#i guess its my fault for thinking that was a grievance worth bringing up

[otome-dissection]

Irls don't try to armchair diagnose me with every cluster b mental illness challenge failed

[wordshelp919]

Words Help.

It’s hard to admit to being the victim of abuse. Oftentimes it is the condition of the abusee to believe that they are not worthy of qualifying their experiences as ‘abuse’. Most likely due to repeated conditioning on the part of the abuser. That is the case for me.

I have spent my whole life trying to figure out how to be. Not who. How. My identity did not have the freedom to develop for my own sake, but always for others. As all people are different, it meant that I had to learn varying ways to accommodate all types of people. As a child, I was rarely angry. Even when other people were angry with me, I never lost my cool, at least without attempting to understand the situation. If I could just figure out why they were angry and then fix it, then there wouldn’t be a need for anyone to be upset. It is not always to the benefit of any individual to be so accommodating. 

I was isolated in a house with only four people to love. I wanted a happy family, peace, and love and I worked for it as best as I could. In my undying attempt to love the first the members of the family, I neglected to love the fourth. Through my own constant self-adjustment, I somehow became the answer to all of their life’s grievances; their punching bag. My mom’s helplessness from being forced by her mom to beg for rice, being beat up by her dad, brother, uncles, aunts, tormented by her cousins, and every single black person in the all-black neighborhood that she grew up in was subconsciously redirected an iron fisted need for control for me and my sister. My sister is not as accommodating, and eventually her subconscious redirected most of her control therapy to just me. 

I was a good kid. Easy-going, kind, and obedient. Unfortunately for me and Ella, the virtue of  obedience grays when given to the wrong people.

I cried much too often, and still do. I am very sensitive by nature, but even for someone like that, young Donna cried way too much. I would earn an intense punished no less than once a week. By intense, I mean that it would last for over an hour with screaming and yelling and crying and snot. By third grade I mastered the art of hiding my puffy eyes by deepening my eyelid crease with a bobby pin. I didn’t think it was abnormal to be so puffy eyed from crying so often. I just didn’t want to look weird for school. It’s true, even good children need to be disciplined, but I don’t consider what happened discipline. I know that now because it never was to the benefit of my own virtue. All I learned from those countless hours of being yelled at was that my mom was a severely broken person. After the punishment ended and I was allowed to wash my face and go to bed, I would be left thinking about the knife-tongued words that would echo in my mind well into my early twenties. In an exhausted daze, I would wonder to myself.. why was I so bad at listening to her the first time? Why was I so disobedient? I never thought that I took her for granted or even felt a lack of gratitude towards either of my parents, but I mustn’t do this again because according to her, that is what this all equates to. I don’t want to be those things. But apparently I am. Was. Am. Won’t be starting now.

My dad has a lot of blanks in his life. It is his pride, I believe that is what keeps him from sharing any part of his life that is a story and not just numbers that equate to his grand self-earned worth. Also, probably the fear of someone hearing his story and thinking that it is not that bad. I have that same fear, but I learned about pride from a young age, and I try to do the opposite of whatever my pride tells me to. Pride, my dad, my sister; to disobey one is to disobey all. So fighting pride is not so difficult sometimes. I may be missing the stories of his life that fuel his type of abuse, I can look to my sister’s for the answers.

She learned about his pride from an even younger age than I and it’s through her responses to it that I can understand my dad. We learned about pride from the same live-in teacher, but the only difference between me and her is that she loved power more than people and instead of fighting pride, she became its prodigious student. If only her ease of learning was limited to art, music, and math. She was tainted by evil and became a jaded, angry adult at only 8 years old. The beautiful and innocent nature of children died when she discovered her love for pride and power over others. I asked her one night, bringing to surface the odd, powerful, mysterious quality in her, “what is your secret? How can I be like you?”. She told me she would tell me, but I had to swear that I wouldn’t tell our parents. I promised. “The secret to being like me is that I don’t love Mommy and Daddy all the time”. I was spooked. I broke my promise within the minute.

I am so proud of young Donna for that night. It’s odd, the memories that we choose to keep, but that night I clearly remember feeling terrible for the instinctual decision I made. I was scared and naturally gravitated towards my parents but I betrayed my sister. To think that that night young Donna went with her gut would be a proud moment for young adult Donna. Yet I can’t help feeling as though I failed her(y.d.) She could call out those wrong things with much more clarity than I can even now, all the while loving those wrong people much more than I do. 

Anyways my sister’s secret to her twistedness was to withhold love. The opposite of love. Hate. 

When you find out that Hester’s power came from Satan worship, you run.

I always thought she loved me differently than how she did our parents. It was clear how much more she loved me, although both her hatred and love was combined with elements of obsession and ownership. Unfortunately, she valued power more. She was fueled by hatred and was enormously jealous of me for the love I received which was so different from that which she did. She never thought once that the difference between us may have been because of the love that I gave. Her pride wouldn’t allow for that kind of thinking. It had to be my fault. 

Instead of facing the obvious truth of why my parents loved me more sweetly than they did her, she decided to level the playing field on her own terms. I could not smile in certain ways because she thought I was trying to be cute and by extension, curry favor of people, and by extension, take it away from her. I wasn’t allowed to be sad, in case it would cause someone to comfort me. I was an attention grabber, a brat, selfish, and spoiled. According to her, that is. And most damaging of all, I was a crybaby. Her constant criticism worked for the most part. I don’t smile like that anymore. I not only aggressively hate myself for portraying her other definitions for me but I hate others for those very things as well. 

One thing I could not ‘fix’ was the frequency of my tears. I tried holding them off for the first time in my life. I remember that first day clearly. I had given up. I decided not to fight her anymore, but just completely let her have her way and do nothing. I sighed a lot, and with every breath, I felt my energy leaving me. The attempt at complacency didn’t last.

Since that moment, I have cried an average of once a day. It has been 8 years. I guess crying is something that I never grew out of. 

So that was a long segway to introduce my father’s story. It is the same, only the subjects are different, the reason for adopting pride is different, and the self-delusion is different. My dad was jealous. Is jealous. Of both me and my sister. It is only a theory, but if not jealousy there is comparison and transactional thinking taking place in his head. No words, just numbers. If there were any words in his brain, a conscious to speak the truth, he would have to hate himself as well. Luckily for him, no such thing has taken place and he can continue to believe that he is a perfect man. He is far from perfect. All too calculative, all too focused on the hurt in his life and not on the well-being of his children. And if my theory serves to be true, then it would be my sister who would have suffered the most from his jealousy. She was the one who was actually good at everything. My dad claims to have been the same. The only difference is that he endorsed for his children what his own father refused to. Not that they didn’t have the financial means to, but his own father chose his eldest son and no one else. 

The abuse that comes from my dad is the most twisted and intricate and frightening of all three. I still don’t understand why he is so frightening other than the fact that he worships pride and loves hatred without realizing it. Those things are only momentary band-aids for deep wounds. He has 30 years of bandaids stacked in layers on his heart 10 miles high. What he needs is for those band-aids to be removed, the wound assessed, and then surgery performed to cut deep into the flesh to reveal the cancer that has sprouted and matured into every vague nook and crevice of his body.

My sister and I are treated the same when it comes to his manner of abuse, but my mom bears the brunt of it. 

His ego is fueled by putting everyone down. Apparently he requires a lot of fuel because his ego has a half life of one hour.

No one is allowed to ask him a question he doesn’t know the answer to. How dare you make him feel inadequate. Poor kids and your inevitable need to question everything in the world. Poor kids and your tendency to ask for help. You should have known better before asking him a question from your third grade Wordly Wise workbook. Of course he wouldn’t know and of course you would get punished for making him feel stupid. I still remember telling my friends from school that he hit me on the head with a golf club. They were shocked and then I had to tell them it was plastic. As long as it’s plastic it’s okay. I didn’t mention that he screamed in my face and dragged me back by my feet into the study when I tried to run away, scraping my knees on the polished hardwood floor. I didn’t tell them that the golf club bruised my head. And I didn’t tell them that when I told my mom later that night, she didn’t care. 

For us, it was a typical Friday night. 

Poor kid, you should have just agreed that european is spelled europian. But by then you were already a student of pride.

Poor wife, there are no “should haves” for you. Your poor treatment is inevitable no matter how you change yourself for him. Your existence is for the purpose of being his cannon fodder. When the cannonball is released on enemy territory, it is far away from him, unable to do him any harm. Allegedly. Oddly, you are also enemy territory. It’s confusing, both the metaphor and the real life scenario that it illustrates.

He needs you to anger him so that his own anger and resentment towards his own family can escape him. It allows him to express pent up emotions in the form of hatred against you. The fact that you take his hatred to be constructive criticism is the result of your own abuse. That is not accomodation. Take it from me.

Not everyone has the privilege of learning what it feels like to be treated well.

[dukeofriven]

Good In The World

I meant what I said with that extended LOTR quote being what the Epilogues are about - about there being good in the world, and it being worth fighting for. Given that I’ve been up to my neck reading Hussie commentary lately I feel like I’ve gotten a pretty strong grasp on what makes him tick - and who boy does this guy love stories about friendship, teamwork, and love, loves them so much he sometimes sounds like Téa Gardner about to lay down a friendship speech on Yu-Gi-Oh. So - while noting that the extent to which the epilogues are and are not Hussie’s work are even more muddled that usual in regards Homestuck - the take-away is this: everything went wrong, in both Meat and Candy, because everyone forgot that - that friendship, teamwork, and love is the only reason any of them survived. The Sburb survivors came to Earth-C as literal gods, beings of inordinate celebrity and power, and then didn’t work as hard as they should have to still be friends and family. We point to John as some kind of recluse but it quickly becomes clear that everyone stopped working at staying together. Karkat and Dave are as much shut-ins as John, stewing together in their own incapacity. Katkat’s self-loathing, so often a hilarious joke in Homestuck is - free of the immediate pressures of Sburb - shown to be intensely debilitating. It undermines him repeatedly in Meat, and requires incipit genocide in Candy to be set aside, costing him everything that mattered on a personal level. Dave made the mistake of many in his position before him, leaning too much on the first epiphany about trauma and not taking the care to continue down the path to further healing and reconciliation with the past. It leaves him desperately reaching for intimacies he too scared of to actually experience. Coupled with an abused kid’s terror of perpetuating harm he lies to Karkat and Jade both time and time again to try and save their feelings. Jade, so utterly fucked up by years of isolation and loneliness, and so endearingly, crushingly full of love makes all the wrong decisions in trying to build a triad (that is - the triad could have worked, but she went about it all wrong) and makes two separate instantiations of Dave and Karkat miserable. Rose and Kanaya have no malice in their actions, but they do what married people always do: pull away from everyone else, and focus on themselves and their new lives. Harmless, normally - or, at least, not seriously harmful - but those lives took them underground and away from everyone else, The two most insightful and level-headed members of the party simply weren’t around when everyone needed them most. Unaware how bad things were getting they missed so many of the warning sides that would have clued them in earlier that everyone was going off the rails - and being as isolated as she was in Meat this left Rose vulnerable to the manipulation most likely to succeed: just like with Doc Scratch she was preyed upon by someone who could flatter her sense of grievance, knowledge, and uniqueness. Terezi wouldn’t have stood by and let things go to shit - but she was doomed the moment she tied her heart to ego personified, and so was absent too.  As for the Alphas, well - their problems were never resolved in the first place, their 'conflict arcs’ interrupted by the arrival of the betas. Only Roxy, element of void, utterly self-contained, a refugee from a dead reality, walked onto Earth-C able to withstand the horror that awaited them: celebrity. Skaia is benevolent, but it is not wise: Sburb seems to have a cherub’s worldview, full of bright colours and heightened stories, but not much maturity. When the victors of Sburb escaped to Earth-C the last thing they needed was celebrity, praise, and positions of note. The issues are all laid out in the prologue: John retired before he ever started working, every one of them richer than any mortal could conceive of. These kids didn’t need parades, they needed to go school. Jane didn’t need honorary degrees from every business school on the planet, Jake didn’t need a TV show centred entirely around his ass: what everyone needed was to be aggressively ordinary. Mundane and unregarded. They needed to put everyone in a group home with four on-staff counselors and take a chunk of years doing nothing but heal. Because everyone was damaged. Other than Calliope - a special case - everybody walked out of Sburb having witnessed at least one apocalypse. Put aside any of the individual traumas and deaths and abuses and sins and just focus on that alone: the death of entire worlds and the burden of saving seven sentient species. Rather than the ultimate Reward being a sit-down with kindly professionals who could help a bunch of kids cope with that, these literal children entered a new world and built new lives on a foundation of dust. The beta kids never finished seventh grade. Jane Crocker never finished high school. Jade Harley, Jake English, Roxy Lalonde, and Dirk Strider never went to school at all. Not one of those four had ever been around more than four humans in their lives until the day they won the game. They couldn’t have. Jade and Jake grew up alone on islands. Roxy and Dirk grew up in the apocalypse. Dirk grew up in a literal box. As Cascade hit Dave and John were the only living humans Jade had ever met who wasn’t her grandpa: and she spent three years alone on a ship with only the Nannasprites and consorts for company. (And Jaspers to chase.) For those four especially, think about they went through within 24-hours: BAM here’s a group of people including your alt-relatives and literal aliens BAM here’s a crazy fucking battle against technicolour chess people, killer dogs, and fish queens BAM here’s a pristine new-ish world better BAM produce thousands of species to populate a new world /TABLE SCRATCH/ Welcome to Earth-C in the year 5000 Celebrity Gods. Here’s your debit cards full of riches. Seriously - this all happens in about a day. And yet people are shocked that things didn’t work out? They were sixteen years old. Four of them had no formal education of any kind, nor had ever been around enough to people to form a softball team. And that’s not even starting on the trolls, who had multiple culture-shocks and traumas of their own the sort through. And yet people are shocked that things didn’t work out? There is, absolutely, a way all of this could have been addressed and become a happy ending. If you don’t like the Epilogues because you’re just sick and fucking tired of tragedy stories - boy do I feel you. Man, don’t get me started on shit like Westword we will be here all week. If you just wanted there to be a fucking happy ending because god-damnit people deserve to be happy - I feel that too. Had that been what we got I can’t say that I’d have been displeased. But if you’re angry because what happened in the Epilogues seems “unreasonable”  all I can do is wave my arms at all the shit everybody went through and ask you why going from that to retired celebrity godhood was good for anyone. What happened on Earth-C was nobody’s fault - not even Dirk’s. Of course he lost it. Of course he took his godhood to its logical conclusions - what possible grounding in real human beings had he ever seriously had, and what in his life was there to make him see people as people? Dude grew up alone in a box with SBAHJ and rapping robots for company - the only voice in his head his own, magnified in the echo chamber of ego and his own blindness to his inadequacies.  Why wouldn’t Jane cling to status quo of her dead world? Really, what did Sburb ever bring her but heartbreak, an excessively baroque Bad Relationship Simulator that took away her home and her position as a corporate heiress for a six month romp through a bunch of dead planets and inter-friend squabbling (We don’t talk about how fucking boring the alpha session was: nothing but undead and emptiness.) She reaches a new world, gets told how smart she is, gets a bunch of degrees - but as Dave himself notes, when you’re rich as can be and have everyone on the planet lining up to do business with you, it’s pretty easy to think you’re actually skilled at running things, especially if YOU STOPPED YOUR EDUCATION AT SIXTEEN AND GOT TOLD THAT YOUR SIXTEEN YEAR OLD SELF WAS THE APEX OF YOUR BEING. Take a moment to remember yourself at sixteen. Try to put sixteen year old you in charge of something meaningfully important - like, mmh, let’s say a regional bank. Uh - oh. Oh dear. Oh it’s on fire, is it? And the fire is spreading? Yeah, that’ll happen. [One glaring issue I’ll note in these epilogues is that nobody knows what the fuck to do about Dad Crocker, so they do... nothing, until Candy reminds you he exists in order to kill him to motivate Jane to do something she probably could have been easily prompted to do anyways by another means. I guess Dad Crocker just... happily let Jane not finish school or exert any kind of parental control at all after that point? On her or anybody else? You want to talk about OOC: what the fuck happened with Dad Crocker, of whom I expected better? And where did Tavrosprite and the Nannasprites go?] My point in all this is that Homestuck is a story about how important love, teamwork, and friendship is, and after the Earth-C victory everybody got lost. Everybody reacted to being Celebrity Gods in their own way, and it created little cracks that widened over time, and when everyone should have been coming closer together - group therapy sessions, even - they got further and farther apart. These emotionally-stunted mentally-teenaged kids with buckets of trauma, the power of gods, and the celebrity to match broke. One by one. All in their own unique ways. The Epilogues are in some sense a musing on the absurdity of adulthood - how its mantel is placed upon you regardless of whether you are ready or not, for reasons as arbitrary as ‘turning a certain age’ or ‘winning a video game.’ In some cases it takes our heroes DECADES of life before adulthood - before real maturity - begins to make something of an appearance, and even then it’s a crapshoot. Love, friendship, and teamwork are what matter in Homestuck: in the epilogues it takes years of monumentally boneheaded decisions for our heroes to remember this, and some of them never do.

Is there still a happy ending at the end of Homestuck? One that lies ahead? I think so. Hussies loves his characters dearly - and yes, he does. Of course he does. He didn’t spend ten years of his life telling the story of one dimensional Brechtian Archetypes to make some otiose point about the nature of narrative: if he had none of you would be feeling as you are now.  The difference between you and Andrew Hussie is that you see his characters like family: you leap to their defence whenever they are hurt, and when they are cut you bleed: “How?” you ask, “Could anyone be so cruel to do this thing?” But Hussie sees his characters as characters, in a story of which he is author, and in which pain and hurt and tragedy can be the vehicles through which good stories can be told: that the light is made all the brighter because of the quantity and quality of darkness that was banished. Candy and Meat are the story of a boy who can only destroy love because he thinks he understands it, and lashes-out when things don’t go as planned. Dirk is just as much the villain in Candy as in Meat, as Calliope makes very clear: the Candyverse is in some sense defined, or at least made more distinct, by his absence. He is a tragic figure on the macro scale - if only he and all the walking wounded of Sburb had been given help when they needed it - but his death in Candy is not a tragedy of ‘what ifs,’ it’s an act of petulance and cruelty by a kid who’ll take his ball and go home if he’s not allowed to play the winning game. His death destabilizes the Candyverse far more than John’s choice to stay, its just that its corrosive effects take longer to be obvious - and the gears he’d already set in motion didn’t cease to turn, though they may have slowed. Dirk destroys love, his effect on both timelines is to push people apart because division suits him, and to push his own view of what ‘love’ is on people who experience it far more expansively than he could ever imagine. He’s a sad little boy who grew up in alone in a box and entered a world that told him he was a literal god with the powers to match - by the end of Meat it’s clear that love, friendship, and teamwork mean nothing to him, only the perfect order of his own fevered imagination. What will bring him down in the end is the reclamation of that feeling at the end of Act 7 - the joy of victory, of having worked together, of the love of family both found and familial, and of the realization that they were none of them better apart. And then some therapists. Some actual therapists. For a good long time. (Also I hope that they find Doc Scratch and beat his sorry ass from here to eternity because that smug fuck has his puppety fingertips all over this thing, and if Dirk really is merging with his ultimate self that includes (as @geekycalligrapher noted) aspects that wound up in Lord English, including a not insignificant portion of one Doctor Vanilla Milkshake, Esq.) (Edit: I did, in fact, do a few edits when I noticed the opening sentences were missing things like ‘the subject.’)

[migleefulmoments]

Please, please, please publish Abby’s new diatribe as I have apparently been blocked (or perhaps just don’t know enough about tumblr to find it). I’m dying to see what she worked on for two months to justify her existence!

Anonymous said: Oh dear, looks like Abby’s family didn’t get her help after all, a lost cause then, what an absolute waste of a life. It’s actually sad. A shame her family didn’t get her help

Le sigh...she is not well. She hasn’t learned one thing while she’s been away and she still has the exact same grievances- mostly about how much she hates Mia and how much she feels sorry for herself because we aren’t lapping up her fantasy and showering her with adoration for being the leader of the ccship. Her main complaint, the reason she popped back in to write the same tired complaints and criticisms, is that she’s tired of people blaming Darren for the ccsituation. It’s always about her love for ccDarren and her need to absolve him of all responsibility for all of the things the cc fandom dislike about him and his life. IT’S ALWAYS MIA’S FAULT and the defacto fandom leaders aren’t reminding everyone “it’s never Darren’s fault” and “always blame Mia’s”.

She lashes out to criticize the “hate blogs” but ultimately she blames Ricky and Mia for EVERYTHING including the “attack on her family” (which of course, was NOT an attack on her family, it was a plea for her family to get her some help).  She claims “they” tried to shut her up and then lists all the evidence that “they” tried to end her blog:  HER copyright strikes (lots of us have one) and the “hate” blogs before listing individual grievances against several bloggers, amping up the grievance for dramatic effect and making it seem like they were coordinated, well-planned attacks against her. She negates her own part e.g. I published the photo ONLY after she dared me to several times. All of this because  “If this is what they were willing to do to me, a mere fan, imagine what they are well to do to him, their absolute life sources?” “They” aka Mia and Ricky.  

I found it hard to read. She’s not in a good place.  

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

Hello CCLand!  Have you missed me?  I know I have missed you all.  This post is not me coming back, frankly, I still have not decided how I want to navigate the future, but for the past 2 months all of this has been festering inside, so I need to post and make a few points.

First and foremost, I want to say that I am incredibly proud of my blog. I spent 5 years building a relationship with my readers and trying to provide a voice for 2 people who have been marginalized and frankly had their voices largely muted. I will never apologize for this or feel bad about it. Nor will I feel bad about pointing a finger at people that I know are truly evil.  

I am far from perfect and I admit, I made 2 massive errors.  I overshared because I was naive and never thought the information would be used against me.  And I did not pay enough attention to the hate blogs and their threats.

This was a blog that I started when I first learned about CC and frankly it grew out of love and a need to try to bring justice to a person that is absolutely a victim of a completely antiquated and abusive system.  Further, I don’t THINK D is closeted, I KNOW D is closeted.  And I have substantial facts to back up that statement.  I never intended to become the most read CC blog or to meets so many wonderful an amazing people that I admire, but that is what happened and that has given me great joy.

But with the good comes the bad, and what happened to me is absolutely sick and depraved.  And I am writing this post in hopes that someone will read it and see just how fucked up the behavior of a few “fans” has been towards me and to help them to extend this to what has been done to D and C.  Please do not feel sad for me, or send me sympathy, it is not my point.  But I hope that perhaps it will inspire some of you to be more active and to fight a little harder as I try to navigate the harassment that occurred to my family.

Pretty much since I started to write, I have been receiving hate, something to be expected when you join a fandom like this. But at some point, it became much more frequent and took a turn from manageable hate to harassment and bullying.  In October of 2017, I got my first ask with my full name and from that day forward there has been an active attempt to try to bullying me off the internet. Now ask why that is?  I am just a fan, with what most think is a crazy belief, with a relatively small following. I do not and have not tagged the players nor do I contact them directly. I have never been anything but incredibly polite to  D and C, and frankly I have ignored M whenever I have been in her presence because she is not worthy of my time or energy. I have never reached out to them over SM to make one statement about fandom. So why such an effort to silence my voice?  Especially if it is as insignificant as they claim?  

They tried deleting my blog, that failed. They tried with copyright infringements but I got smarter about making sure to post links.  So, what did they do?  They started with vicious attacks on my character on their hate blogs. Posting my full name and image.  Analyzing every word i wrote, desperately trying to debunk me, stating that i had severe mental health issues.  Tagged C, W, and A/lla to warn them about my presence at a book signing.  They stalked my friends and I at a festival, made false accusations, and published a photo. This meant that had to seek us out, locate where we were sitting and wait for a moment when they could get an image that they could twist to their favor.  That is insane. And there is no way to twist it to say its normal or expected.

But that apparently was enough harassment.  They threatened my work and my career.  Next, they started to stalk my family on the internet and use a devastating injury and a charity to harass and bully my family to the point that I did have to make the painful decision to not just stop posting but to protect my blog. This is completely vile and inexcusable behavior.  And the fact that it was not stopped, is a strong statement about the people clearly in control.

Why am I recounting? Because I want people to wake up and stop blaming D for every twist and turn.  If this is what they were willing to do to me, a mere fan, imagine what they are well to do to him, their absolute life sources? I am just another body left behind in the carnage, D is their source of money and fame. And not just his team and his “bride” but all of the people that have ridden his coattails to have name recognition.  

I wish people would realize this is not choose your own adventure book, D is a human who has been held against his will due to an enormous amount of power they clearly wield over him. How do you not see that if he could, he would end this?  This has not been about him being straight in so long, straight is how they control him and how they are able to make M relevant.  

And if you though this was a choice, how were you not woken up in the days following his dad’s death? I would guess not 48 hours after he buried his father, he was dragged from his mother’s home, forced to play dress up and pose for a ridiculous, cruel and inhumane set of pics.  D has lied about many things, but never about his parents, he has always been nothing but reverent when he speaks about them and his love and respect for them is clear.

Clearly, I have not gone anywhere, and I am still watching and reading every word. I have actually been incredibly proud of D during the majority of press for HW.  He has made so many statements that are a foundation for the truth, including telling us that young actors do things that they later learn to regret, telling us that HW has not changed, and stating that the person you see has a story we will never know.  

The press to legitimize and canonize M has been laughable and beyond transparent. It is so obvious this is on his list of required duties and the fact that they did not pause if for 1 week when his dad died is absolute proof that this is not a choice.

I do have to laugh at the irony of the d “quote” about fans being mean to his poor “wife” (that he himself has called a big girl).  So it is ok to bully a fan off the internet to the point that they stalked and harassed my family (and it does not matter if his was led by his team, her, her friends, or a fan in her name), but it is not ok for a small handful of fans to discuss the sad reality and point the finger at the truth?

Anyhow, this got way too long, but it has all been building up inside.  This blog was  such a massive part of my life and I miss it and you more than words can say. I encourage all of you to keep supporting these incredible men, I have no doubt they are worth it. I do think they next few months will bring about change, but what they change is, we still don’t know. I hope that D wins sooner than later. I am not certain how much longer he can be expected to sustain this weight.   If you reached this point, thank you for reading.    I am going back to my quiet corner now.  

[thedeviljudges]

based on @codyrhodesofficial prompt so uh, this literally didn’t turn out how i think u wanted it but fjalskdfa i tried!!!

Steve curses under his breath, twisting the pencil around in his hand. The eraser flies across the page, sprinkles of excess rubber shavings leaving his desk a mess. It shouldn’t be this difficult to write, shouldn’t take him goddamn hours to make sense of a language he grew up speaking. But it is; the words don’t come to him so easily, knowing this is something akin to permanent. Sure, he can erase until he rips right through the paper, but it won’t change the fact that as soon as the lead touches the slip, his brain goes blank, and he feels a little too stupid to even bother trying.

“What’s that?”

Quickly, Steve covers his paper with his hand, a loud smack against the wood. He hadn’t known Billy was awake, hadn’t heard a noise from the bed until it was too late.

Steve bites his lip, wondering if it’d be too obvious to smush it into a ball and throwing it away. The paper is dull now, gray and white and unfamiliar from his original scribbles. He’s made a mess of the page, not good enough now for a submission, as if it was ever good enough to begin with.

“Something I’m working on,” he says and hopes that Billy will leave it at that. There are a lot of things Steve is self-conscious about, and there are a lot of things he isn’t. The former is what he feels this time, his lack of mental dexterity a sore spot he doesn’t want provoked. Steve knows he’s not been smart about a lot of things, struggled with some classes more than others, and he thinks that maybe it’s really his fault for not trying hard enough despite the numbers and letters mixing no matter how hard he’s willed it to stop.

“Something important?” Billy asks from the bed. Steve glances at him, mere inches away from the chair he sits in. There’s a mess of curls sticking out from under the covers, two eyes blinking back at him with laziness while his nose remains covered most likely due to the chilliness in the air.

“No, it’s-” He shrugs, not having the heart to lie but also too distraught to bring attention to his misgivings. The joke’s on him though because Billy reads him like a goddamn book – the irony – and it makes him even more uncomfortable under such scrutiny. “It’s really nothing. I thought I had some time to rewrite this.”

“For what?”

Steve’s lips thin, tongue flicking out to wet them. He’s reluctant, at a crossroads because what he has is a mess of a college application paper staring back at him, taunting him for all the things he isn’t and might never be. Steve’s always been good at being decently cool, knows his sports, and maybe it’s easier for him to figure out equations involving numbers.

But this is writing, and it’s the only thing that matters out in that big old world, particularly if he ever has any desire to get the fuck out of town. Sure, money might buy him a spot or two, but it taints his stomach with unease thinking how little he’d deserve that kind of reward if he hadn’t worked for it.

“College application,” he replies simply, can’t take his eyes off the desk and the torturous stationary that mocks every fiber of his being. “It’s a lost cause.”

Setting the pencil down, Steve picks up his words without any delicacy involved. With every intention to crumble it up, he pauses when Billy shuffles out from under the covers with a single grabby hand that makes Steve arch a brow. “You’re not looking at this.”

Billy’s eyes narrow reaching forward just a little more until he’s got Steve’s paper in between two fingers. “You’re sure?”

Steve sighs and lets go, lets a shirtless Billy fall back onto his bed like he owns the damn thing while he slouches in his chair. The two of them have been through enough not to be embarrassed of judgment from one another, but his toes curl against the cold floor, and maybe his heart picks up a little speed as Billy settles down to read the absolute trash that’s become the bane of Steve’s existence for the past several weeks.

“Listen,” he starts, fingers curling into the palm of his hands, nails digging into the flesh. “It’s not worth the read, really. I can’t- I’ve never-”

Billy only hums, and Steve rolls his eyes at the fact that he can’t speak now. So, he leaves it at that, let’s fate take its course while he suffers in silence, holding his breath on an exhale.

It takes all of five minutes before the staleness in the room dissipates, Billy pursing his lips in thought while Steve’s stomach twists into fucking knots. “Nancy said-”

Billy glances at him, eyebrows rising of their own accord. “Oh yeah?” he questions, the annoyance clear as day; he’s never been fond of the girl, especially not after Steve’d randomly let on how he’d has his heart broken after a few too many beers.

He’d also questioned Billy and asked him not to break his heart, too, but that’s neither here or there, and Steve doesn’t have the time nor patience to deal with the flush of his cheeks when he thinks about it. Curse his body’s lack of patience with alcohol, and curse his inability not to be a Chatty Cathy in the most inopportune moments.

“Yes, she said-”

Billy snorts, honest-to-god releases that sound in the midst of Steve’s feelings of inadequacy. “Good thing I don’t give a shit about what she says.”

And that’s certainly not what Steve was expecting.

Furrowing his brow, he stares at Billy, trying to gauge whether he’s really fucking with him or not. Sometimes it’s so hard to tell, what with those goddamn eyes and those lips and how eager Billy is to give him a smirk when he least expects it.

“She’s not wrong, though,” he counters because Nancy’s comments sure as shit didn’t help his confidence. And it’s not like he desperately needed the compliments and for her to lie to him about what he’d attempted, but it was still a let down knowing he tried and failed. What’s worse is that he still doesn’t know how to correct it.

“Did she tell you it was shit?” Billy turns in bed, lying on his side, paper still nestled between his fingers. He glances back and forth between Steve and what’s left of his writing before he gives up waiting for Steve to reply. “Because it is; your thoughts are all over the place.”

Steve lets out a frustrated growl and slouches even further into his chair. “Thank you, captain obvious. I know that, which is why I was trying to fix it.” Immediately, the anger deflates. Like Nancy, he can’t fault Billy either, and deep down, he knew he’d get an honest response. Though, Steve’s not sure if he prefers the way Nancy handled it or the bluntness that comes with Billy Hargrove.

“Look, you’re on the right track.”

“Don’t flatter me, asshole.”

Billy rolls his eyes, but he keeps Steve pinned with his gaze. “You just need some reorganization, make it more seamless.”

“I swear to god if you’re fucking with me-”

“I’m not,” Billy replies, voice rough as it lowers. It makes Steve blink and reevaluate whether he was raising his voice out of resentment of sorts, the apathy he has for this conversation overshadowing his real feelings of defeat.

But Billy looks as serious as he can be, playfulness set aside for something much more raw. It stirs familiarity in Steve’s chest, like an old memory playing on the backdrop of a warm summer night. It coddles him like a blanket, that look, full of genuine care, and rather than it startling Steve, he wraps himself up in Billy’s ability to graze the line between truthfulness and tenderness just when Steve needs it the most.

“If you want,” the other boy begins, gaze fluttering down to the floorboards, “I can help you.”

And now the tables have turned, so slowly and casually, Steve almost misses it. Billy looks just as nervous as Steve had felt, like his offer might not be well received nor appreciated. But Steve, god, does something inside his chest flip: most likely his heart, if he could guess. It dances in waves, like a soft breeze caressing the flowers. “Do you want to?” he poses because Steve has to know if Billy is really willing to take on a task like that, through the grievances and thoughts that encompass Steve’s inability to communicate. “I’m not very good at it; we might be here awhile.”

And well, that brings up another point of contention: for how long is Billy willing to stand his presence until he abandon’s all resolve and leaves Steve scrambling for some semblance of coherency.

“Steve,” he hears, tone falling to the depths of a warning. “Let me help you.”

Reluctantly, Steve nods, not willing to push this into an unproductive argument. Instead, he reaches for a random book, rolling the pencil he’d forgotten about in between his fingers. “Move over, then.”

Ungracefully, he clambers onto the bed, Billy huffing as an elbow and a knee knocks against his bones. Steve doesn’t settle until there’s a pillow behind his back, pressed against the wall while the rest of his body casually lounges across Billy’s lower half. “Okay there, princess?”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek, refuses to acknowledge the heat crawling up his neck and onto his cheeks because he knows how distracting that gets; not just for Billy, himself included. “I’m good now. My ass wasn’t havin’ it much longer on that chair.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Billy says, slowly smiling like he’s got a secret or two to kill. He doesn’t say much else after, but he does reach for the book Steve has in his hand, using it as a solid source to write on. Reluctantly, Steve hands over the pencil, eraser pitiful in its shape.

Seconds later, Billy’s scribbling shit down, and as curious as Steve is, he doesn’t look. It’s hardly from wanting to keep the momentum of surprise and more so his lack of restraint when it comes to criticism on his end. “I didn’t know you liked writing,” he says curiously, not remembering whether Billy had previously shared a love of language with him or not; though Steve is certain he’d remember something quant like that, didn’t question Billy’s ability in school and whether he remained true to the stereotype that all the pretty ones were idiots.

No, that was Steve, and maybe somewhere deep down he’d be jealous if it wasn’t for the amount of appreciation curling along the length of his chest.

“I don’t,” is Billy’s reply, though. It’s quick from concentration, but still as sharp as a knife as if Steve’s stumbled upon a subject Billy isn’t interested in entertaining.

“Oh,” he breathes because well, if Billy is shit at this too, then he supposes this entire session is a lost cause. “You know what you’re doing, then?” But as soon as he asks it, Steve regrets it, winces at the sound of his own voice and the lack of assurance he should have in the one person who’d willingly offered their time and their help.

The pencil stops moving, and Steve suspects that maybe Billy will climb out of the comfort of his bed, leaving Steve the asshole and with a foot in his mouth.

Rather, Billy seems to space out for a second, like the paper and the book and Steve aren’t right in front of him, like they’re worlds away from Steve’s near empty house, to a place where Billy doesn’t know a Steve or the small town of Hawkins, Indiana. “I’m sorry,” he begins, wishing he could slap himself upside the head for being a dick.

But he doesn’t get much more out because Billy is countering his apology with a heavier statement that leaves Steve both breathless and in awe.

“My mother,” Billy says, almost randomly if Steve hadn’t known better, hadn’t understood the context underneath the tone. It drills so deep, the silence that follows, a standstill and confusing. Steve tries to read Billy as much as he can, particularly in such a moment when the boy beneath him is crossing the line of the unequivocal into uncharted territory.

So, Steve doesn’t know what to say, lost in both a detail left unclear and how Billy blinks away a new shine to his eyes. It’s like he expects Steve, so suddenly, to nag him until he cracks further, right down the middle until nothing is left but mushy innards that can’t be stitched back together with titillated words. Which, in all honesty, Steve does have that power, has a magical way of slithering under Billy’s skin without trying too hard. Those wounds reopening something fierce, debris breaking loose the point where it makes Billy re-exam parts of himself he’d long forgotten.

And Steve never means to pry like so, tends to wade in the water until Billy drags him farther in, down a rabbit hole filled with guilt and despair.

So this little revelation, a stumbling block Steve did not, and had never, anticipated is there for the taking. And he’s curious; god is he curious about every part of Billy he doesn’t know: the good, the bad, and everything in between, but some things are meant to be left alone. Steve may not be very good at reading between the lines, or reading in general really, but he knows Billy, and he knows the basis of what makes him tick.

“She loved literature,” Billy says softly under the dim glow of sunlight that filters through the blinds in Steve’s room. His fingers tap against the book beneath his hands, eyes not yet filled to the brim with tears, but glassy and distant like he’s in another time, another world far away from what his life has become.

Steve thinks he can picture it, maybe, a young boy too wild and hyped up on candy every Halloween, climbing trees in the woods near his house, accumulating scrapes and bruises his mother kissed away. A much gentler Billy takes over his mind, and he wonders if Billy misses that kid, if he misses that life and all the promises it held for him until it took away the one thing Billy cherished the most.

“What was her favorite?” he asks instead, would rather not reveal how deep his affection goes. It’s already vulnerable, and Steve partly regrets pulling out his paper to look it over now, not quiet sure if he made a mistake in unleashing memories of a happier time on Billy’s part.

Just slightly, Billy turns his head, finally glancing up from the parallel lines turned baby blue. Upset has never been a good look on Billy, and he’s grateful that that’s not what this is. It’s familiar, those occasions when Billy recalls the nuances he’d left behind in favor of anger and torment. Similar to a setting sun, the pinks and oranges mixing together with the blue from the ocean, designed for a snapshot and a brushstroke until Steve almost snorts at the simplicity. Doesn’t everyone believe that? Majestic as it is, humans have little ability to steer clear of what they already know, and this is no exception.

“I think-” is the voice that breaks through his thoughts, and when Steve studies Billy’s face, it’s all changed again; his demeanor, the depths of his eyes, the crease between his brows like he’s struggling to find something that just isn’t there. Distressed, Steve thinks, as he reaches forward, curling delicate fingers around Billy’s wrist because he knows that’ll get his attention.

It does, and Billy gives a soft smile, emotions fading by the second. “I don’t think I remember anymore,” he says.

Steve doesn’t miss the desolation, the acidity of what that statement means, what it’s dredged up. For the first time in quite awhile, Steve doesn’t know what to do and doesn’t know how to comfort a loss he’d never been apart of. There’d hardly been any rules between them to begin with, each moment a stepping stone together, building boundaries together, and Steve doesn’t have the heart to make that a thing they must do right now; it’s much too soon.

Alternatively, Steve finds the end of a curled piece of hair resting between Billy’s shoulder and neck, twirling it around his finger and letting it fall into a ringlet against his skin. “Will you read to me?” he proposes, wondering if this compromise will be enough for today. If Steve cannot have Billy’s memoir, then he will find another, bringing forth an interest he believes Billy might’ve forgotten he could care about.

“If you want me to.”

Steve nods and doesn’t say another word, lets Billy fall back into writing, erasing, and posing questions when he needs the answers. For now, it’s Steve’s turn to dwell on his misgivings, and it’s then that he realizes exactly why Billy refused to work on his.

There’s a time and a place for everything, and even in their shortcomings, everyone gets their turn. Today is for Steve and Steve alone, and if he thinks too much on it, he knows it’ll leave him breathless.

Instead, Steve thinks about how much he’d like to kiss Billy, leave him just as senseless as he feels. But he waits, he waits a few minutes in this moment where Billy’s voice cocoons him in encouragement and prompts him for details that expose the foundation of his very being.

And by the end of it, even if he may not have a full essay yet, Steve brings his own encouragement to the table, discarding the paper and falling into a natural ease that comes so easily when it’s just the two of them together.

[gothchic6]

Silver’s Skater Girl Chapter 11: Nightmares and Apologies

Disclaimer: gothchic6 doesn't own Pokémon…

Chapter Eleven: Nightmares and Apologies

After JP leaves, JC looks to Silver and I with an expression that says, 'This has changed things quite a bit, hasn't it?'

I silently agree with her. I can't believe I just spilled my guts out to these people, especially Silver. He, of all people, didn't need to know my business or my life story. I can't believe I let myself become that vulnerable, that open. Before I started this entire journey, I did nothing but seal myself away in a protective shell in order to survive. Or, at least, keep my sanity intact. I haven't felt such a close connection with anyone since my parents were alive. It feels strange, and I'm not sure if I like it or not.

JC sighs, and takes a look at her watch.

"It's 1:00 in the morning. I'm exhausted, and I bet you two are even more tired than I am. I'm having Chansey take over for the night, so I can get some sleep. You two. Get to bed. Calypso, your old room is open. Silver, you know where your room is. Oh, and, Calypso? I finally found that damn incubator for your Egg. While we were talking in my quarters, I took the Egg out of your bag, put it inside the incubator, and put the entire thing back inside your bag. So, you're all set for Egg hatching!" JC says tiredly, but perks up at the end at the mention of the Pokémon Egg.

I reach into my bag, where I do indeed find the incubated Egg. I smile, the prospect of a baby Pokémon causing a warm feeling to rise up in me.

"Thanks!" I say gratefully.

She just smiles warmly back at me, before breaking out in a full grin.

"Shoo, you two", she commands playfully, "Go get some sleep. Arceus knows you need it."

Silver promptly walks to his room without a word to JC or I. I wait to hear Silver's door open and close before pulling JC behind the counter in the lobby. Not daring to make eye contact with her, I murmur softly to her,

"Listen, I can't thank you enough for what you did for me tonight. Even though you didn't know the full circumstances of my situation, you still decided to help me…"

JC's rose eyes widen slightly at my soft and humble tone. Breaking out into a warm smile, she shakes her head slowly, and replies,

"It's nothing. You've done just as much for me. It was the least that I could do."

I tut in disbelief before I gently grab her by her shoulders to make her stare me in the eyes. She seems startled at this sudden contact, but does nothing to try to escape my hold on her. I groan, out of both exhaustion and slight irritation.

"You don't get it, do you," I start in a much steadier voice than before, "You really don't understand how much this means to me. It is because of you that I'm standing here instead of inside a prison cell, at this very moment. In those few minutes that JP first came around here, you held my fate in your hands. You were the decision as to whether I was arrested, or I stayed free. And you made the choice to allow me my freedom. The one thing I've always wanted, longed for, even. Without you, I'd be surrounded by cold steel. I just want you to realize that, and realize that if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to call me. As cheesy as it sounds, I am forever in debt to you."

Throughout the whole appreciation speech, JC's face has steadily gone from pale ivory to the color of a cherry. She goes to answer me, but for a few seconds, she can't utter anything without stuttering.

She finally gets a grip on herself, and states, still somewhat stammering,

"I g-guess I never thought about it that way. Well, I mean, I knew once I saw the wanted poster, but not from that perspective. Umm, you're welcome. Yeah, if I ever need anything, I'll tell you."

I nod, relieved that she finally gets what I'm saying.

JC grins brightly, and before I know what's happening, she's swiftly turned my body around, and is in the process of pushing me towards the hallway to the inn rooms.

"Now, shoo," she declares again playfully, though there's more force to it this time, "It's 1:10, and you need to get some sleep, because I'm waking both you and Silver at the butt-crack of dawn tomorrow."

My eyes widen in horror, and I rotate in place to face her. "Dawn? But… dawn is at like, 7 or 8! You're insane!"

She puts her hands on her hips, and glares at me, with what I can guess is almost a motherly glower.

"Hey, JP isn't the only officer who comes into this Pokémon Center, you know. Actually, now that JP won't be harassing me anymore—hopefully—Jenny Anne will probably be making more stops here more often. Police officers always check in on me every day at 9 in the morning, so you two need to be out of here by, at the latest, 8:30. So, I suggest you skedaddle off to bed, Sassy Miss!"

"Well, I can't argue with that logic." I chuckle, and wave to her before walking down the hall to my room. I enter the inn room, and as I commence my bedtime rituals, I smile at the fact that not only I am free, but also I have a friend to share that freedom with.

I gasp for air as I suddenly skyrocket into a sitting position on the bed. Pulling my knees into my chest tightly, I breathe heavily and deeply, the night terror having robbed me of breath for what was probably only a second or two, but felt like an hour. Vivid images of the nightmare float in my mind like lily pads floating in a pond.

This isn't the first time I've had night terrors, and it probably won't be the last. And because of that, I have a journal that's dedicated to writing down every single detail of every single dream that I can remember. Actually, I have about five journals worth of dreams and memories already written down starting from age 12 and on. I've recently just started on my sixth.

It takes a few minutes for me to calm down, but when I'm finally able to think clearly again, I hastily scramble out of bed, and grab my gigantic backpack, so I can write the nightmare down before I forget it. My journals have a special pocket reserved just for them in the front, where they're the most accessible. I almost rip the zipper off trying to open the pocket, but luckily, it stays intact. Pulling out my most recent journal, I begin to write…

I wake up in a disturbingly familiar place. I'm lying on carpet of coarse navy blue fibers. Lavender walls of plaster surround me, and that's when I take a hard, long stare at my location. The lack of windows promotes suffocation. A gigantic, and obviously new plasma screen television hangs over the fireplace, and somehow, I can feel that it is forbidden to even touch it. A couch and a few armchairs of all shades of brown lounge lazily in the room. While they may look fluffy, and perhaps cozy to most, I know they are just waiting to suck me in like quicksand. The only thing in the room that gives me any sort of comfort is the packed bookshelf in the corner. I go to pull a book off the shelf, when I suddenly hear a sound that makes my blood run cold.

Any kind of security I had before is quickly shattered into itty-bitty little pieces as I hear the noise coming from a place outside of this room.

Sobbing.

Not soft, gentle weeping, but horrible, heart-wrenching sobbing, full of despair and grief. And it scares me more than anything else in the world. It scares me because I know what comes after the sobbing. What always comes after the sobbing.

The muttering. The cursing. The jumping to incorrect conclusions. The accusations and the undeserved incrimination. The need for a scapegoat.

And I'm that scapegoat.

All of the problems in the world are my fault. I'm the reason that evil groups like Team Rocket exist. I'm the reason that innocent people are murdered. I'm the reason for Pokémon who are bloodthirsty killers. I'm the reason for everything evil.

I'm the scapegoat.

It's the alcohol that makes it this way.

But it's still all my fault. Because I'm still the scapegoat. I'm always the scapegoat.

I can hear it now, muttering all of its grievances in a low voice that sounds ready to break. It becomes louder with each problem it recites, and it's not long before it escalates to yelling curses at the top of its lungs. I'm not even in the same room as it, and I'm already shaking like a leaf.

Of course, it doesn't have the mental capacity to deal with its problems without hard liquor. It hides behind it, as if it'll protect it from the true reality. But it doesn't. It won't. And that angers it. So, what does it take its anger out on?

Me, of course. I'm the scapegoat.

I stop writing, knowing what comes next, but not wanting to confirm it by making a physical record. I'd rather pretend it never happened. It isn't a topic you just bring up at brunch.

I use my journals to absorb the things I'd rather not have to remember. And this is one of them.

*JC's POV*

A loud thumping causes me to jolt awake. I sit up, rubbing my throbbing knee, which just impacted with the wall in response to the noise. I hear the thumping noise again, prompting me to go and investigate. Without thinking, I put my nursing apron on, just in case someone needs medical treatment. I also grab the Poké Ball of my Growlithe, Gruff, just in case of a burglar.

To my surprise, the thumping's origin seems to be somewhere in the inn rooms. Crossing quietly through the lobby, I see nothing suspicious. Chansey waves amicably at me from behind the counter, where she sleeps, and smiles lazily when I reflect the same gesture.

The thumping leads to Calypso's inn room. Wondering what could be making that noise, I open the door inaudibly, and slowly walk inside the room. Once I'm all the way inside, I shut the door, but to my horror, it emits a high-pitched creek before it closes. I shift my gaze to Calypso, but thankfully, the noise doesn't wake her up.

Speaking of Calypso, she is tossing and turning in an almost violent manner, while her comforter and nearly all of her pillows have been shoved or knocked off of the bed. Once I see her head collide with the headboard, I realize where the sound is coming from. I can't imagine how much that must hurt.

I walk up to the bed, but hastily step back as Calypso's bare foot nearly kicks me in the stomach. From the rampant way she is moving around, sweating like a Swinub on Mt. Chimney, and the expression of pure fear on her face, I'd say she's having a nightmare.

"Calypso!" I say her name audibly, but not too loudly since it's 4 in the morning, and other people are trying to sleep. At the statement of her name, Calypso opens her eyes, and jolts up forcefully. Though her amethyst eyes are open, I can tell that she is still asleep, trapped in her nightmare.

"MOMMY!" She shrieks in a shrill and childish, yet crystal clear voice. In any other context, the word use might have been comical, or even witty. But here, in the middle of the night, and the middle of a nightmare, it is nothing but disturbing. Then, as quickly as she sat up, Calypso's eyes roll into the back of her head, and she falls back onto the bed.

I am too startled by this whole experience to even move at the moment. I unconsciously listen for the sound of her breathing, and am relieved when I hear deep, heavy breaths coming from her.

Suddenly, the door opens, and a Chansey waddles in, an expression of worry on her pale pink face.

'What's going on', the Chansey asks me, 'I heard screaming. Is our guest all right?'

"Yeah," I nod to her, "She was just having a nightmare."

Then, to make sure Calypso is okay, I lay my hand on her forehead to check whether she has a fever or not. To my surprise, she is quite warm, and I ask Chansey to get me a damp washcloth to help cool her down.

While Chansey goes to grab the washcloth, I take a look at the thermostat. 75 degrees Fahrenheit (around 24 degrees Celsius)! No wonder the poor girl is sweating! I switch the temperature from 75 (24) to 69 (20.5) degrees. Thankfully, the fans in the inn rooms are quite powerful, and cool air starts pouring into the room.

I carefully position Calypso's body so she is lying comfortably on the bed, and to prevent her from becoming cold, I cover her with a very light sheet. I can't help but snicker when she snuggles into her pillow, and a light smile materializes on her face.

Chansey comes back with the washcloth, and I cover Calypso's forehead with it. I can tell that it's working when Calypso sighs contentedly, and then proceeds to start snoring.

"Thank Arceus that she's all right," I mutter.

Chansey gazes at me with an expression of curiosity. "Do you have any idea what the poor child would be having a nightmare about?"

"Well, she didn't have the best childhood, Chansey. Her parents died when she was four, and she was taken away from her guardian by her grandmother shortly after. And from what I've heard, she hates her grandmother with a passion. So I bet any one of those could be the root cause."

Chansey narrows her eyes in thought. "Do you think there could be any chance of abuse by the grandmother?"

I shift my hands to my hips, and silently go over every detail Calypso mentioned about her grandmother. "Nothing that Calypso said directly, but from the way she described the woman, it wouldn't surprise me if she physically disciplined Calypso."

"You should ask her about it tomorrow."

I shake my head no at the suggestion. "No, Calypso already has enough to deal with regarding her grandmother. If she were abused, bringing up the memories of it probably wouldn't help at all. You've already seen how angry at the world she is. I can almost bet that her frame of mind is very unstable, and I don't want to shatter the stability she does have."

Chansey sighs before shrugging at me, and leaving the room. Seeing as Calypso seems stable enough, I follow suit, and go to my quarters to reclaim some much-needed shuteye.

*Calypso's POV*

I groan as the sound of the alarm clock ringing infiltrates my good dream, and forces me to wake up. I angrily shove the clock off the nightstand, cancelling out the noise, but probably breaking it in the process. Hey, what can I say? That damn clock ruined the first good dream I've had in months. The contents of my good dream? A secret.

I grudgingly get up, get dressed, etc. As I walk out to the lobby, I catch sight of JC's face, and everything that happened last night rushes to my mind in a flash. I grit my teeth at the memories, not wanting to have to discuss them again.

JC holds my gaze, and I notice that while she is smiling, her smile is strained, and worry is entrapped within her rose eyes. I quickly break the eye contact. She's probably worrying about having a criminal in her establishment, and is strained by the pressure of trying to protect me. In that second, I hastily make the decision to cut her out of my life. It's for her own good.

Thankfully, JC is alone in the lobby, and since no one sane is up at this time, I'm not worried about anyone coming in.

I approach her at the counter, where she shares a sunny grin with me. I can tell she's faking it. She's worried underneath the fake grin.

When I don't smile back, her grin falters, and she glances at me curiously. She lowers her gaze, and says in a quiet voice,

"Silver already left. I checked his room around ten minutes ago, and it is completely deserted. He's one smart kid."

I only nod, the depression of what I know I must say next effectively preventing me from replying to her statement.

She tilts her head to stare at me incredulously, obviously thinking that anything to do with Silver would make me reply immediately. She'd normally be right. Baffled by my silence, she says, in almost a whisper,

"What's wrong?"

I sigh sadly, and speaking to her for the first time this morning, I respond,

"I have things I need to say, and I'm not looking forward to saying them."

She smiles a small smile, and my Grinch sized heart almost breaks at the fact that I have to say what I have to say.

"I'm sure these words you need to say aren't that bad," she drawls soothingly, "So why don't you just get it over with, and say them?"

Sighing sadly once again, our eyes lock together before I nod slowly. In a deep tone, I mutter to her,

"Look, I'm sorry for not telling you all about this before, and laying all of it on you and JP last night. My whole family situation just isn't something I like to talk about, especially since my social skills aren't the most refined. And the whole thing with the Grand Larceny and Destruction of Property… I'll admit, I'm not sorry for what I did that night. I did what I had to do to gain my freedom, one way or another. And while being locked up in a house doesn't seem like a life or death situation, it was for me. If I would have stayed for much longer, Gran and I probably would have ended up killing each other."

JC gives me a little eyebrow twitch, as if to say, "Now you're over-exaggerating."

When my serious expression doesn't falter after a few seconds, JC's rose eyes widen. I sigh breathily.

"What's sad", I go onto whisper, "is that you think I'm joking. What's even sadder is that I have to tell you I'm not. What happened in that house that night was me releasing all of my anger out towards her, and the world. I've never really been able to just release my emotions like that. I've always had to keep them under wraps. Honestly, I'm just grateful that she wasn't there to witness it. There could have been even worse consequences if she had been…"

I pause to sigh again, and then I stare JC full in the face.

"I completely understand if you want to break all ties with me. I'm a wanted criminal; you're a nurse. It could hurt your career if people found out that you were ever associated with me. It might be beneficial if we weren't friends anymore…"

A sharp slapping noise echoes throughout the lobby as a stinging starts developing on my cheek. Damn, JC has a nice bitchslap.

"Calypso Aspen Primrose! How dare you! How many times do I have to tell you that you are my friend, and nothing will change that? Sure, last night surprised me a little bit, but I'm not giving up on you! Besides, JP is up in Violet City, in this moment, risking her badge for your benefit! I am risking my license here for your benefit! We are fully involved for you, and we refuse to let you push us away, 'for our benefit.' Do you get that, Calypso?!"

I hastily shake my head yes, not only not wanting another slap, but in awe at her concern for me. It's been forever since anyone has bothered to care about me like that. Not since…

A single tear runs down my face, causing JC to pause her rage, and stare at me in astonishment. The first tear is shortly followed by more, and I start to sob silently. Very unlike the creature in my dreams, with its shrieking sobs. And for once, I cry neither of sadness nor fear; I cry of joy.

She rushes from behind the counter to hold me securely in her arms. She does not shush me, as Gran always did when I would cry. She knows that for once, I need to get my emotions out, or they will bubble inside me as they always have. Her hold on me is not choking like Gran, either, but rather, providing support where it's needed. Her comfort reminds me more of my mother, who used to hold me the same exact way.

"You are going to be a great mother," I whisper to JC after a few more seconds of tears. She only lets out a shaky laugh, while she starts rubbing my back soothingly. I soon calm down.

"I'm sorry," I say as soon as her arms release me, "It's just that—"

"It's okay," she responds quietly, "You don't need to explain yourself to me this time. You are always welcome to release your emotions when you're with me. No explanation required."

I giggle and sniffle at the same time. "No, it's okay, I want you to hear this. It's just that you remind me of my mother. The way you hold me, the way you don't shush me when I cry, and the way you care for me. I got so emotional because no one has bothered to care for me like she did besides you. Thank you."

Her rose eyes widen, but soon narrow to normal. She grins largely, and wraps me up in a full hug. This is quite hard for her to do, seeing as I have about five inches on her. I embrace her back, before grabbing her by the waist, and swinging her around a few times. She giggles gleefully before I set her back on the floor.

My eyes just happen to catch the clock. It's 8:15.

I point at the clock. "Shit, I guess I need to go."

JC glances at the clock, and frantically nods her head. "No kidding. Here's breakfast," she says as she hastily hands me a granola bar, "Now out you go!"

She practically shoves me out of the Pokémon Center. I don't stick around to have the last word, as I can hear the engine of a large motorbike. The Officers are out early this morning. Fuck.

Cyndi suddenly pops out of her Poké Ball, effectively startling me.

"Whoa, Cyndi, give me some warning next time! You scared the shit out of me! We're lucky I didn't scream, or we could've had the coppers on us in minutes!"

Cyndi only raises an eyebrow. After a few seconds, she adds a sigh, too. I shift my hands to my hips in defense.

"Hey, don't look at me like that! Besides, our next destination is Union Cave, which is all dark, wet, and cold. Aka, not a good place for you to train. Dusk is the one who needs the most training anyways. What levels are you guys at now? Let me check…"

I pull out the Pokédex, which flashes a red light when I turn it out. I quickly check the levels, moves, and stats of all four Pokémon.

"Let's see… Cyndi, you're at level eighteen… your moves are Tackle, Smokescreen, Ember, and Quick Attack. Spirit is level sixteen… her moves are Faint Attack, Wing Attack, Pursuit, and Peck. Both Dusk and Forest are at level thirteen… Dusk's moves are Psywave, Astonish, Spite, and Growl. Forest's moves are Vine Whip, Growth, Wrap, and Sleep Powder. Not bad, you guys…"

I become immersed in the Pokédex, so Cyndi whistles to get me out of my funk. I glance at her.

"Thanks. Anyways, I'm gonna train Dusk in Union Cave because her natural environment is in caves, and she and Forest need the most training. I mean, you can walk along with us if you want, but if you get wet, it's not my fault."

Cyndi appears to think about this for a moment, before approaching me. To my surprise, she reaches up, and taps her Poké Ball on my belt.

"I'll take that as a no," I say as Cyndi returns herself to her Poké Ball.

I then let Dusk out of her Poké Ball. She seems to be delighted at the prospect of more training. So, we start heading over to the entrance of Union Cave, where Dusk and I pummel Bird Keeper Peter, and to my surprise, there is a slightly shattered boulder standing in the way of what looks to be a valuable item. That reminds me…

"Dammit, I forgot to ask about Rock Smash."

[profoundgardenertree-blog]

2015 Mustang V6 Insurance cost? I’m 19.?

"2015 Mustang V6 Insurance cost? I'm 19.?

2015 Mustang V6 Insurance cost? I'm 19.?

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if i get into a fender bender in a van for work will it make my insurance rate go up? the cops didnt get my insurance, only my bosses""

Florida Home insurance help?

I was recently dropped from my insurance company.My credit is bad so no one will cover me what should I do? I will also need flood insurance.

Motorbike insurance?

barclays motorbike insurance

What does it take to commit a minor and how do you afford it if you don't have health insurance?

My uncle and aunt are struggling with my 16 year old cousin who suffers from anorexia and she will go up to 3 weeks without eating anything. I am not kidding she only drinks water and then she will slowly puree some fruit into her water again for about a week or two before she binges for a few days and then goes back to this cycle of starvation. She looks pale and has no energy. Her eyes are sunken in and she hides in her room. My aunt and uncle are immigrants and they don't speak english that well. They don't have a lot of money or health insurance and I have no idea what to do but they are asking me to help! I've never dealt with this type of situation before and I'm just thinking they should call an ambulance and maybe they'll commit her to some state institution? I've been googling this and I come across all kinds of conflicting information. How can she get help in the state of California and is there any way if they are not insured to pay for her treatment? Is there any state aid related to extreme cases of anorexia?

Who has the best auto insurance?

from a price, service, quality perspective""

Whats a good medical insurance plan?

I am 20 years old in decent health about 6' 5 240 pounds. So here's the deal, I am currently on a plan that has 0% co-pay after deductible this includes emergency room visits, prescriptions, the whole nine yards. However its a high deductible plan so before I can reap the benefits I must first pay 3000 dollars as the deductible so my co-pay until I reach 3000 is 100% all out of pocket I mean this isn't bad just sucks until its over. Does anyone know a better plan out there?""

What's the best way to get car insurance for a new driver?

I'm buying my first car soon, probably a Hyundai Accent, Toyota Yaris or possibly a Ford Focus. The vehicle will be used and I only have my G2 (since Dec. 2011). I'm over ...show more""

Would I be saving money if I bought a car and did the liability only insurance policy?

Right now, I am 17 years old and I have had my license since April 28th 2011. My family is on Allstate and their policy states that as long as I am driving a car which is not registered to my own name, I have to do full coverage (this is very expensive <$2000 since I am a new driver). If I buy a cheap car, one with a $1000 price tag, will I be saving money? Liability only insurance is cheaper, but by what amount? Is it worth driving a cheaper car?""

Trunk Insurance vs. Car Insurance?

I recently changed cities on my auto insurance going from a Cleveland, OH zip code to an upper middle class Cleveland suburb and my rates fell more than $200/half...I drive a '99 S-10, just a regular pickup truck, I am in the market for a new vehicle and ideally it would be a full size truck (Chevy Silverado or GMC Sierra half ton)...my agent has the exact truck I would like to buy, so I asked him what that truck would be insurance-wise for me. It automatically went back up to what I was originally paying in Cleveland...around $650/6 mos. Other variables of my car purchasing ordeal are that I took a buyout from General Motors and I got a vehicle voucher included in the buyout, so another option for me is to get a Chevy Malibu which I could basically drive off the lot for zero money...I've been reading that sometimes car insurance can be more than insuring a truck, with the information I've provided can someone help me out and estimate if my insurance would be more for a basic/no frills 2011 Chevy Malibu or a 2011 Silverado/Sierra with some bells and whistles...and also, do Insurance companies look at the more options a vehicle has as being more to ensure??? any answers would be appreciated""

How will the insurances work out with 95 car accidents at one scene?

Just wonder because of news yesterday at California highway. I don't know about law in that state but what if it's like this in new york where I live. Ya know whoever fault will pay by their own insurance for repairs and injury for victims and a vehciles. Same for most state. How would 95 different insurance handle it? It might will have several lawsuits. With 95 cars, hard to say who started the accident and whatever if it's one person cause 95 altogther or all 95 is fault on it own. Some may not even have insurance. There would be 95 different drivers so it will be 95 different verison or story of what happening. The court with lawyers and several case line up, it can last 100 years before it all done.""

What does 6 months mean for car insurance?

I'm 18 and I don't know munch about car insurance. For me it's about $1500 for the year or about $300 a month for six months. Is this every month for six month like January through June? Or every other month for the whole year?

How much will my insurance go up after one accident if i backed into somebody but barely scratched their car?

How much will my insurance go up after one accident if i backed into somebody but barely scratched their car?

Will my insurance go up due to points on my license?

I am a 22 year old male. Was cited for going 25.5 miles over the speed limit on a freeway. Plead guilty. And 4 points were assessed on my license. This is the first time any points have been on my license. My question is will my insurance go up do to this and if so how much could I expect? Thanks Also, if anyone knows of anything I can do to keep my insurance from going up, please let me know.""

How long are car insurance companys supposed to provide a rental car for?

i have a 2004 chevy caviler that is completely paid for and some guy ran into the back of my car yesterday. It's completely crushed in. i have liability and he has full coverage progressive. I contacted his insurance company and they want me to pay 18 dollars a day to rent some stupid little kia shouldn't he have to pay for it till my car gets out the shop or claimed totaled and i get some money to replace my car. help me out as much as you can 10 points to the best and most detailed answer

""Someone hit my car, but does not have car insurance.?""

I went outside to get in my car, and found that someone hit my drivers side door. A lady came out and told me she saw it happen, but couldn't get any info on the vehicle other than that it belonged to a neighbor's friend. Well I got the girls name and phone # from the neighbor, but they didn't think she has car insurance. Should I even bother calling the girl or should I call the cops and file a hit and run police report? I should note that this girl hit my car about a month ago. I wanted to wait till I had her information. Is it too late to call the cops?""

""Do you believe in having life insurance? If so, do you have life insurance?""

I have a friend who sells insurance so I wanted to ask you guys... 1.) Do you have life insurance? 2.) If not, why have you NOT purchased life insurance? 3.) If you HAVE purchased life insurance, what motivated you to purchase life insurance?""

""Who, out of the two of us, is likely to pay more for car insurance?""

My partner and I don't live together, but we share her car. She has just recently had 6pts added to her driving licence, as for myself, I have always had the use of a family car now and again, I have been insured to drive, but haven't owned my own car, for over 25 years, which of us will have to pay more for insurance, at roughly what percentage?""

What is the average insurance on a 1997 camaro with usaa?

What is the average insurance on a 1997 camaro with usaa?

Stick with USAA auto insurance? Or shop around?

I always thought they were not just the best, but also the cheapest (if you qualify to insure with them). But I'd like confirmation of this, or other opinions... should I shop around for my auto insurance? Switching to another insurer seems almost unthinkable - I've only ever been with USAA...""

What is the cheapest auto insurance carrier in north carolina?

What is the cheapest auto insurance carrier in north carolina?

How much will it cost me to register my motorcycle its a ninja 250 i live in florida ?

i am 17. please do not judge me on my age. also how much am i looking at for insurance ? who do you recommend ? allstate, progressive, geico, statefarm ? how about insurance providers that are big known companies? i dont know the word im looking for.""

Good Car Insurance Agency in Kentucky?

I'm going to be heading to Eastern Kentucky, near Hazard. I currently have Nationwide insurance, but may change my insurance around if it is cheaper. What are some good and cheaper car insurance companies?""

2015 Mustang V6 Insurance cost? I'm 19.?

2015 Mustang V6 Insurance cost? I'm 19.?

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/cheapest-way-insure-teenage-driver-philip-alexander/"