#ok but hurt/no comfort is much easier to articulate than hurt/comfort

[evilkaeya]

Got tired of being silly and decided to put Chuuya through immense mental breakdown. Read HERE and mind the TWs! Kudos and feedback are much appreciated :( <3

[hillnerd]

Just a quick question: do you think Harry is a bit self-centered? I've just been rereading the HP series, and I've noticed that while Hermione and Ron are there for Harry emotionally, he doesn't really return this favor. I don't think he is a bad person or anything, though I do find it weird. Instead, Ron seems to always comfort Hermione (like after she was tortured), and Harry stands off to the side.

I don’t think it’s that he’s self-centered exactly. We see Harry is tremendously self-sacrificing in certain ways- especially when it comes to physically throwing himself into helping others. He just is very very ill equipped to help people emotionally.  Harry was not given the tools to handle emotions very well. He was raised completely emotionally neglected, ignored, and taught to be self-sufficient when he’s emotionally hurt. So when he’s hurting emotionally he retreats, and if he can’t retreat it usually comes out in anger. Feeling raw hurt in front of others is very difficult for him as he was basically trained to hide that away.

The first time he remembers being hugged like by a mother is when he’s 14 and just saw another little boy die, and nearly died himself. The trauma he went through is enormous- and still this is the first time we’ve seen him come close to crying at all.

Hermione and Ron, by contrast, are MUCH better equipped emotionally. The two of them were raised by caring loving parents, are much better at directly trying to address emotions that are difficult (besides their repressed love-life drama)- but the two of them are much more free-flowing with their thoughts and feelings than Harry.

So when they are down Harry is like ‘well crap, I don’t know what to do- I’d want privacy for this moment, so I’ll look away and give that to you.’

Hermione cries very easily and it’s quite overwhelming to Harry when she does. In the 6th book he finally makes some progress with trying to be there for her a bit, which was nice to see. But yeah for years he was completely flatfooted when it came to helping her emotionally up until that book, while Ron is rather good a handling her by comparison.

Harry has an easier time with Ron, of the two, as Ron’s emotions make more sense to Harry. He feels down about not being good enough and Harry can very easily tell him ‘I know how that feels’ or ‘no, you’re good enough!’ 

The 7th book we see where Harry’s abilities to empathize meet a wall, and that’s when Ron’s beside himself with worry for his family and Harry’s basically in the boat of ‘as long as no one’s dead everything is ok’ and not really able to understand where Ron’s coming from. (Horcrux influence was NOT helping here.) And then Hermione’s crying about Ron’s departure and Harry is again just like ‘I’m hurting too, but there’s nothing I can say to make it better so... I guess I won’t say anything.’ Harry’s emotions go so low he literally wishes he was dead.

But then Ron comes back and Harry, for really the first time in the series, is able to articulate to Ron true comfort after the locket scene. It’s lovely seeing him able to do this. 

So yeah- is Harry absolute balls at emotional comfort? Yes he is. But given how he was raised and all the trauma he’s gone through this makes complete sense.

It’s not due to pure selfishness- though sometimes yes he can be self-centered - it’s mostly that he lacks the tools to do it.

I like to think that Harry grew to be much better at this over time, especially when he no longer had to be retraumatized every summer at the Dursleys.

[sailorgreywolf-legacy]

Ok, so no one asked for ArgChi. But I had an idea for it, so here it is. Also, with a heavy helping of Prussia.

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Chile was standing at the window looking out at the Berlin lights. It was cheery the way that the city had so many little markets with so many lights. He wished that he felt happy about this time of year, and that he could feel some warmth from the winter scene.

There was a light dusting of snow on the ground, and flakes were falling. It made him think of his beloved mountains, and the person who shared his mountainous border.

He tried to repress the thoughts. He had come to Berlin to spend the holidays with his mentor and to avoid these thoughts, and to be with the one person who seemed to value him. He had hoped his own affection for Prussia would make him happier.

Almost as if he had heard the thought, Prussia appeared in the periphery of his vision. The man had two cups in his hands and a look of concern on his face. He offered one of the cups to Chile and said, “Drink this, and then tell me what is wrong.”

He had the tone of a stern older brother, and Chile found it comforting. He had stopped being just a mentor years ago, and had taken on the role of family. Chile replied, “I wouldn’t want to ruin your party.”

He felt strange knowing that he was the only one who was not in a good mood, especially when the party was about being merry with others. He took a sip of the drink, which he correctly guessed was mulled wine.

It was a German tradition, and he had developed a taste for it. He did not expect the kick of liquor that followed the taste of wine. He said, “Is there rum in this?” Prussia gave him a knowing smile and said, “You looked like you needed it.”

Chile felt like he was being ribbed slightly, but he wasn’t going to complain about that either. It came from a place of genuine concern, and Prussia’s own unique way of showing affection.

He took another drink, and was distinctly aware of the way it burned in the back of his throat. Prussia said, “Anyway, it isn’t my party. It’s Ludwig’s party. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have invited certain people.”

He threw a pointed look back into the crowd of his relatives. Chile knew him well enough to know who he meant. If Prussia had his way, Bavaria, Saxony and Baden-Württemberg would not have been invited, since he considered them all his enemies. They shared the sentiment as far as Chile could tell.

Like every year, once they each had a few more cups of wine, the insults would begin to flow freely between Prussia and Bavaria, and Germany would attempt to get them to stop. It was a tradition as much as the wine or the Christmas markets.

Chile decided that he should voice what was on his mind. He said, “You taught me how to fight and win, but I don’t think you told me how to live with the resentment that comes after victory.”

Prussia’s gaze was sympathetic and he was glad for that. They were difficult feelings to articulate, but having someone to listen made it a bit easier. The other shook his head and said, “You wouldn’t have listened if I had tried to warn you. I’ve never met someone as insistent as you. I turned you down as a student twice, if you remember.”

Chile nodded with a wry smile. He remembered it very well. It had taken weeks of proving his own talent to show Prussia he was worth the effort, and to begin training with him. But, if there was one trait that he could pride himself on, it was his determination when he wanted something. He had been certain that Prussia could teach him how to have an efficient army, and nothing could have convinced him to accept a lesser teacher.

He replied, “I remember. And all these years later here I am at your side.” Prussia smirked and said, “You’re more than my best student. You’re a friend too.”

Chile felt himself glowing at the compliment. He had never gotten over his instinctual joy at being praised by a man who he respected enormously.

He felt like he at least owed Prussia some explanation of his quiet unhappiness. He said, “How do you deal with your family hating your success?”

It was his turn to cast a glare at Saxony, who was looking at Prussia like he would very much like to start the yearly bickering immediately. The direction of his gaze would make it clear what he meant by the question.

Prussia sighed like he could have guessed that answer and said, “I gave up caring what they think of me. They’re spiteful and petty anyway. They’ll always resent my power, and I refuse to grovel for them.”

Chile wished he could take that advice, but his brothers were not as distant as Prussia’s cousins. He did have the same large family to be able to ignore. He replied, “I don’t think I can do that. My brother already resents that I treat you like family.”

For a moment he thought about how Peru had not sent him a sweater like he usually did, and how it had hurt to know that his brother was finally giving up on him. The war had been years ago, and yet his brothers had never forgiven him.

Prussia shook his head, and said, “Well, I am always happy to have you here. You know that you are like family to me.”

Chile smiled at him, though it still felt a bit forced. He felt an ache that had very little to do with his brothers. He felt the distance, but didn’t mourn it. Prussia seemed to understand what he was feeling, and asked, “Is this about your brothers or someone else?”

The position of his eyebrows implied that he already knew. He was perceptive enough that Chile was certain that he had made the right guess. He answered, “I can’t help but think of him this time of year. I miss him so much.”

He couldn’t stop his thoughts from drifting to Argentina, because they had spent so long together at the holidays. The chill in the air and the snow always made him think of his former fiance. Prussia said, “I understand how you are feeling. I didn’t like this time of year in the nineties, because I thought about Ivan.” He paused for a moment and then added, “I dealt with it by thinking about all the things I didn't miss.”

Chile could think of one or two things he did not miss about Argentina, but they all seemed to pale in comparison to the things he loved. He asked, “And did that work?”

He found it hard to believe that it would be that easy. Once feelings developed, they seemed impossible to fight. In the years since his own breakup, it had just gotten more painful.

Prussia laughed and shook his head, “No, it didn’t. Nothing made it better until I took Vanya back. Sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants.”

Chile knew what his heart wanted. He was keenly aware of it. But the prospect of taking back his ex-fiance was difficult to contemplate. He said, “Gil, I want him back, but it isn’t that easy. He hates me.”

Prussia put his hand on his shoulder and said, “You aren’t going to fix that tonight.”

Chile could see the twinkle in Prussia’s eye that told him that he was about to do something mischievous. His mentor could be a disciplined soldier, but he also had a certain love for chaos. Prussia then winked and said, “But I can get your mind off of it. I’m about to go tell Leopold that his sweater is ugly. It should be a good show.”

[thermie]

h h hewwo owoo 22 / 23 / 29 / 31 / 34 / 50 / 58 / 61 / 88 in any order, and u can also just. pick only those that u want :3

hhhh-ewwwo? I did say I wanted to chat and I desperately do not want to do work or studies so buckle in for a long post (derogatory). 22. role model? Oh man, I don’t think I have any, like, specific ones for entire things, though I do fall in my hero-worship phaes and then fall out of them like everyone else. I think that taking an entire person and being like I wanna be like them is... not for me though. But I do look up to some people for specific things - I look up to, weirdly enough, Abigail Phylosohpytube who I didn’t watch before her coming out for her graceful coming out video though she admits that the experience wasn’t obviously as smooth. I look up to lots and lots of people for their ability to create and their art (not gonna tag my fav artists bc am tiny and do not want people to look at me, but i do be reblogging). I look up to people like ConcernedApe Stardewvalley and Supergiantgames Hades for their ability to put so much soul in their work, smth I aspire to do. I look up to @not-poignant for, among other things, their idk how to say it best, wisdom in understanding and communicating with others and with myself? I’ve learned a lot by just sort of being in their periphery and seeing how they articulate their thoughts and choose to be kind and witness other’s pain. Hell, I look up to twitch streamers and youtubers sometimes (the recent nice trait I’d like to have if I ever went into bigger content production is how ibxtoycat deals with parasocial relationship realities). 23. strange habits? Hm. I don’t think drinking tea whenever I need a pick-me-up is strange, that’s just probably forcefully assigning a British nationality to me. I think my insistence on misspelling words in a way I think is lowkey funny might be one, I say thamks bc it feels softer, or thank bc it’s funny, I say sleeb, I say finkers or tryink or otherwise replace g with k for lulz. I also don’t know if it counts as a habit but I have a small leather band around my wrist that’s been there for a year soon. Hmmmmmmmmmmmm I probs have like, stranger habits but I can’t recall rn. 29. best way to bond with you? Hmm. Well, if you show initiative and are explicit about wanting to spend time with me, that’s already a big chance of me spending time with you. And then if our interests match and I don’t think that you’re like, young in a way that automatically puts me in a position where I don’t feel comfortable really being myself around you bc in my head I have to look out for you (it has happened with two of my friends, sigh), and we regularly spend time together, voila, friend acquired. It simultaneously doesn’t take much and takes a bit to be my friend and bond with me - it’s easy af to become a casual friend cuz I’m always open to new people, but there has to be a level of trust to become like, a close friend. Respecting my boundaries, talking shit with me, being explicitly committal about wanting to bond with me are big steps that way. 31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names? Uh, I don’t do neither, but a current fave that is reasonably badass is my black tshirt with like, a ritual circle and a deer skull. V edgy, 10/10. I also used to have like a real edgy tshirt with a jester and some dice that said the game of life, but I threw it out bc dysphoria. or maybe I put it at the back of my closet along with one other shirt In Case I Get Top Surgery so I can wear them then. 34. advertisements you have stuck in your head? Many, such is the nature of advertising, alas. I have managed to avoid most of it tbh though, so the only place I am forced to sit through ads so they stick is my scrabble capitalist nightmare app where I play and always beat haha my coursemate. And they have adds for those shitty apps where you have to solve a puzzle that ends up failing in the add and like, drenching a man in green goo. I find those kinda fascinating tbh. Who plays these games? Who plays these shitty shitty games whose ad has to be “prove your IQ“ to make you want to prove yourself to play them? Oh and also, the insidious nature of ads in media I consume - the mcelroys have gotten me informed about many many things bc they do it in a funny way. Have you heard about squarespace? What about meundies? I also literally installed honey yesterday that I knew abt bc of the relentless adds and I wanted to save, uh, 2.50 from my minecraft server purchase (and then spent some time googling how they make money before giving up. just say u sell my data, that’s easier than not knowing what part of this makes you money). I was tired and in a weird mood, ok. 50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have? It’s always the stupidest jokes, what matters more is laughing together with someone and getting caught in a laughing loop. I still remember laughing with my siblings until our stomachs really really hurt bc I think one of us said a rug was vomit-colored and it was funny in the moment. How many times have I laughed like that with you too, vit. I know that Laura’s one is nostrilatu, right? :D :D It’s just something that catches you off guard, I think.

58. four talents you’re proud of having? Oh shid. Hm. 1) My ability to analyze data and understand the basic building blocks of something. Makes me cool at studying and sexy at explaining things to my course-mates. 2) Not a talent more like a skill that I’ve worked hard on through therapy - but my inner positive voice/healthy parent is very strong and automatic (something I was sure would never happen). A good example is me going out for a walk, my phone dying so I can’t listen to music, when I went in my head “well I can always make music in my head. do-do-do *drum sound*“ and I could feel the wave of self-reprimand cresting but before I could actually hear any negative comments the positive voice said with a light of a thousand suns NO THAT IS ACTUALLY CUTE AND SEXY and just haaaaaaah. 3) I sing good. Need to sing more. 4) I think I’m good at making conversation. Even with people I don’t necessarily like or want to talk to. More of a skill again but whatever. 61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.? Do not come to me and ask for favorites, witch. Uh, I have some quotes in my notes app, like 7 from Pia’s writing :D. But imma go with “It’s a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in the broken world“ by Mary Oliver. It counts, ok. Or, wait, something I will for real one day either crosstitch of commission shitpostcalligrapher: “t’s like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn’t. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something. “What are we holding onto Sam?” “There’s good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth fighting for.“” 88. your greatest wish? Hrm. Right now? To have like a couple days with no responsibilities and without the outside world bearing on me as heavily, to be tiny tiny tiny so I’m invisible and can drink tiny tea on a tiny leaf. Uh, in general? My recently formulated wish or a goal is stability/peace. Then everything else becomes ok because you can bounce back to stable ground between feeling shit or everything happening so much. And I’ve sort of reached that. Also like, half a million euros would be nice too so I can get a house and a car and go on a few trips abroad. :D // there’s two ask memes in my blog recently, go wild

[sinsforjeon]

Discipline {Six}

[Hi! My trial exams have finally ended and I have a month and a half before I start my finals uGh I’m tIrED but I missed writing this story so much:”) so here’s another part with soft!yoongi oK on with the reading ily🥺💕]

Your father has had enough and so he goes to greater measures to make sure you leave your bad ways behind.

Ot7Xreader, foul language (god is always watching), future smut, dom!bts, brat!reader, sadhours! softhours! smexyhours!

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You felt pathetic, tears rolling down your cheeks, mixing with the hot water that engulfed your being. So many people have it worse than you, why must you wallow in self pity?

Sniffling quietly as soft hiccups left your dry lips, you made your way out of the bathroom and there he sat.

His face was strangely comforting to see, eyes unwavering and intensely staring at your figure as you bit your lip to try and silent your hiccups.

“G-Good ev-ening, Yoongi.” You mumbled, bowing slightly and the man sighed, you could feel the pity rolling off of him which confused you. Wasn’t he supposed to be happy? Get some kind of pleasure of seeing tears roll down your face?

“Oh, Princess...” he trailed off as he stood up, taking you in his arms. This caused your tears from earlier to return, more powerful this time.

Yoongi sat you on his lap while he sat on your bed, gentle hands running through your damp hair as he tried to calm you down.

“Hoseok was mean, wasn’t he?” He asked softly and all you could do was whimper and nod.

“‘m sorry, Princess, he’s doing what’s best for you, you know that right?”

You didn’t answer, only burying your face onto the crook of his neck.

“We can see how much you hate it here,” he continued, “but in order to let you go we have to do our job, yeah?”

You whined softly, knowing he was right but didn’t express it verbally.

Yoongi cooed gently as he hooked a finger under your chin bringing you back to him.

“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t cry, hm?”

He hummed as he wiped the tears off your face before placing a kiss on each cheek.

“You’re being nice.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

You shook your head as he held eye contact, caressing your face gently.

“Thought you guys h-hated me.”

Yoongi laughed at this, his chest vibrating gently against your back.

“Not at all, Princess.”

“Not even Hoseok?”

“Especially Hoseok.”

Your face showed that you didn’t believe him, the man thought you looked pretty with tears running down your face. Fucking sadist.

Yoongi could tell that there was a reason behind your bursts of tantrums because there was no way that the girl that sat on his lap was telling them to eat a bag of dicks not so long ago.

“What’s the matter, Princess?” He asked and you tilted your head up in confusion.

“Why are you hiding?” He continued and your breath got caught in your throat as you looked up at him with wide eyes.

“I-what?”

He sighed and smiled softly. The hand that was caressing your cheek back in your hair.

“C’mon, Princess, I’m smarter than that you know.”

“I don’t u-understand-“

You felt as if your heart was beating out of your chest and you wouldn’t be surprised of Yoongi could hear it too.

“Oh but you do, you’re this gentle soul that puts up this wall, a mask almost, what are you hiding from... who are you hiding from?”

You suddenly felt very exposed and not from your lack of clothing. Were you really that easy to read? You swore Namjoon had seen through you and now him too?

“I’m-I’m not hiding” You replied, your voice now void of any emotion as you tried to get up from his lap but he only held you tighter.

“Don’t do that.” He spoke, his voice somewhat angry sounding and your heart immediately skipped a beat.

“Don’t pretend with me.”

“Yoongi, I’m no-“

Your words were cut off by his stern look and you sheepishly looked down at your lap.

“What did I just say, Y/N?”

You didn’t know what to say, you words stuck in your throat as you tried to articulate anything but alas.

“Princess, eyes on me.”

You didn’t hesitate because gone was the sweet Yoongi and now you were sat with the king himself and god forbid you did some stupid shit that would find its way to Hoseok.

“Are you going to answer me? Hm?”

“I’m scared.”

You spoke, finally and from those two words you felt as if a weight was lifted off of your shoulders.

His eyes softened as he saw yours fill up with tears but you refused to let them fall.

“I’m scared of the world, so-“ you took a deep breath, blinking away the tears that sat in your eyes.

“So I choose to hurt others before they can hurt me.”

Yoongi only stared in silence and you cleared your throat uncomfortably.

“Who hurt you, Princess?”

He asked and once again you looked at him in shock.

“No-“

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N.”

You hated this. It was so much easier when he was a dick to you. Why did he all of a sudden care?

“What- Why? Is- Is this something Hoseok sent you here for? Get information out of me that he can use so he could break me down into nothing but tears?”

Your tone was aggressive but only because you hated the interrogation, because you hated that he was right.

Yoongi’s hold on you started to get painfully tight and that could only signify his anger.

“You know damn well he could’ve gotten that himself, I’m here on my own will and don’t you dare use that tone with me.”

“Or what, Yoongi? Are you going to humiliate in front of your brothers huh? Well fuck you! Because I-“

You were crying, thrashing in his hold that he so strongly refused to let go of.

“You wanna know something?” He asked and you didn’t respond only becoming immobile in his hands.

“Hurt people hurt people.” He murmured and you swallowed thickly, eyes refusing to meet his.

“This isn’t you, this is who you want to show because you’ve been hurt and it’s the only way you know how to protect yourself.”

His words were so painfully true, you could feel the sinking feeling on your chest that you hated so much.

“The others know too, you know. They know that the girl they speak to everyday isn’t Y/N because no matter how hard you try to run, you can never run away from yourself.”

They knew? The thought made fear bubble up in your chest. No, they couldn’t know, there was no way they knew.

“The real you will always overpower that mask, Princess. There are cracks in your mask and your true self always shines through just like it is right now.”

“Please stop, I-“

“It’s ok. I won’t hurt you- hey, look at me,” he reprimanded as he held your face in his hands, his eyes more intense than before as they stared into yours, “I will not hurt you, Y/N.”

“That’s what they all said, Yoongi. They- They promised.”

They promised. You were never always like this. You were always cheerful, positive and full of joy but she ripped that away from you. Your mother. She left, leaving you and your father for another man and ever since then thing started going downhill. Everyone coming in your life just to leave you again, it hurt, it hurt that you were so easily replaceable in people’s lives.

“I know, sweetheart, I know but I’m not the same.”

“How? How are you different from any of them?”

Yoongi hesitated at the question, you could see the gears turning in his head as he kept his eyes on you.

“Because I was once like you.”

And that was the last of your conversation. No words came from the both of you, only soft breaths and intense eyes.

He pulled you closer to his chest, continuing his gentle ministrations from earlier.

And for the first time in a really long time you let yourself go and you were Y/N. No one else.

Just Y/N.

Tags: @taeriffococean @snowythellama @slutforjjk @crazy-fangirl-10 @aretha170 @my-bts-babes @joonsbias @itneverends15713 @ashbash9909 @beautyyounggirl @shooklier @optimisticbouquetgentlemensworld @im-emo-motherfuckers @ravennightmares @dionymint @jiminiesthiccthighs @tall-iirose3773 @hopeivx @merxkii @joyful-jimin @namjoonsslutakakoreanmanswhore @blackpanther4550 @avalanet @httpjazel @bloominlovely95 @yasbts705 @anothershorthuman @btsxdoll @sweetcrvture @ximaginx @bookoffracturedescapes @daysixdrum @feedthefandoms995 @bartiertae @w0lfqu33n @vanitypoko @beetaeass @slxtfortae @luvu3000times @butter1babe @i-am-supermerwholoked221b

[just-horrible-things]

[Continued from here, part one here.]

He sits where he is put, on the cot that the Meek have assigned him. He is too distraught for sleep. He wouldn’t dare to move from the spot even if he had reason to. So he sits, and hugs his knees, and rocks, and tries to pretend that he is home in his cell and that the last few days have been nothing but nightmare.

There’s enough distance and enough doors between him and the hall that he can’t hear the Interrogator screaming any more. But he can still hear her inside his head. Exhausted. In agony. Breaking like only he is meant to break. The sobs bubble up from the well of horror inside his ribcage, and they will not stop.

The atmosphere is chokingly familiar. Everywhere, he senses the touch of the Dark Powers on what should be reality. He Sees the roiling Warp whether his eyes are open or closed. The weight of it should crush the air from his lungs and leave him nauseated. But the corruption in his soul answers the ambient, and it is not unpleasant. The self-loathing does not make it easier to stem the flow of tears.

The names of the Gods buzz inside his head. He has not spoken them in... five years? Ten? He tries not to even think them, when he does not have to for his function. But now they press at the inside of his lips, craving freedom. They mock him for ever imagining that he could escape their grip. They demand that he speak them, renew his fealty. At the same time laughing with the knowledge that such hollow oaths have never mattered. The Gods claim their own. And is that not what he is? Occultist. Daemonologist. Sorcerer. He is more kin to their captors than he is to the Interrogator.

If he still prayed to any power, he would pray that it stays that way. Her conviction is beyond shattering, surely. It has to be. If she cannot keep faith, what hope is there?

The tears have slowed and the shuddering has dwindled to a subtle tremor by the time the door opens. It is Vereda. He bows his head in respect, feeling his gut clench and his heart ache with fear. He doesn’t know what to expect from her yet. At this point, it could easily be execution. He doesn’t want to die.

“How are you feeling?” she asks. Her tone is gentle. But he knows her kind. Always friendly, while the rot spreads beneath the surface. A gentle hand to soothe infection into the skin while the patient gasps in agony and delirium. “I, um. A, a b-bit better, sir. I, I’m sorry. I’m sorry sir.” “Why are you sorry?” She sits down on the cot beside him. The training that tells him to stay still wins out over the desire to inch away. “I, I d-don’t know, sir. I made a, a scene, I was loud, I... I’m sorry. W-whatever I did, I’m sorry.” He snivels wretchedly. “It’s alright,” she tells him gently. “You got overwhelmed, isn’t that right?” He nods gratefully, wiping his eyes with the back of his borrowed sleeve. That is definitely a true statement. “Rex was out of line. I’m sorry for his behaviour.” “Th-thank you, sir.” She has the sound of sincerity down perfectly. Her voice is full of regret. But the words ring hollow, after listening to her sneer and preen and mock while she shot helpless men and women. After watching her inflict torture, and take satisfaction in it. “Would you like a bit more time to calm down?” “I... I p-probably w-won’t. C-c-calm down, I mean. I’m s-sorry sir.” “I can give you time if you like.” “It, it’s ok-kay.” He’d rather get this over with, in the hope that it isn’t his death warrant, than sit here and stew in terror. “Alright.”

Vereda takes a moment to gather her thoughts. 068 wonders if she is genuinely trying to be gentle with him, or if she is coldly calculating behind that facade. “I want to talk about your relationship with the Inquisition woman,” she begins. Fear is cold. He watches her carefully. “You’ve told me that she tortured you, and forced you to serve against your will. But you do not seem to take satisfaction in seeing her suffer in turn.” He forces himself to breathe steadily. He wishes she would speak harshly to him. At least then he could be confident that the knife edge he senses behind her words is real. But no, he doesn’t wish that. If she snapped at him, it would be impossible to think past the fear. “You are something of an enigma, my young sorcerer,” she continues. “Tell me what you are thinking.” The tone is that of a suggestion, but he knows that it is an order.

He breathes deeply. To lie, and tangle himself in guesswork falsehoods aimed at her unknown desires, or to venture the dangerous, shameful truth? Somewhere in between, probably. Isn’t that always his answer to the world? Somewhere in between? Pathetic. He just doesn’t know how to ever make the right choice.

“I... I d-don’t know, entirely, w-what I feel, sir. Uhm. I hate her -” and he’s surprised by the feeling he’s able to put into that “- b-but, I, it’s c-complicated...” He is grateful that she waits quietly, and lets him try to articulate what he feels - or something related to what he feels, at least. “She, uh. Without, without w-what she d-d-did to me, I’d never have, I w-wouldn’t have d-drawn the at-ttention of the Dark Prince -” no, this is no time to be shy about it “- of Slaanesh.” There, I said it. Are you happy yet? Of course not. They are never sated. “You enjoyed it?” “No! N-n-no sir, I, I d-d-don’t h-have th-that blessing, or, or skill...” Or insanity. Not quite. “It, it was, it, you c-c-can see w-what it d-did to me, b-but... uh. I. Uh.” “You are grateful?” “I... I... y-yes, m-maybe. I, I d-don’t... I just... she, she’s r-responsible, in a way. And, and she enjoyed it, h-hurting me. She m-made me sing my, my pain to the Warp and, and she d-doesn’t know that it f-, that it honours the Prince b-but she d-did it all the same...” He runs out of words, shivering, struggling to breathe evenly. She waits. He can find nothing more to say.

“You care for her,” Vereda suggests after a while. “Yes,” he admits miserably, wondering if it condemns him to share her fate. “I, I h-hate her too, but, but I d-do. She... she’s a-all I’ve had, for a l-long t-time. It’s n-not right, I know, b-but.... b-but she’s important to me.” He can’t take his eyes off hers. It’s too much eye contact, he knows. But looking away is forbidden. Disrespectful. He’s too afraid. “She is the enemy,” Vereda reminds him gently. “She d-doesn’t have to be,” he pleads desperately. “She, she a-already p-pleases Slaanesh, w-without knowing...” For the first time, Vereda cuts him off. It’s not with words, but with laughter. She has a rich, throaty laugh. In another context it might be pleasing. 068 falls silent, cringing. “It would certainly be an accomplishment, to corrupt my prize. I will not stop you trying, darling. But forgive me if I do not expect much. And until she turns her coat, she remains my enemy... and yours.” He snivels and nods, not trusting his voice. He does not know what he could say to sway her. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. “Don’t fret, little sorcerer. I will still let you bring her comfort and tend her wounds. I have no intention of letting her die.” “Thank you, sir.” He means it. What she has not said hurts - that she will continue to torture her. It will keep breaking his heart. But it is still better to think that his Interrogator will survive, and that he will get the chance to be with her. And that he will not be punished for having muddled feelings and mixed-up loyalties. Not overtly, at least. He’s very grateful for that.

In the silence that follows, he starts anxiously replaying the conversation so far. The weight of what he has said hits him all at once, like a blow to the stomach. He would try to corrupt her faith, to save her life? He sickens himself. Does he have no standards? No lines he will not cross? Oh, he is a detestable creature.

Vereda is watching him, and he tries to swallow down the wave of self-loathing. It’s okay, he tries to reassure himself, you’re okay. It is not as if it is out of character, for him to cringe with suddenly renewed misery and fear, for no reason in particular. If she asks, he will claim that his guilt is over feeling even a little loyalty to an agent of the hated Imperium. But that isn’t what she asks.

“Your Interrogator, she has a name.” It’s a question, not an observation. “Yes sir. It, it’s Ariadne M-Milonas. As, as f-far as I know.” It’s easier than usual to think of her by name. But it still feels like a betrayal. Even though he knows that Vereda already knows who she is. “You must see a lot of her work.” “N-not much, sir. I, I l-live in a c-cell m-mostly...” He is shaking again. How much will she want to know? What will she do if he does not, or cannot answer? “I, I c-can t-tell you w-what I d-do know, w-what do you w-want to know, sir?”

His eagerness is pitiful. Is he really willing to tell her everything he knows? He is so scared of the consequences of holding back. But he can’t, he can’t betray the Inquisition, the Holy Ordos of the God Emperor’s divine will. But... but they know he’s untrustworthy, that’s why they keep him in the dark. Surely they don’t let him know anything important... But even if he does share, will it satisfy her? His breath comes as quick, frantic huffs. He can’t focus, focus! Pay attention, scum!

“Are you still with me?” Vereda is asking. He forces himself to focus on her face. “S-sorry,” he gasps, “S-s-sorry sir, I, I’m h-here, I’m f-f-foc-cused.” “Easy. This isn’t an interrogation.” That is a lie, he knows. But he wouldn’t dare disagree. “Take all the time you need. Let’s start simple. Do you know where you’re kept?” He nods jerkily. “Uh. S-sort of, sir. A-ab-board a voidship, b-but, I d-d-don’t know its name, sir,” he lies. “ I, I have a cell, it, it’s, they d-don’t t-tell me th-things...” “That’s alright, that’s good. How long have you been kept there?”

In the end, he answers all her questions. How could a broken thing like him do anything else?

[Continued here.]

[iniquity-fr]

i said i would elaborate on my thoughts/lore i guess re: dragons n shapeshifted (humanoid) forms and like.. social rules and whatnot around all that.... and then i wrote a ridiculous amount of notes abt the whole thing, oops.

separated into key sections but still very rambly and stream-of-thought overall, bc, when do i not type..... weird. words are eternally difficult for me and thoughts are a struggle to articulate, but i hope any of this.. makes sense? obviously this is largely abt my own clan/dragons/headspace/etc and not like. headcanons about other ppl’s stuff in general or anything like that haha. this is a LOT to read thru so if u actually go thru the whole thing a) wow thank u so much wtf b) perhaps give it a like so i know how u feel. not required but very very appreciated. :^) also deep apology to anyone for whom the read more breaks or something, oh god.

a tl;dr/basic overview

everyone can shift to humanoid/gijinka/person-shaped forms, differing based on their actual look as a dragon

most day-to-day life within the clan is in shifted forms, partly bc of Convenience, partly bc there’s a lot of Social Rules abt being on relatively equal footing w/ one another and keeping things fair and whatnot

using your dragon form to hurt not-dragon form people or even using it to harm smaller dragons is considered a terrible crime, and harming others while they’re mid-transformation is considered the ultimate taboo.

shifting 101:

everybody can shift between dragon/humanoid (gijinka.. however u wanna word this.... yall know what i Mean) form w/ different results--some more dragon-looking and/or generally monstrous, some looking fairly normal/basically like People, But In Rainbow Colors And With Horns. some may keep tails and/or wings or other things like that, but that isn’t especially common

smaller breeds tend to be shorter, bigger breeds tend to be taller, but there are exceptions & outliers! 

shifted forms tend to be pretty 'set' for most dragons, all obviously dependent on their looks as an actual dragon. their shifted form reflects their dragon form, and they can't make drastic changes to their form like changing entire facial structure/shape or body type or overall coloring.  however, dragons with stronger magic abilities/connections/powers/etc usually tend to have more freedom of their own form and may be able to change certain features at will--not entire faces or body shapes, but things like hair, nails, sometimes even patterns from genes (esp. tert genes)

dragons that are like, deity level or otherwise some sort of not-entirely/not-actually-a-dragon all-powerful creature or w/e usually have MUCH more freedom to change their form completely, if they so choose.

transformation is at will (and cant be done or undone unconsciously... ie a sleeping-in-shifted-form person is Not gonna turn back into dragon form in their sleep) and happens fairly quick for most, usually no long&slow weird animorph-esque thing, though it isn't all in a flash either--usually! once again on the "dragons with More/Better Magic Skillz" concept, a very magic-powerful dragon can usually shift much quicker than others. a "finger snap puff of smoke boom you're done" level of speed is Very Rare, but not unheard of. dragons who are either very young or simply not very talented w/ magic may take longer than others. the largest & smallest breeds also take a bit longer due to having to shrink down/size up every time. all this said, it never takes more than like, 15-20 seconds at Most, and even that range is considered Very Slow. it’s a short window, generally!

things like injury or sickness can make shifting difficult, but typically only like........... basically if you're literally dying you're probably not gonna be able to do it. having a broken leg or the flu shouldn't impact ability much, but bleeding out in the boneyard? ain't gonna make it work, buddy.

idk how clothes work lmfao. they just shift with the dragon i guess? sure. let's go with that. all clothes are magic now. i don't think EVERYTHING through, ok?

ok cool but Why Shift:

shifted forms make for much easier living-together-in-a-big-clan, especially in situations (like my own clan itself) where everyone lives in, y'know, buildings. houses and castles and churches and whatnot. it takes a lot more effort and resources and whatnot to build a house big enough for imperials to comfortably live in in dragon form than it does to just build a regular-sized house that a spiral & a ridgeback both can settle into & live comfortably in in shifted form or smth, yknow. it’s easier to accommodate people than dragons! 

communication & relationships can also be easier to deal with if you are all Relatively Close to the same size range. less leaning down or flying up to try and talk to your friend/coworker/partner/rival/whatever. part of this is also influenced by The Rules About Being On An Even Playing Field We Will Get To In A Moment

for many dragons its just easier to do things like art, music, crafting, writing, or working w/ small & delicate things, etc etc when you have proper hands and lot funky dragon claws. much of the more mundane reasons for these forms is just For Convenience's Sake!

that said, obvs. certain things are easier/preferred to stay in dragon form to do--traveling, for one, since, y'know, Dragons Can Fly, Usually. hunting & gathering is usually done in dragon form as well, though not 100% of the time. maybe u want to be a big and powerful dragon to go take down wild animals for food but just like, chill out w ur buds in person-shape to go have a relaxing fishing trip by the lake. it's up 2 u really.

sometimes dragon forms are preferred for fighting in general, esp against beasts, or if you are a lone dragon trying to protect yourself from threats, etc. in the case of smaller breeds especially, they can also be preferred for making a quick escape instead! (sometimes this is seen as Cowardly to do, but yknow, it’s an Option.)

aaaaaaand now we can get to The Rules which is where things become less abt convenience & common sense and more about my own........... we can call it lore? i guess? sure. it's lore. ok.

The Rules:

all the "for convenience" reasons aside, there are many largely unspoken but VERY important social rules regarding shifting and when you "should" or "should not" be in which form. within my clan/characters/headspace/etc etc it's all just sort of a known thing/smth ur raised knowing, there isn't like, an actual rulebook or smth anyone has to figure out. 

much of these rules are about being on an equal playing field, both socially & in battle. the social rules are much more important & strict within clan living areas, ie. the walls of cities and whatnot. things can get more loose & informal if ur like, out travelling thru the wasteland or wilds or whatever.

it's considered VERY rude to enter/generally be inside buildings in dragon form, usually, unless you're just like... popping in real quick to deliver smth or say hi or whatever.. and you can fit inside said building... and know the ppl there and whatnot... etc...... if you dragon out while already inside somewhere that's usually seen as like, a threat of some sort. due to how much construction & architecture & living spaces are shaped and whatnot, it's deemed unnecessary to bother with dragon forms inside the clan's walls in general, but especially within buildings, bc jesus christ dude ur gonna hit the ceiling or break stuff with your wings or something. be polite.

social interaction in general, esp. when Formal or in work/work-like settings, is seen as something usually meant more for shifted forms... some dragons who are very close, ie family & mates, can be fine in dragon form around each other, bc of the mix of informality & Trust. typically, if you want to have a conversation with someone and Not be seen as impolite or even hostile, shifted form is key. this falls back very much to the fact that dragons come in such VASTLY different sizes, from imps down to faes, and it's seen as unfair and often threatening to present oneself as a giant monster to whom others have to talk to, or as a tiny little creature either down on the floor or flitting around the room. shifted forms have about as much height/size variance as we do as humans, which can be A Lot, and some individuals can be even smaller or bigger than regular people bc Hey Its Fantasy, but generally speaking no People-Shaped height difference is going to be as crazy as dragons' can be.

basically, if you walk into the throne room or the church or anywhere Important & Protected and you're not in shifted form, you WILL be seen as either physically threatening the leadership or as an extremely arrogant & disrespectful fool. walking into shops/businesses in general as a dragon makes you look like you're trying to like, rob the place or smth. even just moving about the streets of the town as a dragon is weird, rude, and will make people uneasy. not to mention it’s potentially destructive!

everything comes back to the idea of being relatively similar in size/shape, in being close enough to equal in ability, strength, weakness, etc, barring the obvious difference that yes some people are stronger/more trained than others, some better at magic, etc etc. it's all about fairness!

this is all MOST IMPORTANT when it comes to FIGHTING........ bc obviously a very large dragon can just squish the bones of a very tiny dragon like nothing...... things like formal duels etc everyone knows OF COURSE this meant for shifted form, it's just an inherently known thing. if u fight with honor u fight shifted.

this even extends to the point that outside city walls, if someone's going to pick a fight with you, you Should still be duking it out in shifted form. it's such an important & revered rule that it's even usual for bandits and such out on the roads to attack travelers while in their own shifted forms. only the worst of all criminals cross the line--from the average petty thief & pickpocket up to professional hitmen and honorable assassins, it's rare to see even career rulebreakers break these rules. it’s That Serious

using your dragon form to attack someone who's shifted is seen as like, a completely horrifying and heinous thing to do, a sign of true cruelty and mercilessness. using your dragon form to escape from people is often seen as a cowardly and weak thing to do, unless ofc ur just like, small and afraid and get fuckin jumped by some big tuff dudes, yknow. being in a real & honorable battle means fighting in your shifted form.

the Ultimate Taboo however is hurting--especially killing--someone while they're mid-transformation, due to the fact that the process--while, as stated previously, is Very Short--leaves someone completely vulnerable and unable to defend themselves. transformation takes focus and action, and you can't really attack or dodge or anything while changing from form to form. the strength and speed and complete lack of hesitation required to end someone's life in the small window of time that it takes to shift is a terrifying thing to behold. killing someone midshift while in your own shifted form is especially weird & scary and means everyone is going to be afraid of you forever, basically, because. dude. holy fuck. how & WHY did you do that.

obviously the Normal reaction that Nice & Good dragons feel knowing someone who has crossed that particular line is, yknow, fear and resentment and seeing them as someone who is heartless and completely evil and terrible. to be avoided at all costs, if not outright arrested and executed for such a thing, in other places where ppl are like. ultimately good & caring abt one another and whatnot. but that ain't my clan babey!

aaaaaand finally a wrap-up w a lil bit abt my clan full of shitty devil babies and how these rules impact their lives hehehe

though the clan is VERY strict abt the larger social rules regarding shifted forms vs. dragon forms, thats more for formality's sake & a part of the clan's entire thing of being like........... full of/ruled by morally bankrupt weirdos and villains and chaotic neutrals mostly And Yet all putting on the show & appearance of being honorable high-status nobles & academics and whatnot. among the court in particular it's all Very Important bc everyone has to behave like stuffy uptight formal folk very often. also their section of the clan home is like, a very compact city w/ narrow streets and stuff, so obviously no one Can just. walk around as a big giant dragon.

a few examples of dragons Breaking The Rules in more 'minor' ways include: -outlaw, who has absolutely 0 issue using the small size of his spiral form to break into houses & businesses and steal shit, or using it to slip away from authority figures and zip off and fly outta there. or to just be able to hide from authorities more easily. -fissure, one of the kings, a guardian, will occasionally use his dragon form as a threat display if anyone shows too much hostility towards his clan. threaten him and his people and he WILL threaten you back big time. -silhouette, royal guard captain, also a guardian, will do the same thing, though she reserves that for people found along the outskirts of the city walls. -sepulcher takes things the other way around--he enjoys the challenge of fighting&killing things 100x his size and if a dragon tries to harm him when he's in his shifted form he gets VERY excited!!!!!

the 2 worst culprits confirmed so far are the high priest, leader of the clan, scary rotten plague cult wyrmwound-worshipping bastard himself, fhtagn......... and the friendly, chatty, fashionable tailor, needle.

the skull mask fhtagn wears is fashioned from the skull of a half-transformed dragon. to have not only crossed the line of killing a dragon mid-shift but to wear a part of them as one's most striking attire that they're never seen without is a truly terrifying sight to behold for most... those of kinder hearts than this clan would see him for the disgusting & dishonorable bastard he is because of that alone, but the clan members--especially the church, of course--revere him for this. fear & horror go hand in hand with love & adoration among the congregation, so of course they love their mercilessly masked priest.

needle does not allow too many people to get a good look at his "trophy room" but it is... certainly something to behold. stitched & stuffed bodies of people killed mid-shift make up his favorite taxidermy collection, and he likes to think of this as.. some form of art. though very private about it, he's still fiercely proud of his collection. go out and bring him such a body yourself for him to work on and he'll love you forever!

anyway that’s it for now. this post is fucking long. i never write this much what fucking possessed me.

if u made it this far i wuv u. thank u :’)

[peterkayscarshare]

Life in the Slow Lane Chapter 2 by OvetheRainbow2

Life In The Slow Lane Part 2: Changing Lanes 

 She’d bought a killer pair of gold heels. Ridiculously expensive but seriously ferocious. It’d been love at first sight. She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d walk any significant distance in them, let alone pay for them but as was so often the case with Kayleigh, heart had overruled every objection that head could possibly muster. Needless to say, for every pair of shoes, there must be a bag and a matching clutch was added to her purchases. By the time she’d decided to take a load off and grab a brew and a muffin, diet be damned, she’d added a blouse, a cute little sweater and a new pair of trousers to her haul. She’d lingered over some sexy lingerie but even she wasn’t that much of an optimist. As she sat in the cafe alone, her bags arranged in the seats opposite, like silent companions, she watched as all around her, parents pacified grouchy toddlers, friends chatted animatedly, while others checked their phones or, like her, indulged in a spot of silent “people watching”. She’d gotten used to this over the years, sitting back, watching other people’s lives. Whether it was her parents, or Kieran’s revolving door of girlfriends, or Mandy and Steve, or her mates, she always seemed to live vicariously through them. Listening to their various triumphs and frequent tales of woe. Giving advice. Sometimes solicited and other times not. Watching as they coupled, uncoupled and even re-coupled. She’d had her own occasional dramas over the years but most were fleeting. Kayleigh had become accustomed to being in the passenger seat. She savoured the irony. Not much had changed, she thought. Only she could find herself in a relationship that she didn’t fully understand and couldn’t quite define. In love with a man who can’t even say the word “love” without coming out in a rash and whom she often felt was somewhere, just beyond her reach, even when he was right there, by her side.

 A young couple in the corner were engrossed with each other. They couldn’t be much more than sixteen. Holding hands across the table and leaning over for frequent kisses. She couldn’t help but long for those days. When anything and everything felt possible and love was now, real and intense. When you’d yet to be damaged, or humiliated. When you didn’t know how much it could hurt. When you weren’t afraid. The days before “it’s complicated” was an optional status. It all felt so much easier back then. Suddenly a chiming sound emanated from her handbag. Reaching across to the seat beside her, she took out her Blackberry. The message read, “Hi. What you up to? I’m at Big Bob’s with Jim. He’s not as much fun to share me rind with. I miss you. John xxxxx”. Kayleigh smiled and sighed. She missed him too but couldn’t help wondering whether they were actually missing the same things. For her, it was the presence of the man who made her laugh like no one else ever had. Who was kind and thoughtful and made her feel safe and whole. She missed his smile and his laugh and those blue eyes that sparkled with mischief but which she sensed also held an inner sadness she could never quite fathom. She missed that feeling she got every time she saw him. Those teenage butterflies in her stomach. That sense of excitement. That absolute conviction that this was the man she loved. Was it the same for him? Two months down the line, she still wasn’t sure. She felt awkward about being so frank and having raised the whole “sex thing” with Mandy. It was private after all but she just felt so confused. Maybe she was being daft and it was actually a good thing that he wanted to take it slow. He was showing her some respect. God knows, that made a refreshing change but that was just it. It was always about her figuring out what he intended, what he wanted, what he thought was for the best. What about what she wanted? Where did that fit in? When was that considered? It felt as though she was always trying to work out a way to deal with his choices, to accept them. Trying to make his decisions about them and not only about him. To pretend that she’d somehow played a part in it all, when she’d just had to like it or lump it. Her uncertainty caused her to reflect that perhaps the absence of sex, was less about desire, or a lack of it and more about trying to avoid intimacy of any meaningful kind. To retain just enough room, to allow him to run for the exit when it all got too much. Whatever the case, John continued to dictate the pace. To keep them firmly in the slow lane and she remained so desperate to cling to the hope of something more, eventually, when he was ready, that she just went along for the ride. The thought of that exquisite pain of heartbreak, preventing her from making any real effort to articulate her own wishes, or her increasing fears. Now it felt like they weren’t so much “taking it slow” anymore, as stalled and instead of being confident about their eventual destination, she just felt lost. Mandy would say she was over-thinking it all and no good ever came of that. She was probably right but she was also right that they really needed to talk and as much as she feared it, Kayleigh could feel that conversation getting ever closer.

 It was only when she heard another chime from her Blackberry that she realised she hadn’t responded to his initial message. He’d sent another, “Kayleigh, is everything OK? Where are you? John xxxxx”. Shaking herself from her thoughts and seeing his obvious concern, she immediately replied, “Sorry. I’m at The Rock. Just picking up a few things. I’ll call you later. K xx” John’s reply was swift, “Is Mandy with you?” “No. Just me”. “Oh. OK. I was worried when you didn’t reply.” “Yeah, sorry. I’ve only just sat down” “Buy anything nice?” “Just some bits and bobs”. “Feel like modelling any of those bits and bobs for me?” Kayleigh stared at the message, stunned. This was definitely a new development. He’d never been this bold before. She began to second guess herself. Maybe she was reading too much into it. She decided to play it off, “Unless You’ve got a shoe fetish you haven’t told me about, I think you’d be a bit bored.” She added a winking emoji. He replied within seconds, “Depends what you’re wearing with the shoes....or not wearing”, he saw her winking emoji and raised her one with heart shaped eyes. Kayleigh was getting suspicious that all was not as it seemed, “Jim if this is you and you’ve grabbed John’s phone, just know he’ll kick your arse!” Within seconds her phone rang. “Hey. Is that you John?” “Yeah it’s me. You thought it was Jim!?” “I thought it might be yes. It didn’t sound like you. What’s that noise in the background? You outside.” “Yeah, I stepped out of Big Bob’s to call you. Didn’t want to have a private conversation in front of Jim. I mean he’s me bessie mate ‘an all but he’s mouth almighty.“ What’s going on John?“ “I didn’t know anything was. Frankly, I could ask the same of you! Have I done something to piss you off?” “Why do ya say that!?” “I don’t know. Just a vibe I’ve been getting”. “A vibe?” “Yeah, you know, a feelin’. You just seemed a bit stand-offish in your texts today. A bit distant.” “Didn’t come running like usual eh?” It was out of her mouth before she’d thought of the consequences. She was upping the ante. Like a massive cliff edge looming in the distance, they could both see danger on the horizon but it seemed both were powerless to avoid the impending doom. “What the Hell are you talking about Kayleigh?” Well if I’ve been distant, you’ve been bloody weird!” John began to raise his voice above the sound of the passing traffic, “What do you mean “weird”?” “I mean, since when do you want me to “model” for ya!?” “I’m a bloke! I have a drop dead gorgeous woman in my life. Am I not allowed to flirt with ya all of a sudden”!?

 Of course, more meaningless, idle “flirting”. What else could it be? More switching on the ignition, with no intention of going anywhere. Christ, she’d had enough of this pathetic crap. “You know what? I don’t get you John! One minute you’re sending me home like were a couple of teenagers and I’ve got a bloody curfew and the next minute you want me to model me bits and bobs for ya! How the Hell am I supposed to read this!? I just don’t know what’s going on with ya.” “I was just tryin’ to have some fun with me girlfriend! I just wanted to tease ya a bit”. “Isn’t that what you have been doing since we got together? Teasing me.” “What do ya mean?” “I mean I’m confused John. We’re two months in to this “thing” and I have no clue what we’re doing or where we’re going. One minute you’re calling me your girlfriend and snogging me face off on your sofa and the next you act like I’m some sort of guilty secret. “Give over, we’re at work. Give over, someone might see us. Give over, I haven’t told Rose about us yet. Give over, not in front of Jim. I’m not thirteen anymore John. I’m not looking for a “little handy-holdy” boyfriend. You’re clearly not thirteen anymore either.” John immediately got the implication and it stung. “I love you John. I really do. Incidentally that’s a word you still can’t bring yourself to use.” At this point her voice was beginning to crack with emotion. “Maybe you were right John. Maybe I don’t know you after all. I can’t see that changing any time soon because you won’t let me. You won’t let me get close enough to you, emotionally or physically. I told you that I won’t wait forever.” John suddenly said, “Don’t do this Kayleigh, please”. “Do what John? Tell you how I feel? I need to think about all this and so do you. This should feel natural John. It should be growing and developing. Let’s face it. It isn’t. We should be comfortable together. I always thought we were, up to now. I don’t know. Maybe we were only ever meant to be “Car Share Buddies”. Maybe we’ve taken this as far as it can go.” John felt a sharp pain in his chest every bit as acute, if not more so than the one he’d felt in that traffic jam a mere two months before, “Please don’t walk away again Kayleigh. I just need some time. I told you that.” “I don’t think this is about “time” John. I could give you all the time in the world. I think what you want is a “get out clause”. Anyway, I don’t want to have this conversation on a mobile in Costa. I’m gonna go now”. “You’re just gonna say all that, kick me in the balls yet again and not give me a chance to give my side!? Why do you keep running away from me!?” “I just need space to think”. John’s reply was blunt and to the point, “Bollocks to that! We need to talk. I’m not giving up on you, on us.” “Just like the song says eh John?” “I thought you loved that song”. “I do John but I’m beginning to realise that sometimes love...isn’t enough. I’ll see ya.” With that, she hung up, wiped her eyes hoping no other patrons had spotted her tears, she then grabbed her shopping bags and headed for the car park.

 John walked back into Big Bob’s like a man who’d just had the weight of the world dropped on his shoulders from a very great height. It was becoming an all too familiar feeling. Jim was exchanging a well worn punchline with Janet as he paid for the Fat Boys, “So I said “King Prawn Balls” not “King Kong’s Balls!” Janet laughed awkwardly. Jim turned with a broad smile, proudly brandishing his new “I Love Fat Boys” baseball cap. “Look at this! Janet punched me card! I got the cap. I’m stylin’ it out, don’t ya think?” Jim twirled and modelled like a pro, even throwing in a few shoulder jerks. Suddenly he began to realise that he had a less than appreciative audience, as a sullen John approached him, “Christ! What the Hells happened now? You look like you’ve just lost a tenner and found 10p.” “I think I’ve just lost much more than that. Listen Jim I need a massive favour”. “If I can I will, you know that”. “I need you to take me to Bury.” “What? Now!?” “Yeah now. Mate, do this for me and I’ll owe you for the rest of my life.” It took less than a second for Jim to note his friends obvious and very real distress. He immediately replied as he moved to the door, “Come on. Get in the car. Bury here we come.”

[candimcart]

Hello, Hello! So, it’s been a bit since I took the time to blog. Kassie keeps me pretty busy from day to day, especially with Mike working two jobs. But guess what, after a year and 8 months of hustling Mike is finally able to be home with us in the evenings! For awhile he was working seven days and over 70 hours a week with almost zero complaints. He came home from one job, rushed off the second, came home well past his bed time and still made sure to squeeze in time with his little girl. He is seriously, above and beyond an amazing father. But, now the rushing in and out comes to an end. We received our final adoption invoice last month and were able to pay it off the next day! I felt that since so many people were involved with our adoption journey it was best to share our total cost and how we got to that number. I will try to be brief in the only way I know, which is to not to. (Tow Mater? Cars? Anyone?)

Here it is: WAIT! Let me back up!

  WE FINALIZED OUR ADOPTION!!!!!!

I was sitting in a movie theater beside my cousin, David watching A Quiet Place when I got the email. I am generally not one of those jerks who checks their phone during a movie but, I knew that on this day a judge would be deciding our fate with Kassie’s biological father. I should have been enjoying the two hour mommy break and cringing at the monsters that hunt noise but instead, I was spaced out focused on my thigh where my phone was sitting silently. When I felt the buzz I grabbed my phone and with the screen light turned all the way down read the words ” Biological Father has had rights revoked today. We can finalize!” Of all the movies I chose to loudly sob in, why did it have to be one that’s main theme is silence? I remember my cousin leaning over to ask if I was okay and I just whispered “She’s ours” and for the rest of the movie I just keep saying to myself “She’s ours” in disbelief.

                   Finally Forever Family May 18th, 2018!

If you don’t know me personally you may not understand that I am a crier. I’m a sentimental and angry crier. I don’t cry over sadness like I do over happiness (and at times, madness.) Well, this was the happiest day of my life. The judge said “Are you ready? Raise your right hands.” and I lost it. Shortly after, Mike did too. I love him so much for not being afraid to cry in public.

We found the perfect little shelter at the perfect little park but it only came with a 40 person limit. I cried about that. Narrowing it down from the few hundred people who joined us on our journey was not fun for us at all. But, we did our best and hopefully no one was hurt along the way.

The turnout was wonderful as well as the cake and cupcakes by Aunt Brandy. Bampaw and Bammaw surprised us with a big star cut out of a sheet for all of our friends and family to encircle for a photo shot on my Dad’s new drone. It was a wonderful way to celebrate such a long awaited end to our journey and allow for our brand new journey to begin.

  Okay, here it is! Drumroll please…

$8,280.22!!!!

What? How is that even possible? Every website. Every agency. Every person. They all said $25,000-$55,000 in our state so how did we get away with $8,280.22 for our entire adoption? Well, there are several reasons that led to this for us and they are NOT as uncommon as you (I’m talking to you waiting adoptive parents) are told.

1: The stars aligned. (They can for you too, waiting parents!)

2: Bio Mom refused counseling. She was very confident and happy with her decision.

3: Bio Mom refused an attorney.

4: Bio Mom had her own insurance.

5: Bio Mom did not request any financial assistance other than $50 in gas to drive from her home to our city for TPR (Termination of Parental Rights).

6: Our Attorney was AMAZING! He is a well known Adoption Attorney in OK and he is well recognized nationally as well. He and his wife run their adoption agency which began after they adopted their daughters in the 80’s. They are hugely responsible with changing laws and adoption practices in Oklahoma. He will absolutely not take a dime from his clients until shortly before baby is due, or in our case the day baby is born. We handed him $3500. He and his wife Linda met us at the hospital with all of the paperwork ready to be signed. They seriously made this process so easy which would have been a hundred times easier had I not tried to control everything. The day they came to the hospital our attorney had to get right in my view and say “You are Mommy now. That is the number one job for you. We will be the attorneys. You just go home and be a regular Mommy now. Trust us.” I didn’t feel like I was being a control freak but if nothing else he probably saw my nerves rattled to the bone. He knew just what to say, I took his advice and I found my peace in that moment. I find it very important that every choice you make when on this journey feels like “home”. You will know that feeling when it hits you. If you make a decision and it doesn’t have that comfortable, “I’m home” feeling, change it! This is how we chose our adoption attorney and our home study worker. With that being said and out of the way, if you are looking for an adoption attorney start here: Swain Law, Adoption Attorney!

7: This may make me unpopular (not that I care) and this is coming from my personal experience combined with the experience of other adoptive parents I have gotten to know… Agencies, some…most…all (?) may have the best intentions but they don’t make money off of expectant mothers who choose to parent their child. Adoption Agencies are businesses and just like every other business they need to have income to survive. They also rule the marketing world for adoption. Google “How do I adopt?” and you you will be swarmed with agencies and guidelines that all tell you going through a private adoption like ours will end in heartbreak more often than not. Well, let me tell you. I was in the biggest adoption group on Facebook and guess what I learned… “Adoption Disruptions” are not any more common with private/attorney adoption versus agency adoption. I have seen couples shell out $3,000 and up (way up) to get he ball rolling on adoptions via agencies and the expectant mother decides to parent. I have seen babies go to adoptive homes and the biological mother decide to parent. Guess what happens? Adoptive parents are forced to return what has already been their baby and they, in most cases are out the money spent. I have seen adoptive parents lose their entire savings and end up childless and broke leaving them with only one choice: find away to be satisfied never being parents. I saw it more times than I ever thought I would. We are so lucky that we chose to have all avenues open for us. We chose to start the process with finding an expectant mother while fundraising and saving for an agency (before I know what I know now about agencies). Some couples refuse to even go the route we did for fear of disruption and STILL end up with the heartbreak of a disrupted adoption.

I made sure to listen and absorb every story I could, not only from adoptive couples and waiting couples but from adoptees and biological parents. When we began our journey I had no clue what the Adoption Pyramid was nor did I care. I just wanted to be a Mommy… NOW. My heart was getting bitter and nothing mattered more to me than being someone’s Mommy. I am so glad that I learned all about the pyramid through hours and hours of reading posts, listening to podcasts, reading blogs, watching videos, etc. Having that knowledge BEFORE Kassie was born has very much changed the path of our adoption. We didn’t just gain a daughter, we gained another family. Her biological family is our family now too. I hope they always choose to be in our lives. Okay, I trailed off as I do. I am fortunate to have used the resources available to me to learn all about the importance of the pyramid. I listened to so many adoptees and biological mothers tell their stories. So often, the biological mothers have gone through the agencies instead of privately finding a couple like Kassie’s bio family did. They go through the agencies because they feel safer, they feel like the couples are screened better, and there is less chance of anything going wrong. Unfortunately they (their words, not mine) are manipulated into placing their child when they are vulnerable and unprepared to make that huge decision. You know what…this may just be a blog for another time. I am sure I will be attacked for saying these things that I learned in the dark and speaking them into the light. So let me stop with full intention to bring this to light another time when I am better able to articulate what I mean. 

  So here is a final recap:

Adoption Method: Private Infant Domestic Adoption

Timeline:

June 6th, 2017: Began spreading our story and calling for Star Hunters to help get the word out.

July 27th, 2017: Contacted through our blog by Bio Grandmother.

October 2017 (week of Oct 25th) Paid $3500 to Swain Law.

October 25th, 2017: Kassie is born!

October 31st, 2017: Bio Mom signs TPR.

May 18th, 2018: Adoption is Finalized!

Total Amount Raised: Just under $4,000 if I recall(I can’t get into my office right now to grab the fundraiser papers so I will edit in the exact number when I can!

Total Amount Saved: just over $5,000!!!

Total Cost: $8,280.22!

So, there it is. THANK YOU ALL AGAIN for joining us on our journey in whatever way you did!!! ❤ ❤ ❤

-Mommy, Daddy, & Kassie Too

  The Final Bill Hello, Hello! So, it's been a bit since I took the time to blog. Kassie keeps me pretty busy from day to day, especially with Mike working two jobs.

[builder051]

Bucky with appendicitis that Steve thinks is just regular flu and then feels so bad about afterwards?

Here you go!  It’s a bit long…

Warnings for vomiting and hospitals (minimal details, at the end)

This is powers/no powers choose your own adventure.

______________________________

It’s 2:24pm when Steve’s phone buzzes with a textmessage.  He’s standing in Nat’s cubicle,reading a report over her shoulder, and both of them are too astute to miss thesound of the vibration and the glow coming from his pocket.  Steve knows Nat won’t mind, so he pulls outthe device and glances down at it.  Herarely gets texts during the workday, so he figures it’s probably important.

Sam:  I just dropped Bucky off at home.  He’s not feeling so hot. 

“What’s going on?  Heok?”  Nat swivels her chair around andlooks up at Steve with concern.  Sheseems to sense what’s happening without even seeing the message.

“Mm.  Sam gave him aride home early…” Steve says.  “Excuse mefor a minute, I need to respond.”

“Yeah, of course,” Nat says. “Go home if you need to.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, stepping back toward his owncube.  “But as much as you wish you were,Fury’s still the boss.”

“In name only,” Nat jokes.

Steve stands behind his chair and quickly types a reply.

Steve:  What happened?  Do I need to come home?

Sam:  He has a stomach thing.  I think he’ll be ok for a while.

 Steve: How bad is it?

Sam:  Hard to tell.  He feels warm.  White knuckled it through the drivehome.  Now I’m parked in the driveway andI swear I can hear him puking inside.

Steve:  Oh geez. Does he need me? 

Sam:  I asked if he wanted to call you.  I think his exact words were “I think I justneed to throw up and I’d rather do that by myself.”

Steve:  Yeah, ok. I’ll still duck out of here a little early if I can.  

Sam:  It’s probably not anything to worryabout.  But I still have a med kit.  I’m always available if it gets really bad.

Steve:  Thanks. Always good to have you looking out for us.

Sam:  You bet.

 Steve jams the phone back into his pocket and re-joins Nat,who is calmly playing solitaire on her computer.

 “What’s the story?” she asks, clearly not interested inreturning their collected attention to the report.

 “Buck’s sick.  Just astomach bug or something, so hopefully nothing to worry about,” Steve reports.

Nat narrows her eyes at him. “But you’re worrying anyway.”  

Steve shrugs.  “Alittle.  I always do.  But he’s been doing really well lately, andhe wants to take care of himself.  It’s agood thing.”

“But if you want to check out early,” Nat says slyly, eyeingthe printed report, “I’ll totally remember that you were here working with metill five.”

“Thanks,” Steve says. “I’ll be good for another hour or two, I think.”

*** 

At 4:15, he texts Bucky.

Steve:  I’m just about to leave the office.  Sam said you’re not feeling fantastic.  You doing ok? Want me to pick up anything for you?

Bucky: Ok

Steve cocks his head, trying to make sense of themessage.  What question is he answering?

Steve:  Anything in particular you want?  Gatorade? Crackers?

Bucky: No

Steve:  Ok. I’m on my way home.

It’s hard to tell from a text, but Bucky’s not soundingincredibly coherent.  It kicks the worrymeter up a notch, but he reminds himself that they’ve dealt with fevers andflus.  Everything’s going to be fine.

*** 

Steve parks his bike in the garage and hurries into thehouse.  

“Buck?” he calls.  Thehouse is dim; it’s dusky outside, and there aren’t any lights on.   

Nearby a toilet flushes, and Steve practically runs down theshort hallway to the downstairs bathroom. Bucky’s outline is hunched over the pale porcelain as water swirls downthe drain.  The bathroom lights are off,and Steve can only imagine how long Bucky’s been there. 

“Hey, Buck,” Steve whispers. He kneels down beside Bucky.  “Would it bug you if I turned on the light?”

“Nuh,” Bucky grunts, shaking his head. 

Steve flips the switch, and the small room illuminates witha fluorescent glow.  Bucky squeezes hiseyes shut and scrubs a shaky hand over his forehead. 

“Hey, alright,” Steve murmurs.  He lays his hand over the back of Bucky’sneck.  The fever is prominent.  “I bet you’re feeling pretty rough.” 

Bucky makes a small nod and squints in Steve’s direction. 

“Have you just been getting sick since you got home?”

“Pretty much,” Bucky chokes.  His voice is rough from what Steve can onlyimagine has been constant vomiting.  Ittears at his heart. 

“Ok,” Steve sighs, running his hand down Bucky’s back.

“I thought I was ok,” Bucky admits in a whisper.  “But I, just, everything hurts.”  He presses his hand to his mouth over whatsounds like a wet hiccup.

The fact that Bucky’s mostly articulate is a relief.  Steve remembers the mute, trembly messBucky’d been the first couple times he’d been ill after he’d come home.  The Bucky before him now is no doubt animprovement.  But the way he’s staringoff into space with glassy eyes. Something’s definitely wrong.   

Dehydration would be the most obvious culprit.

“I’m gonna get you some water, ok?” Steve says.  

Bucky doesn’t respond, but his spine arches like he’s aboutto dry heave.  

Steve hesitates for a second, torn between staying to offercomfort and being able to immediately offer a cooling drink.  He pats Bucky’s furnace of a shoulder.  “I’ll be right back, ok?” 

He tears into the kitchen and runs cool tap water into thefirst clean glass he can find, then runs back to the bathroom, trying not tospill on the carpet. 

Bucky’s coughing, a line of spit trailing pathetically fromhis lower lip to the toilet seat.   

“Alright, here you go.” Steve releases the glass into Bucky’s unsteady hand and rubs his fingersup and down his back.  “Clean out yourmouth, get some fluids back in you…”

Bucky swishes and spits, then obediently takes a tinysip.  He pushes the glass back at Steve,then with great effort, shoves himself back against the wall.  He tips his head back, closes his eyes, andsnakes his arm around his stomach. 

“Stomach’s really bugging you?” Steve asks. 

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes. “But everything hurts,” he repeats.

“Aches?  Like a fever?”Steve asks. 

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs again. 

“Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable,” Steve suggests,stooping to insert his shoulder under Bucky’s stump arm. 

“I’m gonna hurl again,” Bucky groans.  “Probably.” 

“We’ll take the trash can,” Steve reassures, snatching it upand continuing to haul Bucky to his feet. “Here, let’s try to make it to the couch.” 

It’s quite an effort as Bucky’s practically deadweight.  Once he’s safely deposited onthe sofa, Steve runs upstairs for more provisions.  Ibuprofen, a thermometer, and a couplepillows from their bed seem like a good start. 

After building the start of a nest around Bucky, Steveinserts the thermometer under his tongue. Bucky gags as soon as the glass rod is between his lips, but awkwardlyswallows to keep everything in place.  Assoon as Steve takes the device, Bucky leans forward to heave emptily over thetrashcan.   

“Alright, it’s ok,” Steve intones, watching the few sips ofwater splash back up.  He looks down atthe thermometer in hand, and sighs at the reading.  “Geez, Buck, you’re almost at 103.  No wonder you’re feeling so awful.” 

Steve dispenses ibuprofen. Bucky doesn’t want to take it.  “Ican barely swallow,” he complains. 

“Your throat hurts?” Steve asks. 

“No, it’s just, it won’t…It’ll come back up,” Bucky sayshoarsely. 

“We need to get your fever down, though.  And it might be easier to throw up water thannothing.” 

“Fuck.” 

*** 

Steve wins, but Bucky’s right.  By 6:30, he’s taken the anti-inflammatoriestwice and vomited them back up twice, along with another half-glass of water. 

In the kitchen, Steve unscrews the cap from a bottle ofGatorade he found in the back of the fridge. “This is the only bottle of this we have,” he says, pouring some into acoffee mug and cutting it with water. “So hopefully it’ll make a positive difference and tide you over for aminute while I run out and buy some more.” 

Bucky makes a skeptical grunting sound, then belches quietlyinto his palm. 

“There you go.”  Steveoffers the new beverage and sits down beside Bucky.  He brushes a few strands of long, sweaty hairbehind Bucky’s ear and attempts to cool his pink cheek with the back of hishand. 

Bucky looks at the mug in his hand.  “I ran the dishwasher…” he mumbles.

“Mm.  No,” Stevesays.  “You probably did a day or twoago, but there’s not a lot clean at the moment.” 

“I thought I did this morning…” 

“You went to work this morning.  I don’t think you were doing chores,” Stevereplies, a hint of concern coming into his soothing tone.

“Hm,” Bucky sighs, almost as if acknowledging his ownalmost-delerium.  “I feel like crap.” 

“Yeah.  You got theflu or something,” Steve says.  “But itwon’t last forever.  It’ll be ok.” 

Bucky shrugs. 

“You want to take a drink of that?”  Steve prompts, internally crossing hisfingers that this will be the attempt at fluids that stays down. 

“Ok.”  Bucky raisesthe mug and takes a swig.

“Ok,” Steve echoes.   

***

At 7:06, Steve has one hand on Bucky’s spasming back and theother flipping frantically through the contacts on his phone.  All hopes of running to the grocery store aredashed.  He finds the entry for Sam,presses the call button, and tucks the device between his cheek and shoulder sohe can get both hands on Bucky. Gatorade-water is hitting the bottom of the trashcan, and Steve wondersit it’ll be audible on the other end of the call.

“Yo,” Sam answers. 

“Hey, Sam,” Steve says, trying to keep the tenseness out ofhis voice for Bucky’s sake. 

“How’s he doing?” Sam asks, automatically guessing thereason for the call. 

“Not so good,” Steve says. “He’d been throwing up for over 2 hours by the time I got home, andwe’re still having trouble keeping liquids down.” 

“That’s been what, four and a half hours total?” Sam quicklycalculates.  “Yeah, I’d say that’s a problem.  I can start him on IV fluids torehydrate.  But I can’t do anything aboutthe nausea, not without a doctor’s prescription.” 

“Yeah, we’ll take what we can get,” Steve sighs.  “If you have sports drinks or anything,that’d be good.  We’re out of everything.”

“I’ll see what I have. I’ll be over in 20 minutes or so.”

“Thanks.”  Steve endsthe call and gives his full attention to rubbing Bucky’s back. 

Bucky retches hard, and the shudder that runs up and downhis spine leaches into Steve’s palms.   

“Alright.  It’s gonnabe over soon.  It’s just the flu,” Stevewhispers.   

Bucky breathes raggedly. 

“Remember how I used to get real sick when we were younger?”Steve presses on.  “You were always therehelping me out.  We’re gonna get youthrough this.  You’re gonna be fine…” 

*** 

Sam’s letting himself in with the spare key before7:30.  He dumps a plastic shopping bagfilled with assorted flavors of Gatorade on the kitchen counter, then bustlesinto the living room with a duffle bag in hand. 

Bucky’s somehow managed to drape himself over both the armof the sofa and Steve’s lap simultaneously, and is loath to move as Sam squatsin front of him. 

“Hey, Bucky,” Sam says softly.  Then he looks up at Steve.  “I’m just gonna do a little exam before I startthe IV,” Sam explains.  “If you wannastretch your legs for a minute or something…” 

Steve slips out from under Bucky’s arm and decides it’s agood moment to rinse out the foul-smelling trashcan.  He just prays Bucky won’t need it again inthe next few minutes. 

“Hey, alright, can you sit up for me?” Steve hears Sam sayfrom the living room before the pounding of water from the kitchen sink drownseverything else out.  

Once the can is clean, Steve digs out a dishtowel to dryit.  He glances across to see Samgingerly lifting the hem of Bucky’s shirt and palpating his abdomen.  He’s making a mental note to pick up aStarbucks gift card for his wonderful ex-PJ of a friend when Bucky’s suddenlyyelping and gagging and Steve’s rushing back to the couch, the trashcanforgotten in the sink.   

Watery bile drips onto Bucky’s chest, and Sam’s fingershover on the lower right side of his stomach. 

“Bucky, do you still have your appendix?” Sam asks. 

“Why?” Bucky chokes out through gritted teeth, “Do you needit?” 

“Huh?”  Sam is takenaback, confused. 

“You already took my arm…”

“What?  No,” Sambacktracks. 

“Aw, geez,” Steve mutters. “It’s, he’s, ah, god.  Warflashbacks.  He’s sleepy or—“ 

“Getting delirious,” Sam supplies.  He turns to Steve with a look of utmostseriousness.  “Localized pain like that,it’s a good chance it’s his appendix. That explains the fever, the extreme puking…  We have to get him to a hospital.” 

“He’s not gonna like that,” Steve mutters.   

“He’s already been in pain for a while.  We don’t have a lot of time.  That thing’s gonna rupture,” Sam says. 

Bucky starts retching again, and Sam holds his shirttailupwards so the fabric catches the small amount of fluid that comes up. 

“Oh, god.  I kepttelling him he’s gonna be fine,” Steve groans, pressing his fingertips into hiseye sockets.   

“He is gonna be fine,” Sam says.  “But we have to go.  Right now.”

Steve wipes Bucky’s mouth with his own fingers.  “Ok. You with me, Buck?” 

Bucky half-nods and moans quietly.   

“We’re gonna go to the hospital.” 

*** 

The drive is short because Sam speeds through every yellowlight.   

Steve sits with Bucky in the backseat, holding him to hischest and trying not to let his own heart beat out of his rib cage as Bucky’sbreaths slowly become shallower and more pained. 

“Alright, here we are,” Sam announces, pulling up at thecurb in front of the ER.   

Steve helps Bucky out of the car and pulls his right armaround his own shoulders.  “Here wego.  I got you.”   

Bucky leans against the counter as Steve tries to check himin.  “It’s his appendix,” Steve says,mentally kicking himself as he says it. He should have known better.  Gotten them here earlier.

The disgruntled woman behind the desk pushes a stack offorms at Steve.  “No, he needs to be seennow.  He’s already been sick for hours—“ 

Bucky jerks forward and heaves over the counter.  It would have been more effective if he’dactually had stomach contents to barf all over his paperwork, but it gets himnoticed all the same.   

Bucky’s ushered into a wheelchair, and Steve jogs along athis side while trying to flag down Sam, who’s parked the car and now stands inthe lobby looking lost. 

It only takes a couple minutes with the doctor to confirmwhat they already know.  Nurses transferBucky to a gurney to prep him for surgery. They ask questions about Bucky’s medical history, and Sam’s better atanswering them. 

Steve just grips Bucky’s hand and tries to murmurreassurances through the lump in his throat. 

“Not…gonna take my arm?” Bucky breathes.

“No.”  Steve squeezeshis shoulder.  “They’re just gonna makeyour stomach feel better.”

The nurses have started an IV.  One has a syringe poised over the line, readyto administer anesthesia.   

“What’s? No, I don’t want…” Bucky mutters.

“You’re just gonna take a nap,” Sam expertly explains,dropping one hand each on Steve’s and Bucky’s arms.  “And then you’re gonna feel a lot better whenyou wake up.”

***

“God, this is my fault,” Steve mutters, squeezing hisStyrofoam coffee cup and nervously kicking the foot of his plastic waiting roomchair. 

“No,” Sam says.  “Noone’s fault.  It’s just how thingshappen.” 

“But I should’ve done something sooner.  I could’ve come home earlier.  Then he wouldn’t have puked in the dark byhimself for two hours.” 

“Well, you can’t change anything now.  And it would’ve still come to the same thingin the end,” Sam yawns. 

“But he might not have been so scared,” Steve whispers.

“He’s gonna be fine. He’s got you.” 

***

It’s nearly 11 at night when the doctor comes into thewaiting room and finally states, just as Sam said, that Bucky will in fact befine. 

“He’s in a recovery room now.  You’re welcome to see him.  He’ll probably wake up in a few minutes.” 

It’s all Steve can do not to bound down the hallway.  Sam claps him on the shoulder to remind himto open the door quietly. 

Bucky’s tucked in bed, the IV still in his arm.  He looks pale and worn down, butpeaceful.  

As Steve watches, Bucky’s mouth twitches.  He stirs, and his eyes open a crack. 

“Hey, Buck,” Steve whispers, feeling his face break into asmile.  “How you feeling?” 

“Gross,” Bucky croaks, his voice thin and dry. 

“Yeah, I bet,” Steve chuckles.  “But you’re gonna be ok.”

“Yeah?” Bucky breathes.

Steve perches on the edge of the bed and leans down to kissBucky’s forehead.  “Yeah.”

[ineverhadmyinternetphase]

Take Me On An Adventure

AO3 Link

Genre: Oneshot, Queerplatonic relationship, they’re figuring stuff out slowly, 2009 phan

Summary: Fiction.  Exploring the facets of their new relationship is tough on both Dan and Phil, but by the end of it, they feel a little more like they know where they're going. Continuation of QPR verse.

Warnings: Extreme lack of plot, some discussions of difficulties surrounding being in a QPR

Word Count: 3k

A/N: I've wanted to update this verse for ages, but just haven't had the time, so here is a short little excerpt for the meanttime ^_^

Now, and as ever, for my dearest Charlotte <3

Title from Tom Rosenthal's 'About the Weather'

--

Long distance was hard, harder than Phil would have imagined it to be. He’d kind of thought it wouldn’t be a problem for him, when in the past he’d envisaged some kind of future relationship he might be able to have. The physical stuff wasn’t so important to him, after all. He was all about the emotional, the knowing that someone else out there was his, and solely his. The not feeling quite so alone in his skin.

He had that, with Dan. Miraculously. But it still wasn’t enough.

The trouble was, Phil had had a taste of what it was like to be around Dan now. He’d been able to touch his fingers to Dan’s arm, to knock his ankle against Dan’s knee when they were sat watching tv together, to carefully link his fingers with Dan’s when they were out in public. He’d got a taste, and now he was greedy.

Skype was all well and good, but it wasn’t enough.

Dan called him ridiculous, when Phil tried to explain this. He chuckled with that laugh that made the corners of his eyes crinkle, Phil’s favourite look, and said, “Mate, I didn’t think you had it that bad.”

“Do you not?” Phil asked, a little desperately. “It’s like, I can’t even talk to my mum without wanting to blurt out your name every two seconds.”

Dan’s eyes closed off, just a little, just then. Phil’s heart tugged in response.

“So she knows, does she?” Dan asked carefully.

“Yes. Well, no. Well, not exactly.” Phil grimaced, taking a moment to think. “Like, she knows about a Dan. She just doesn’t quite know what this Dan is to me.”

Dan ducked to hide behind his hair again. The skype connection only allowed for a grainy image, so it was hard to read his expression, which Phil hated. He was learning a lot of things about Dan, but one of the key ones was that Dan tended to show his true feelings through his expressions. He’d go on rambling rants about the things he loved, but superficially – it was hard to get at what was really going on inside his head. Especially when he felt insecure.

Phil was learning how to read him, though it was taking a while.

“Is that ok?” Phil asked, leaning in towards his screen. “I mean, do you mind?”

Dan shook his head quickly. He bit his lip, avoiding looking at the camera.

“Are you sure?” Phil pressed. “You could tell me, you know. If it wasn’t.”

“I could?” Dan’s lips twitched into a small, shy smirk, the one that made Phil’s stomach wriggle.

Phil nodded.

Dan shifted on his crossed legs, resting his chin on his fist. He was avoiding looking at Phil again. “I mean, what would you even tell her?”

Phil lifted a brow. “What do you mean?”

“If you were talking about me.” Dan’s tone was carefully neutral, his gaze hidden behind his slightly ridiculous, very Phil-like fringe. “What could you even say? I’m a friend off the internet?”

“No,” Phil said immediately.

“Why not?” Dan’s tone was almost savage, now. “That’s basically what this is, right? Friendship.”

Phil blinked. He was thrown by Dan’s words, a little confused, a little hurt, even. They’d talked about it, in person, when he’d had Dan in his arms and got him to melt, all his hard edges to soften down to something truer. They’d talked about what they were. Phil was sure they had.

But what if, somehow, he’d been reading it wrong?

“Is that you want it to be?” He finally worked up the courage to ask.

Dan dug his fingers into his cheek. “Doesn’t matter what I want. That’s what it is.”

Phil looked at him in confusion. This was another reason distance was hard – it wasn’t as easy to understand Dan when all Phil had was a grainy image and his words. Often, a lot of what Dan said was contradicted by what he did. He’d laugh and call Phil sarcastic names all while curling up on his lap, which negated any hard meaning they might have had.

It was difficult to do that over skype.

“I am completely confused,” Phil confessed after a beat of silence.

Dan laughed. It was a harsh chuckle deadened behind his fingers. “Why am I not surprised.”

Phil shook his head. Something unsettling nestled itself under his heart, caught up in the way Dan was still avoiding his eyes. He knew this happened sometimes, that Dan got stressed, but he didn’t usually close himself off from Phil. He usually blurted out everything he was feeling, all his insecurities, his fears.

Maybe this time, his fears were too close to home. Or too close to Phil.

Either way, Phil didn’t know how to unpack them this time. Dan was too far away for him to reach out and hold, and without that, Phil wasn’t quite sure what to do. He was clumsy with his words, much better with his actions. That was part of the reason Phil had known Dan would make a better youtuber than him one day – Dan was articulate, expressive, could talk for hours without stopping once he got going. Phil found it more difficult.

“When are you coming back up?” Phil asked in a desperate bid to rescue this conversation.

Dan was still avoiding looking at the camera, now picking at bits of fluff on his bedsheets. “Dunno. Whenever, I guess.”

Something sharp twisted in Phil’s stomach.

“Soon, though?” Phil pressed, unsure whether the reassurance was for himself or for Dan. “There’s the Halloween gathering. The youtube thing, in London. I’m going.”

Dan glanced back at him then, looking at the screen, and for a second he looked inordinately, inexcusably young. His voice was morose. “But I’m not a proper youtuber.”

“Yes,” Phil argued stubbornly, “You are. You’ve got subscribers and you’ve got videos. There. Proper youtuber.”

Dan was smiling, just a little, even if he was trying to hide it. “Yeah, but I’m not on your level.”

“I thought we’d curbed your fanboying tendencies, Dan.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Dan pressed a hand to his mouth, presumably suppressing a smile. Phil could still see his cheek dimpling. “I mean, I can’t go to a gathering.”

“Why not?” Phil leaned in closer, the urge to fix things growing and growing. It was much easier in person, and ever since their first meeting, Phil had this irrepressible urge to be around Dan constantly. It wasn’t an easy thing to ignore.

“For one, I’m not invited,” Dan pointed out.

“I just invited you,” Phil argued right back.

Dan made a face at him. “You’re impossible. I just started, and my videos aren’t even good, I can’t just—”

“You’re in Phil is not on fire,” Phil pointed out again. “People love that. My subscribers ask about you all the time, you’re totally able to come.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Dan curled himself into a ball, retreating into himself again, his expression closing off. “Yeah, sure. They’re your subscribers. You can go.”

That sharp thing twisted inside Phil’s stomach again. The fear that maybe he’d been going about this all wrong tied his innards into knots, so he forced himself to ask, voice small, “Do you just not want to see me again?”

Dan held his expression for a minute, and then his face crumpled. He shook his head. “No, of course I want to see you again.”

Relief flooded warm through Phil, and he took a breath. “So come to the gathering.”

Dan looked up at him again, straight at the camera, his expression unreadable.

Phil stared back imploringly.

“Alright,” Dan relented finally, and Phil was sure he caught some relief hiding in his tone. “I’ll come.”

---

Youtube gatherings were heady, rowdy affairs. People were flooded everywhere, talking and drinking and laughing, and there was hardly any space to breathe even if they were outside. Plus, they were in London. Phil didn’t much like being in London. Buildings blocked the sky and there wasn’t enough green.

He was remembering why he didn’t usually go to these things. His contemporaries in youtube tended to be loud, social people, even if they didn’t quite fit into the usual crowd. But put a bunch of misfits together in a place they felt safe and suddenly everyone was on top of everyone, and there were very few that Phil felt he had anything in common with at all.

PJ, of course, but he wasn’t there and still had some reservations about Dan (totally unfounded, in Phil’s opinion). It meant Phil was keen to keep Dan separate, though, and also, Dan. He was really all that Phil was focused on.

Dan was clearly uncomfortable, at least to Phil’s eyes. Sure, Dan might be drinking and chatting loudly with some of the others in the room, but his tone was forced and his eyes were tired. He bounced with a sort of nervous energy, and there was always some part of him that was touching Phil – fingers, sides, an ankle hooked over his, an arm around his waist. It was possessive in a way Phil liked, but also felt a lot like Dan was seeking comfort from him.

After they’d made the rounds and Phil had talked to everyone he needed to to look polite, introducing Dan where necessary, Phil gripped Dan’s elbow and leaned in close to his ear. “Want to get out of here?”

“Already?” Dan looked surprised, but not disappointed.

Phil shrugged, confessing quietly, “I tend to just stay as long as I’m obligated to, and then disappear with the food.”

Much to Phil’s relief, that charmed a grin out of Dan. “Why am I not surprised.”

“Yes, well,” Phil nudged Dan across the floor, squeezing between tightly packed people, “Now you get to come with me, so.”

“I’m the luckiest,” Dan agreed in what was probably supposed to be a joke, but came out sounding a lot more like he really meant it.

Phil flushed, tried not to think about it, and dragged Dan outside.

They found solace on the edge of a fountain, food shared between them. Dan seemed to relax the moment they were away from people, but he still sat unnecessarily close to Phil, all squidged up against his side with his arm touching Phil’s and his head dangerously close to Phil’s shoulder. They were basically the same height, but whenever they sat together Dan seemed to make himself smaller, like he could tuck himself up into Phil and hide forever.

Phil would let him, too, if he asked.

The noise was dimmed out here, faded to the background when Dan was by his side. Phil could tell he was staring at Dan, had been staring most of the night in fact, had seen it on the faces of his friends and peers, the ones who were wondering who that guy on Phil’s arm was. The ones out of the loop were, at least. The ones who’d seen their dailybooths and tweets sent Phil much more knowing looks.

Phil didn’t like those so much at all.

“This is better,” Dan said unexpectedly from beside him.

Phil drew himself out of his thoughts, focusing in again on Dan to find him looking down at the ground. Phil nudged him, shuffling closer. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dan turned his head and gave Phil a small smile, not one that made his eyes crinkle, but his dimple did appear. “Yeah, much better.”

“I’m glad.” Phil was itching to reach out, to wind himself around Dan somehow. They hadn’t had much time to themselves at all yet, all Phil had been able to manage was a quick hug earlier before they’d had to draw away and head into the crowds.

So now Phil took a breath, reached out, and grabbed Dan’s hand.

As clumsy as ever, Phil missed the first time, instead just knocking his hand into Dan’s. On a second attempt, he managed to link their fingers together.

Dan sent him a bemused stare. “Did you just?”

“Shut up.” Phil flushed, bumped his shoulder affectionately against Dan’s.

“You did just.”

“Leave me alone.”

Dan shook his head, but his dimple had made another appearance. He gave Phil a look full of fond. “You’re hopeless.”

“Leave me alone,” Phil whined, leaning in and miming biting at Dan’s shoulder. A memory of their first day together floated through him, how happy and on top of the world he’d felt that Dan existed. He still felt like that now.

Dan made a small noise that might have been a chuckle, and then glanced down to where their joined hands were resting on his lap. A strange expression flitted across his face.

Phil was tempted to ask, but he didn’t. Instead, he just squeezed his fingers around Dan’s. They still had the whole night together, staying in London. There would be time to talk. For now, Phil just wanted to hold Dan’s hand.

Dan squeezed back, sending him another brief smile. “You know a lot of people here.”

“I’ve been doing this for a while,” Phil shrugged, still caught up with staring at Dan. “Mostly they know me. I don’t remember half their names, if I’m honest.”

Dan’s lips twitched. “Bad at networking.”

“There aren’t that many people online I’m interested in,” Phil answered, and leaned in closer still.

Dan shuffled his feet, but he didn’t lean closer. He didn’t draw away either, he just… didn’t lean closer. This wasn’t how he’d been last time, when he’d been clambering all over Phil, asking to try kissing him, then just winding his way into Phil’s arms. Maybe Phil had been wrong to expect that, but… well. This was a little strange.

Maybe Dan just didn’t like crowds. He’d said as much to Phil before.

Dan’s fingers squeezed Phil’s again, and he took a breath, glancing down at the floor. “There aren’t that many people who seemed to know me, though.”

“You just need some more time.” Phil squeezed back. “A few more videos, they’ll all know your name.”

“I don’t know why it matters, really,” Dan muttered. “I just like doing what you’re doing. And it’s fun, making videos, and you say they’re good, though I don’t really believe you.”

“They’re good,” Phil said bracingly. He held his tongue about Hello Internet. He, personally, loved seeing anything Dan made, editing mistakes and awkwardness and all. And Phil had no doubt that Dan would grow into his channel. He’d already shared some of his best ideas with Phil, and Phil knew they’d be good.

Dan gave him a small smile. “I know you think so. No one else will, though, it’s like – it’s the same with everything, really.”

Phil’s forehead creased. “What’s the same with everything?”

“The same as, like, everything.” Dan’s voice had lowered, and he was speaking faster. Phil had to duck closer to catch every word. “You always think what I think, and that’s amazing, but does it really matter if no one else thinks it too?”

Phil had a feeling they weren’t just talking about Dan’s videos anymore.

“Like, if it’s just something the two of us know,” Dan continued, falling into his stride, “Then what’s to say it’s even true? Or real? It might just be the two of us making stuff up to feel better about ourselves.”

Phil thought that over carefully, squeezing Dan’s fingers in his before he answered. “If the two of us agree on something, then that makes it real for us.”

“Yeah, but like, that’s not the same as objectively real,” Dan argued, his expression twisted up. “What if there’s nothing objectively real about any of it? What if we’re just lying to ourselves to make it feel better?”

“We’re not talking about your videos anymore, are we,” Phil asked gently.

Dan turned to him, his face all scrunched up. He let out a little, defeated sigh. “I guess not, no.”

Phil squeezed his fingers, then dropped Dan’s hand in favour of offering him an arm to curl up under. Dan did so, burrowing under Phil’s shoulder and laying his head against Phil’s chest.

Phil pressed his face into Dan’s hair. It was quiet out here, away from the noise of the gathering, easier for Phil to unwind. He didn’t feel tense, not when Dan was in his arms and they were finally talking. He wanted to learn every little piece of Dan, eventually, to figure out why he sometimes went quiet and sometimes closed off. Phil wanted to learn how to round off those sharp edges, how to get Dan to smile his wide, crinkly-eyed grin more and more often.

“Is it that important to you?” Phil murmured eventually, his arm tight and warm around Dan. “What other people think?”

Dan let out a low sigh. Instead of answering, he said, “My mum asked if I was off to see my boyfriend again today.”

Phil blinked. “Oh?”

“I told her no,” Dan said a little savagely. “Because you’re not. Are you?”

Phil swallowed. His throat was stuck.

“She had enough trouble understanding when I told her I liked boys and girls,” Dan mumbled into Phil’s shirt, not lifting his head. He was almost trembling against Phil. “She does get it, though. Sort of. She’s just about there. I can’t – I can’t tell her something else on top of all that, when – she had enough difficulty with that, I can’t just throw something else at her—”

“It’s alright,” Phil soothed, rubbing his hand slowly up-and-down against Dan’s arm.

“It isn’t, though.” Dan shook his head against Phil’s chest, warmth moving. “I don’t know what to tell her. What to tell anyone. Those people in there—” he gestured back over to the gathering, not moving away from Phil, “—They all think they know, too, because I was stupid and used dailybooth the way everyone else was using it—”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Dan,” Phil murmured.

“There is,” Dan answered savagely. “There is, because I hate it, I hated every second of it, and with you I finally felt like – like maybe there’s another option—”

“There is,” Phil promised, and wrapped both arms tight around Dan. “I told you, I don’t like any of that stuff either.”

“And I believe you,” Dan reassured, sniffling. “But what if the rest of the world doesn’t?”

Phil bit his lip and held Dan tight. His head was pressed into Phil’s shoulder, and Phil kept him there for a moment, squeezing so tight in case it might help hold Dan together. Everything felt easier when he had Dan in his arms – easier, and right. There couldn’t be anything wrong with it. Dan’s fears, his insecurities – Phil had heard them all before, from his own head, all throughout uni up until he’d decided it just wasn’t worth it. But then along came Dan, and now—

Now, Phil thought both of them could finally be safe from all that.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Phil answered softly after a long moment of silence. “What everyone else thinks. It doesn’t matter, because I have you, by some miracle – and you’re the same as me.”

Dan let out a low, disbelieving laugh. He clutched tight at Phil, clinging on, and Phil let him and held him back. Dan was quivering, all his nervous energy from earlier rippling through him in slow, continual shudders.

Phil held him close and closed his eyes, and drank in all that was Dan.

“I guess I’m just insecure, still,” Dan mumbled eventually, drawing back from Phil to bump their shoulders together again instead. “Everyone’s reading into things between us. I don’t know what to tell them.”

“Honestly? I don’t, either,” Phil confessed quietly. “I think my mum’s thinking something similar to yours. Hasn’t asked me yet, but – well. I don’t often skype someone for five hours every day.”

Dan bit back a smile. He sent Phil an almost-shy glance. “Same.”

Phil grinned.

Dan reached between them and caught Phil’s hand in his, linking their fingers together again. “I’m just – I worry that maybe this is something we’ve just made up. Like, is there anyone else even remotely like us out there? Being… together, without being together, you know?”

“I know,” Phil answered, squeezing Dan’s hand. “And I’m not sure. Maybe, somewhere out there on the internet. We could do some googling.”

“I might do that,” Dan answered thoughtfully, glancing up at the sky.

Phil watched him closely, tracing his expressions. He’d already picked up from their conversations that Dan stayed up in his head a lot, that he liked knowing his place in the universe, where he fit in with everything else. Phil could see why this might matter to him slightly more than it did to Phil.

But still, Phil had to check. “You’re happy though, right?”

Dan blinked, glancing over at Phil with a questioning look.

Phil bit his lip, squeezed his fingers in Dan’s. “About us, I mean. Us being – whatever we are. You’re happy?”

Dan looked at Phil for another moment, and then he broke out into a smile. His proper, crinkly-eyed smile. “So you get insecure too, huh? Never would have guessed it.”

“Shut up,” Phil muttered, shoving at his side.

Dan chuckled. He leaned into Phil. “To answer your question – yes, Phil. Of course I’m happy. You’re amazingphil, and I don’t even have to try and be something I’m not with you. That’s amazingly refreshing.”

Phil grinned. “Isn’t it.” He could empathise with that all too well – no longer having to push himself to be something he wasn’t, to feel something he couldn’t. This way, he got Dan, and he didn’t even have to do anything other than be himself. It felt too good to be true.

Dan smiled back at him, but then his face grew more serious. “But you don’t mind if I – if I don’t call you my boyfriend? I just – that’s so—” he screwed his face up.

“I know,” Phil reassured, feeling the familiar twisting of his insides at the word. Dan wasn’t his boyfriend. Dan was everything but his boyfriend – something sweeter, something warmer. Something safer and better.

“I’m going to find something to call you, though,” Dan said determinedly, “Because I need a way to tell the rest of the world to keep their hands off.”

Phil snorted. “Don’t worry, you’ve done that well enough on Twitter.”

“Not well enough to some of the people in there,” Dan muttered darkly, and wrapped a hand around Phil’s waist again. He leaned in close, resting his head on Phil’s shoulder. “You’re definitely spoken for, Phil Lester.”

Phil didn’t bother biting back his smile this time. He just let it grow, spreading across his face, and leaned his head against Dan’s.

[old-long-john]

(1/8)Oh my good golly gosh darn, Laura!!!! I would drown in your words if I could. That bit from your unfinished fic, I'm in awe. I am completely smitten with your interpretation of Silver. I wish I could articulate a response to your answers besides !!!!! (Also you're a saint for humoring me.) I could listen and talk to you about John Silver all day. You touched on some really good points in previous answers that I didn't acknowledge, so I'd like to address some of them now because wow.

You do such a good job unpacking the minutiae in each scene, but then I feel the need to further explicate your meta because you bring up so many brilliant points. 1.“Funny that Silver’s learnt so much shit from Flint, except that allowing yourself to be blinded to rationality and truths is a ruinous mistake.” God this ties in so well to our discussion of Silver believing his own bullshit. It’s almost as though he learned the wrong lesson from Flint and became more accomplished at lying to himself as the story goes on. Or perhaps those untruths just kept piling up. 

So very true. Honestly, I think so much of it is due to Silver letting himself get too comfortable in the little bubble he’d created for himself. And I feel so awful for him, because it was always going to have to pop in the end. He’s always been so good at reading people and at manipulating situations for his own gain, and he seemed to be incredibly honest with himself (and others) about his own failings and limitations, and those things are fine when nobody depends on you and you don’t depend on anybody else. But as soon as he developed loyalties and relationships, and with them wants and needs that he couldn’t provide for himself alone (love and friendship and respect), it suddenly wasn’t very convenient to be honest with himself about his own shortcomings or the things which the only two members of the John Silver’s People Club would value as more important than him. Because I completely believe he valued(/still values?) them more than anything else in the entire world. It’s such a horrible imbalance to face honestly and accept.

2.“Not much slips by Flint” lmao except a big cache full of gems on his own damn ship. Sorry I just had to bring that up. I feel like that was one of those leaps of faith the show expects us to take, and I just can’t. I still can’t believe Flint didn’t know the cache was on board the Walrus.

Mm, I know what you mean. Though I can make it work in my own head. Flint is such a micro-manager, but he has been far more relaxed this season in general. I mean, he went off on his little Fortress B&B break with Eleanor and trusted Silver to make everything work in his absence, with no plan given. But that’s part of the problem. Even if Silver was wrong about Flint’s investment in their friendship, and in his assertion that it was only a convenience insofar as it helped him to use Silver to have things done his way…Flint kind of still did that, a little bit. Flint loves him, I have no doubt, but he put so much faith in the idea that Silver would see his way as right and fall in line that it made him blind to the daylight that was growing between them. He was still doing it on that damn island when he was talking to Dooley. I can buy that he didn’t know the chest was on board, because he truly hadn’t made room in his head for the possibility that Silver would go against him in that way. So he let his plan fall into place, as his plans always fell into place with Silver by his side, without noticing that Silver wasn’t with him in the way he thought. Poor Flint. Like we said, speaking of masters of blinding oneself to dangerous truths…

3.“I wonder though how much he was motivated by pride in that moment, or anger, or even just vulnerability.” Honestly Laura just let me rEST. You have a Flint-like way of cutting straight to the heart of a scene or action. We (you) covered Silver’s vulnerability (god so vulnerable–remember when he left the hilltop when Flint asked about his past? He sounded SO young and broken as he went gosh. I’m pretty emotional over his emotions.) but I really want to address the others. Because I actually had some thoughts concerning his pride. He always made a point to set himself apart from the men and claim freedom from Flint’s influence (“You will account for me;” “I don’t believe in him”). I think once there was a break in their relationship (once daylight could seep between them) all Billy’s and Hands’s warnings fueled his determination perhaps to disprove them or maybe just to prove to himself that he can still hold his own with Flint and not be moved, even to the point of ignoring logic (John, why :’( ). And I’m thinking these conflicting, complex emotions feed into each other? Like maybe the anger also stems from the vulnerability, the perceived betrayal–is a reaction to being hurt. Anger is an easy emotion, and to someone who is new to emotions like Silver, I imagine it’s simpler to embrace. I mean, remember his face at the end of the episode? He’s so in love (romantic, platonic, whatever I don’t care); he’s in awe of this thing between them. This is his first (at least that we see) important relationship. The feelings are mutual, that’s what he says, and for him to feel like Flint broke his first foray into attachment, of course he’s going to be hurt. 

I suddenly have that scene from Pride and Prejudice playing in the back of my mind and it’s the worst. (”Perhaps these offences might have been overlooked had not your pride been hurt by my honesty…”, “My pride?”, “…in admitting scruples about our relationship…”, “…from the first moment I met you, your arrogance and conceit, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others made me realise that you were the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.” *cue sexual tension so thick you could spread it on toast*) Oh, pride. You know, come to think of it, we were told right at the beginning of the episode that pride should not be a thing that ought to come between them at this point, and I imagine that wasn’t accidental. 

I think you’re completely right about the influence of Billy and Hands’s words. However that pride is framed (either being for Silver’s own peace of mind, or to prove the point to them), having that ‘mistake’ seen by them, and commented on constantly, must have had some effect on his impulse to prove he could even the score and show just how very invulnerable he really was to Flint. I think he’s probably almost as angry with them for pointing it out and making it ‘a thing’ as he is with Flint for giving rise to it. I’ve wondered a lot, actually, just how this season would have gone without the corrupting influence of Hands. He really has been an evil little snake, whispering the things that should only ever have been thought by Silver, not said aloud. I suppose that was his purpose really. To give voice to those things that we as the audience needed to hear, but which wouldn’t normally be spoken. He’s almost been as much a narrative device to show Silver’s state of mind as those S3 dreams were for Flint. 

What you say about Silver’s complex emotions feeding into easier ones, like anger, sounds exactly right too. I’ve been kind of viewing Silver as a bit of a teenager in a lot of respects this season, and that fits in with that view. Flint was totally his first foray into attachment, yeah, and Silver does definitely love him in his way - he’s basically experiencing his first break up, and it’s a brutal, world-shattering one. He’s so inexperienced with feelings (seemingly deliberately, as one of those suddenly inconvenient lines of defence - fuck do I empathise with him there), and so like a teenager his reaction to big feelings that he doesn’t know how to quantify or cope with is to boil them down to easier ones, like anger and hurt, and to express them through spite and cruelty and self-pity. He’s a goddamn mess, but I don’t think he’d know how to stop everything from spiralling, even if he wanted to. Flint might though, if he’d only stop raging long enough to listen to him. 

(And don’t even get me started on Luke Arnold and his freakish ability to de-age himself by about 10 years in the blink of an eye. He’s looked and sounded so young several times this season, and every single time it’s broken me. I could write a whole essay just on that.)

One final thought I had regarding the narrative of Flint and Silver’s relationship is that though they frame it as the war vs Madi, as soon as Flint took the cache, the conflict became him vs Madi. And the fandom had some compelling arguments that the writers weren’t going to be that predictable, but they really were and. That’s probably the most disappointing. Like I didn’t find the episode disappointing but this season as a whole, while not bad, has not been up to parr. Anyway sorry for the incoherent jumble. But I truly love how you process Silver. 

I’ve had this thought too. All of last week I was worrying that there would be no rug-pull and that their division really would be as simple as it seemed, and I was ready to be so disappointed by that…but then episode 9 was so damn good that I kind of forgot to be annoyed. And I still can’t quite find it in me to pick holes yet. I don’t know how it will all stand up to rewatches, but I agree with you, I think. In comparison to most tv, S4 has still been something special (in my eyes), but there have definitely been things that seemed a little rushed or contrived. I suppose the writers felt that they didn’t have enough story left for two more seasons, but what they had was still too much for just one. Perhaps a final season of 12 or 15 episodes would have worked a little better, and given all the storylines and relationships a little more space to breathe. As it stands though, the thing I’ve always loved most about this show is the characters, and I think for the most part they’ve been as well written and thoughtfully developed this season as in the past three, so I’m willing to overlook a few more bumps in the storytelling than normal. And I’m just so glad that the pieces have finally fallen into place for everyone else to ‘see’ Silver again too, because it’s started to feel a little lonely in the John Silver Defence Squad lately. 

This got ENORMOUS. But I’ve had fun answering it! I am not ready to let these pirates go. :( I think they’re going to live in my head for a very, very long time. (I’m at least 40% John Silver at this point. Maybe more.) Someone carve ‘Know no shame’ on my tombstone, please.

[nancylou444]

This was submitted to me:

I’m copying and pasting it here, to make it ‘anon’, and to protect those involved.

Why I hate Misha Collins

Nancy, 

I often read your blog because you accept all opinions, even those you don’t agree with. It’s one of the only places I feel that is true. I’m sharing the following story with you because I think it’s important. It’s my truth and it infuriates me how excusatory Misha’s fans are. I can’t be exusatory about him, not anymore. I think you’ll see why after you read this. You don’t have to share it, but I felt like you would…like to know? I guess? Know that you are not imagining things, that your instincts about the man are spot on. If you do share it, I hope you’ll do so behind a read more. I’m sure that the haters (as I mention) will have a quick and visceral reaction. Thankfully my friend, whose story I’m sharing, will never know. I just needed to get it all off my chest.

There are many out there who hate Misha Collins because of Destiel or his obnoxious fans or even simply because he does and says problematic things.

There are many out there who love Misha Collins, because it’s popular to do so right now, because they feel like he “cares” about them personally, because they think that he’s “one of them”…a misfit, an outcast, a weirdo. (All incredibly ironic, considering he doesn’t actually seem to be any of those things; a large segment of the entertainment and media industry routinely portray him as a handsome, articulate, humorous man. For hits? Probably. But they certainly aren’t portraying him as a weird social outcast, now, are they?)

I would wager almost none of these people who profess he’s a “literal angel” actually know Misha Collins. Follow him on twitter? Sure. Paid money to meet him or get a photo at a con where he has additionally been paid a large sum of money to be exactly who you want him to be? Maybe. That thirty-five seconds doesn’t give you enough information to make an informed or accurate depiction of the real man, however. And neither does any random blog of a “hater”.

I hate Misha Collins for none of the reasons stated above. I hate Misha Collins because I have witnessed his treatment of someone I love, and it was dismissive, disdainful, terrible.  We will call her Jane.

Jane worked for Random Acts for a long time, and in that time accomplished some pretty amazing things. Probably some things we’re at least familiar with or maybe even used. Those of you who are going to call me just a “hater”, do the research. The Random Acts staff has almost entirely changed in the past year. Friends, that’s not normal. If it was a great place to work, people would stay. Let’s just say it’s not a coincidence the entire staff is different than it was a year ago. We’re not talking about one or two disgruntled employees; we’re talking about more than a dozen. More than a dozen(!) people left their position in very recent months, but not all of them left without trying to fix things, or trying to make it better.

Jane was one of those people. Jane spoke to Misha about what it was like, what his infamous “kindness organization” was really perpetuating behind the scenes. Misha didn’t care; and not only did he not care, he refused to recognize the enormity of losing someone like Jane. (Ok that’s my personal bias, but…) Someone with absolutely no motive –Jane had already quit—was trying to help, offering a rare glimpse from someone who had already devoted hundreds of hours of her personal time to accomplish his mission. Someone literally doing his work for him. No recognition for her efforts or years of service would be forthcoming, nor any acknowledgement of the many positive changes and examples of her work ethic and dedication. Believe me, I waited. I waited for him to acknowledge…something. He never did, and I find that ridiculous and unforgiveable.

Needless to say, Jane was devastated when he blew her off. She was disillusioned by a man she had formerly admired, but also by the people she left behind who were apparently so afraid of losing his favor they chose to remain silent rather than step in as member after member left or was forced out of the organization. (I told her she set the bar for character far too high for these people…she called me a cynic. This is our relationship, in a nutshell).

Did Misha dismiss Jane’s story simply because it was easier than listening? Did he receive a sordid tale behind her back from the source of the problems? Likely. But what of the dozens who also left under eerily similar circumstances, both before and after? At what point does he stop and look around and say: Wait. This doesn’t add up. I’m smarter than this. (He is, right?) And more importantly: Why would a person (or multiple people) who had dedicated that much time and energy to build the organization up, do anything to tear it apart? It would be self-defeating, ridiculous, nonsensical.

Jane and Misha spoke one last time, or rather Jane spoke and Misha chose not to respond. She is a beautiful, kind, giving individual, who has lived some of those dire circumstances Random Acts’ talks about in their blog posts and tumblr updates. Some of those dire circumstances Misha himself claims as his own personal history. (Irony.)

Jane still serves others, so at least she hasn’t let this experience sour her completely. It has definitely made her more cautious though, and that evolution has been hard to watch. Jane’s own story is one that would break your heart. She knows depression, anxiety, poverty, and death. She knows the bleak side of life’s cruelty and has faced her own demons. Exasperated, hurt, and confused by Misha’s careless treatment of her, she eventually made the decision to share her personal history with him, one last attempt to reconcile the truth, because no one had afforded her that opportunity before.

He ignored her.

In that random, brutal way life has, Jane would suffer a devastating tragedy shortly after that, one I doubt she ever recovers from, and even though she had been a longtime and faithful employee of this kindness organization, she and her family were patently ignored by them during that extremely difficult time. I don’t know how you can reconcile that, except to conclude these are the actions of petty, vindictive, childish people, people who would sooner be ignorant than cognizant of their own behavior, and would sooner act self-congratulatory than put forth a hand of love and giving. If I were ever face to face with any one of them I would ask: How can you look at yourself in the mirror and continue to pretend? How does every kind thing you promote not haunt you? How do you not recognize your own spiteful segregation and discrimination? How can you ever call yourself kind or good?

I hate Misha Collins, not for any printed reason, or any show related cause, not for any fan activity or problematic tweet. I hate Misha Collins because he is the worst kind of person, the kind who wears two faces, and the private one is the ugliest of all.

Misha treated Jane this way because there was no risk involved. He knows no one “important” would ever believe Jane, not over him, he has too many fans and his voice is too large. He rests comfortably in the knowledge that even if someone like me, small, unknown, and anonymous, shares her story it will be dismissed. The haters will come forward en masse to defend him, to defend Random Acts, and to tear both me and Jane apart. Even though the evidence is there if you look for it.

I hate Misha Collins because he hides behind a veil of benevolence, and doesn’ t have the balls to admit when he is wrong, when he has wronged. He won’t take responsibilities for his (or his organization’s) actions, even when they have done their damnedest to cause harm.

To cause harm.

Think about that. They willfully caused harm to an individual who had never been anything other than an asset to them, and Misha abetted that. Complacency is no defense. He had something good and wonderful, someone who deserved better, someone who has suffered the worst life can hand her, and he chose to give her another lesson in duplicity and faithlessness instead.

So, I hate Misha Collins for Jane. And for all the Jane’s that we will never know.

—————————————————————

For ‘anon’ and Jane:

Take care. xoxoxo

[conflictandscotchblog]

BIG MISTAKE

As I have mentioned in various parts of this blog, I received an engraved ipad with a personalized case from dozens of sorority sisters and friends. After all that has gone on with our struggles, I have been fairly open about it. I joined facebook just last year  because I needed a writing outlet and it was easier than verbally updating everyone.  When I miscarried in June, I immediately (as I mentioned earlier) booked an appointment  with a therapist. I felt it would not hurt. I had no idea what emotions would unfold after this latest failure. He had suggested I write. I have always loved to write. When my mom died, I wrote. I am seeing similar grieving patterns now that we lost our daughter as when I lost  my mom. Writing previously helped me. Why not give it a try? The problem is that I am  online all day for work. The last thing I want to do is fire up the 1995 computer we have  when I get home. I think I could turn it on, run a marathon, and it would still be warming  up when I returned home. Then, one night, I posted on my facebook page, “Dear Santa: I  want an ipad and a trip to Utah this year for Christmas.” It was meant to be facetious,  jovial and I never intended anyone to do anything about it (but I would not have been  hating on some hints to the husband from my friends). “He knows when you are sleeping,  he knows when you’re awake” kind of makes you want a restraining order, yes? 

 One week ago today, I was, surprise, at work all day. My husband said he was taking the  day off to help clean the house. So sweet. Then he sent me a text that I got a FedEx.  Odd. Why would he send me a text about that? Not exactly breaking news that I had  received a package. I had half a mind to tell him to open it, but then realizing I had not  ordered anything, my police wife mind thought, what if it is a bomb? So, I just responded  okay to his text.

 I left work at 4:00 and had a long commute and a million errands to run. My friend  “Mulligan” was coming in to town. If nothing else, I like to be a good hostess. I had to mail my nephew’s birthday gift (a Reds “Votto” jersey – holla!), get gas in the car, drop off a donation of old clothes, stop at Target to buy towels for the pool, go grocery shopping  and stop at the liquor store to stock up on some beer (not in that order). I sent Mulligan a  text asking her what kind of booze she wanted for the weekend. Yeungling Light. Noooo  problem. Meanwhile, I am getting all these texts asking if I am home yet. Nope. Not yet. 

 At 7:30, I enter the house with about 35 bags, my purse, my keys, and my phone. My  hands were full and as soon as I enter the house, my husband is waiving a box in my  face. I had not even put my bags down. “What did you get from FedEx? Open it. Open it.”  I was hot and exhausted and the messy house should have been my first clue that my  husband clearly did not take the day off to clean the house. He seemed so anxious I  thought maybe he had bought a bomb and was waiting for me to open it? I drop the bags  on the floor and hunt down the kitchen scissors. I open the box and there it is. A white  box with black “IPAD” staring back at me. I began to cry. I even now tear up as I write  this. I turned to my husband, completely clueless and ask, “What did you do?” He  responds, “I did not do anything. Call Deirdre.” “Why do you have Deirdre’s number?” My  husband, “We are having an affair. Call Deirdre.” Deirdre is my very best friend in the  whole wide world. I have 4-5 best friends, but she is my “go to” best friend. The cream of  the crop. We were in the same pledge class in our sorority. Deirdre is the friend I talk to  for hours and when I get the enormous phone bill, I pick up the phone and call her  despite the large bill to tell her how expensive the bill is. My mom would always say she  could tell when I was on the phone with Deirdre because all my mom would hear on my  end is laughter. I call Deirdre crying and say when she answers, “What did you do?”  Deirdre laughs that infectious, wonderful laugh and says something to the effect that she  did not do anything. Becky and Mulligan started this a week or so ago. She said I had like  forty (40) sorority sisters all waiting online on facebook for me to post something. And  then she says, “Of all days for you to run a marathon of errands!” 

 I post a completely inadequate thank you on facebook, still not knowing who all is  involved in this overwhelmingly thoughtful and moving gift. Becky then lets me in on this  thread of ongoing conversations from the idea of giving me an ipad completely through to  them all wondering why I was not home yet. Turns out, they contacted my husband (who  had been thwarting my attempts to buy an ipad repeatedly, and now I know why) and he  was home to sign for the ipad. I sat down and read all 87 pages of messages that night. I  was up until 10:30 or 11:00, which is way past this early to bed, early to rise girl’s  bedtime. I was and still am moved beyond words. My sorority sisters and friends, for the  past week without my knowledge, were writing things about me, what I have done for  them in the past, that I am amazing and inspiring, that they wanted to do something for  me given all we have gone through on the fertility and adoption journey. The messages  also made me laugh. At one point, as they are waiting for me to get home for the “big  reveal”, Becky wrote, “How much booze is she buying you, Mulligan?” I especially liked  the one digression in the messages, “Can you believe Kristen Stewart cheated on Rob?”  One sister wrote something to the effect of my children are starving, waiting for dinner, as  mommy sits on the computer waiting for IE’s reaction. Where is she? [Sidebar: They call  me IE. My name is Kellie, with an IE. This stems from when a certain college boy, who  shall remain nameless, met me and asked for my phone number in 1992. He wrote down  KELLY and my number on a piece of paper. You know, the old fashioned way, before  inputting people's numbers in your cell phone. I saw that and said, "No, it is Kellie with an  IE." He replied, "IE? That is like spelling Susie S-O-O-Z-I-E. OK. Well, IE it is then. I will  give you a call IE." For some reason, it stuck. 18 years later, I am still IE. That explains  the IE on the top of my blog.] 

 As I sat there and read these messages, I laughed and I cried. I am and was so touched.  This really, really got me. I did not think I mattered. No offense to my wonderful, charming  brother Colin and my dad (I affectionately call them the two boobs – which they will now  find out as I write this), but when my affectionate, kissy, complimentary mom died, I am  kind of left with an occasional pat on the back from the two boobs. If I want to see them, I  have to fly to see them. They don’t visit very often. They both have their own businesses  and sometimes I can erroneously take this personally and feel a bit unloved since my  biggest cheerleader has been in heaven for 18 years. I think even Colin will admit that  Mom sort of ruled the roost when it came to affection…and keeping us in line. She  proposed to my dad, just like I did to my husband (more on that later). Nothing personal  toward my dad, but Colin and I are very loving, emotional, giving and affectionate people  and I would strongly venture a guess that we inherited or learned that from my mom. I  inherited my work ethic, humor, being a morning person and my conservative nature from  my father. When I sent my dad a text about the ipad gift his response was: Can they send  your father one? I prefer to think I have a nice parental balance and I received the best of  both of them. My brother’s wife asked me once, “What was your mom like?” I said, “You  married it.” :) 

 The day I received this generous gift and read all those funny and loving messages is by  far one of the best days of my life. I felt loved. Loved in a way I had not actually, truly felt  in a long, long time. Don’t get me wrong. I feel loved by very few people in my life, my  husband being one of those very special few, but I can count the compliments on one  hand that he has said to me in twelve years. What is great about that though is that I can  remember every one of them and when my husband pays me a compliment, it is rare and  genuine. However, we Capricorns need constant reassurance that we are loved, kind,  pretty, etc. We may seem as strong as a keg of nails, but I also can be extremely  sensitive and insecure. I don’t want anyone to blow smoke, but I take notice when I get a  kind word or gesture. It makes my day and touches my heart in a way that is never  forgotten. One friend just said to me today, “You are by far and away one of the most nice  and normal persons in my entire life.” He has seen a lot of dysfunctional women in his  life, so I think I just smell like a rose by default. 

 After reading all the messages, I was so excited. I could not wait to tell my therapist about  the gift and the blog. As I sat in his office and told him this story, I again started to tear up.  He said something like, “This really got you”, sort of gesturing to his heart. In a word, YES.  I am a giver. I love to give others. I do. At Christmas, my joy is in making someone  happy with something thoughtful. When I have a guest at my home, I want to make them  feel comfortable and loved. I like to do random acts of kindness because it makes ME  feel good. It makes me think that my mom would be proud of me for going out of my way  to do something thoughtful or kind for someone, even if it is a tiny gesture and especially  if it is a stranger. It makes me think about when my mom said, “I should have had 10 of  you.” I choose to think she did not mean 10 girls or 10 children. She meant 10 of me. 10  Kellie’s. 10 IE’s. At one point during hell week in my sorority, I was tired and I said to my  mom, “I think I may want to quit the sorority.” I will never forget her two word, angry  response…BIG MISTAKE. 

 My therapist then said to me, and I won’t be able to articulate this as well as he did, that  sometimes the gift is in receiving. Since I am a giver, imagine what it would be like if all  those people I want to help or have helped said no thank you. That would sort of rob me  of the joy of giving. In receiving those messages and the ipad, I gave a whole boatload of  important people in my life a moment to feel really, really good about what they did. What  they did for me was unbelievable. They gave me love when I needed it most. And for  that, my friends and sisters, I can honestly say 1,000 thank you’s. I have a fortune cookie  message taped to my desk that has been with me for years. It reads, “Your good deeds  will never be forgotten.” Know I feel that about each and every one of you. My mom was  right. It would have been a BIG MISTAKE. 

 Thanks for reading. IE over and out. Socks ;). 

First published: Thursday, August 09, 2012    

To Read More of KLC’s work, click here

Photo by Marek Levák on Unsplash

[shawnjacksonsbs]

The only difference between a good day and a bad day, is you.    2-3-19

“Ego is just like dust in the eyes. Without clearing the dust, we can’t see anything clearly, so clear the ego and see the world.” - Anonymous And life really is just a series of opportunities to get over yourself. It's my food for thought for this last week. Two different times this week my stress level was high enough to relieve my mind of rational thought, even for a brief moment in time. The first little snippet was toward the beginning of the week. It manifested as a highly intimate form of frustrated tension, which was handled in a manner suited for the situation. Lol The second and probably more important time was the other evening and lasted overnight. My mind is still kind of reeling as I try to articulate my thoughts to words. One of my sons is in trouble again. It happened, like I said, the other day. I don't know much except he's in Kansas and one of the charges is some type of assault on law enforcement.  Granted, there is probably way more to the story. I'm not going to start bad mouthing cops, but most of you already know how I feel. They do shit all the time to bring on more, and/ or escalate things, ( if you've never been on either side, then you really don't have a valid argument, to me at least, inside here especially because I fucking have seen it happen too many times to count), but . . . Regardless of all that, rightness or exaggeratedness, it's on him. He put himself back in this kind of situation. I'm at an impasse now and tough love is about all I can afford anyone anyway. The other help I gave him, whether he was sincere about or not (which I believe he whole-heartedly was at the time), is mostly lost. I don't have any new money to help if I was willing to again. I will always feel some responsibility for how the lives of my adult children turned out, but I have come to realize that just because I share in the responsibility doesn't necessarily mean that I get to share in the solution. Mind you, it's not from lack of trying. This whole thing took a minute to accept. It's definitely a hard truth to swallow. Maybe, just maybe it really is something he's going to have to find on his own. As much pain as that answer causes me, my ego has to let go of the notion that "I am in the problem, so I need to be in the answer". In other words, my . . .guilt, I suppose could be hindering him. Could have been hindering his progression this whole time. I may never know, not really. All I know for sure is that his actions hold consequences the universe will see him through. I just hope my attempts weren't completely in vain. I hope, at the very least, I planted some seeds in that mind of his that will grow large enough to push out some of that nonsense. At the very least, he's safe, alive, and not using drugs while he's in there. Whatever is meant to happen next will happen, therefore, here I sit, helpless, but accepting of the situation as best I can. This still doesn't constitute a bad day for me. I am sure it is or was for him though. I still don't really ever have "bad" days, not really. I mean bad times for me are transitional now. What little bit of negativity occurs in my day to days, still doesn't make for a bad day. Believe me, I have seen bad days. I have lived through many of them and nothing I have been through in the last several years even comes close. Maybe its because my focus is more refined these days. Like, I see what I am supposed to see, finally and with that, it's easier to feel where I am. Darkness can't last forever unless you're dead. I imagine laying down for the night, in a pitch black room, silent and peaceful, then Bamm! The brightest, sharpest direct beam of sunlight to enter the Earth's atmosphere finds its way through a crack in your blinds right into your eyes. It hurts for a minute. It's more than a little uncomfortable. Now choose; Roll over grunting and groaning pulling the blanket over your head to find your way back into the darkness or rub your eyes to an open position, stretch it out, and rip open those blinds to a glorious sunfilled, beautiful world. The perspective ball is in your court. Be miserable if you want to. For me, I've seen both, felt both. I love the light now that I have taken it in. The darkness is still ok mind you, but only in intricate and delicate doses, and definitely not to take up permanent residence in. Moving forward. Now being at the head of this table sometimes means making tough decisions. Holding onto finances so as not to negatively affect other loved ones, etc. The line has to be drawn somewhere, sometime. I still have so much to do, not in like, an overwhelming way either. But enough to know that any more of it, and I'll put myself in a spot that won't be of any use to anyone, and that I may not be able to stay afloat. I didn't move all the way back here just to drown. Hell, I didn't move all the way back here just to tread water for that matter. I have set things in motion to have just enough comfort as I climb into position. I am at the cusp of that still being done. Too much one way or the other I could lose that too. This is me holding on, holding it down, and being persistent. Failing isn't even in my M.O. any more. Gratitude is still becoming, for me anyways. Because I know where I've been, and where I come from. Even my bad days aren't really bad days anymore, remember? I know people think I'm exaggerating, but (knock on wood**as I knock on wood** lol) I don't ever really have bad days anymore. I get that I still could, but it's been a while for real. My changed perspective helps keep my gratitudes in focus. My "bad" days are more like good days with some uncomfortable situation or situations in them. Most of my days aren't even that far gone though. My life is amazing still. I doubt that will change any time soon. I mean, have you even seen my grandkids?? lolol I have too many reasons to be grateful and too much to be thankful for. I mean, I get to be in this day. With the life I lived before, how could I not feel grateful every single day. I wish I could share more than the words. I think if I had one wish it would be to share some of what I feel in my heart with everyone in the world. I sincerely feel like too many of you just don't get it. Remember to share the love and the laughter with the world around you and please, please be kind to one another. Keep my family in your thoughts as we work through our issues. Until next week; "There is nothing more difficult to take in hand, more perilous to conduct, or more uncertain in its success, than to take the lead in the introduction of a new order of things." - Niccolo Machiavelli