. Whereas when working with clay it is more a reconstruction process and emotion as you mould, shape, change, remould, break down and then remake.

Printmaking and its environment has a feeling of danger and harm as it involves a lot a toxic chemicals from the white spirit to clean to the inks, but also the use of sharp tools, knives, heat and the tension/strength of the presses. This environment provides a multi-sensory (smell, sight, sound, touch, sometimes taste) experience it evokes memories, illness, fear, vulnerabilities and certain behaviours (toxic nourishment).

At the end of the day, many were experiencing headaches and a general feeling of being ill - most likely due to the fumes and poisonous chemicals. We needed to take time out of the space to reform and refresh ourselves.

At the start of the session the print technician's were very concerned about health and safety in the workshop and rightly so, however how the message was delivered to us as adults created an atmosphere of being watched, feeling inhibited and not good-enough. It demonstrated how client’s in art therapy may feel at times.

Another comparison with clay making and printmaking is that of the use of hands in the process of making. My hands were certainly a hindrance in printmaking - due to the fear of leaving dirty marks, reaction to the chemicals, taking gloves on/off and the possibility of hurting myself with the cutting tools. This created a feeling of tension and anxiety in the making. My experience with clay was one of feeling attuned with the material, not how I felt with the printmaking, I was fearful and cautious.

However I do enjoy the medium of printmaking and the effects of layering, changing/altering the image - it has lots of potential to make it your own. Although feeling vulnerable after the first session and another session ahead of us the following week, I therefore decided to buy some lino and cut some designs out at home. When at home working on my lino I did feel more confident and relaxed, probably because I was at home. I was pleased with my results and excited about trying them out in the next session. 

Fig 4, Lino cuts for Printmaking (Emma James:2017)

In summary of both experiential workshops, my learnings to apply to my future art therapy practice would be -

The importance of setting out the space safety and making it inviting for clients.

That clients may experience the room and materials negatively, due to the feelings and senses they evoke - need for internal supervision and rabbit ears.

The importance of how you start a session - you may need to share information about rules, health and safety - however its all about how you say it, the words you use, your energy, your tone and manner. This all has an impact on your future therapeutic relationship with your client. Be mindful.

That art materials and their process of making can be dangerous - physically and psychologically.

How the types of art materials used allows for a different range of emotions to be expressed.

Finally how art materials and how they felt to use and the art work can be looked at together. Both are of equal importance in the therapeutic relationship, as the art materials and the experience of using them may evoke certain feelings whereas the resulting artwork may not show any significance for the client. 

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Case, C. & Dalley, T. (2008) Art Therapy with Children from Infancy to Adolescence. London: Routledge. Chapters 4 & 12. 

Case, C (2005) Imagining Animals Art, psychotherapy and primitive states of mind. London: Routledge.

Johnson, P. (1988) Clay Modelling for Everyone. Kent: Search Press.

Berman, H. (2017) What is Art Therapy [Lecture notes]. University of Hertfordshire, 9th Oct.

Berman, H. (2017) Ceramic Workshops 1 & 2 [Lecture notes]. University of Hertfordshire, 20th & 27th Nov.

Berman, H. (2017) Printmaking Workshops 1 & 2 [Lecture notes]. University of Hertfordshire, 4th & 11th Dec.

Marshall-Tierney, A. (2017) Preparation for Placement Lectures 1 [Lecture notes]. University of Hertfordshire, 4th Oct.

Figure 1. James, Emma (2017) Group Artwork made in our Tutor group [Clay work] in the possession of: The author: Brackley

Figure 2. James, Emma (2017) Clay work made in first session [Clay work] in the possession of: The author: Brackley

Figure 3. James, Emma (2017) Clay work glazed after 2nd session [Clay work] in the possession of: The author: Brackley

Figure 4. James, Emma (2017) Lino cuts for Printmaking [Lino cut-outs] in possession of: The author: Brackley