#really do not enjoy being plagues by thoughts that are telling me i am unworthy of love and friendship and that everyone secretly hates me

[scent1st]

feeling intense imposter syndrome rn. think it's because my birthday is coming up soon.

[kisara-kaiba]

OKAY THE KINKY BLUES HAS ME INTRIGUED PLEAAASE HEAR ME OUT ON SUGGESTIONS/BRAINSTORMING/HOPES/DREAMS. alright so it cant be in Temptation, the kink requires its own pocket dimension, first of all. as the biggest fanboygirl of their cycle of dominance and submission im gonna start off with that. a really fun and naturally flowing dom-sub dynamic for them is born in ancient egypt. if set put her aside as his property and tried to experiment with her ka with slowly increasing pressure whilr kisara was like "this kind man who saved me twice feeds me and shelters me who cares if hes tying me down and writing spells on my skin lol" it goes apeshit from there. TWO-this can be from many modern aus with little work, basically an in love blueship that seemlessly slipped into a dom-sub dynamic consciously switching it up a lil. whether that has seto giving orders while tied up on his knees or kisara begging to tie him up would be..that would go BRRRR. THREE. biting kink. straight up. no notes. id be fine with a 400 word introspective of either of one of them watching the bite marks they left on the other and their feelings about it. id settle. itd be enough.

how we feeling. any of thesr sound desirable. wanna brainstorm more. ill come knocking at your door like an unhinged mormon. anyway wanna tell you regardless, absolutely no pressure what you may or may not end up writing i just wanted to yell at someone about kinky blues, have a great day

S C R E E C H I NG this is why ily blueshipping king you just get my vision <333 that ancient Egypt idea has got me going f e r a l just thinking about it and i’ve thought for so long that i should write some mizushipping at some point anyway so yesssss. also biting is uh. yes please.

anyway okay now you got me started so strap in because this is gonna be a long ramble. so i feel like there’s several points about how i imagine their dynamic that i have to unpack here (putting it under a cut bc length or if ppl are uncomfy with this stuff)

↓↓↓

i am unfortunately boring in the way that i’ll ultimately always wanna write Seto as the dominant one just bc of my own personal preferences. BUT that obv doesn’t mean Kisa wouldn’t have a fair amount of control over the situation, both bc a healthy dom/sub dynamic requires it in terms of consent and boundaries ofc, but also bc a) Seto is so extreme in his need for Kisara’s explicit permission to do basically anything to her (even the vanilla stuff) because he’s so painfully precious about her well-being and also constantly plagued by not feeling worthy of her and b) while i think Kisa wants to be dominated i think she also realllly enjoys the control of knowing she’s got Seto wrapped around her little finger and could make him do any depraved thing she wants to her just by looking at him in the right way. so yeah i think they both know who’s really in control behind the scenes lol

i’m also DYING to get into Seto’s inevitable mental struggle to reconcile his thoughts and feelings of “she is a perfect goddess and i’m a mere mortal unworthy of even looking at her let alone touch her” and “i’d die to protect her and if anyone hurts her i’ll fucking kill them” vs his desire to be the one who gets to take this perfect goddess and make her submit to him, kneel before him, own and control and ruin her perfectly (because if there’s one thing we all know about Seto Kaiba is that he’ll make sure the divine yields to him, and not the other way around). I guess the key things there is that he alone is allowed to hurt her and no one else.

On this note i do however think Seto would be so conflicted about physically hurting Kisa, even if she very clearly and explicitly wants him to, because he just struggles with being so overprotective of her and not wanting to see her injured or in pain. but this would also be delicious to write him being all conflicted due to the guilt of causing her pain vs the fact that doing so is super fucking hot and he can’t resist doing it, esp not when she’s literally begging him to. Taking all of his frustrations after a long day out on her more than willing body would be so cathartic and tempting but also associated with so much guilt and worry about getting too into it and going too far.

I also definitely see Kisa as being the more extreme of them, to the point where i can actually see her be just a little bit unhealthily masochistic because she doesn’t really value herself due to past trauma, giving her a self-destructive streak and kinda fucked-up notions along the lines of ultimately being deserving of pain and suffering, that someone hurting her equals caring about her and wanting her, and that the ultimate thing she can do to show someone that she really loves and trusts them is to just offer herself up completely to use and do whatever they want to, which Seto would have to try to handle and mitigate because he’s ultimately not gonna let her use him to actually really hurt herself (and you know it would also break his heart a thousand times over to realise just how little she values and cares about herself due to her fucked up past). But I could also write it kinda funny in that whole “sub suggesting increasingly violent/fucked up things while the dom goes ‘idk that’s scary’” lmao. I think Kisa is a bit annoyed that people (especially Seto) tend to see her as this fragile, porcelain flower and wants to prove that she is perfectly capable of taking a (consensual) beating.

Outside of strictly sexual stuff i can also see Kisa as very much an ‘everyday/domestic acts of service’ kinda sub who just wants to bring Seto his coffee when he’s working and a drink when he comes home from work and make sure to always wash and iron his clothes and put them out before he leaves in the morning, tying his tie before he leaves and untying it when he gets home and cooking and serving his meals for him (which tbh wouldn’t just be about her being submissive but also bc she just wants to make sure he actually takes care of himself with like, eating and taking coffee breaks bc you know that man doesn’t take care of himself if left unchecked). And I think this also ties in with her sense of self-worth being tied to being useful and helping others because she doesn’t really see herself as valuable unto herself, but also maybe acts of service is just kinda her “love language” too. i feel like this is the sort of thing i could maybe include in Temptation bc she’s already pretty much like this there, with to me pretty obvious undertones that her working as Seto’s assistant is definitely triggering a submissive side in her.

Temptation also has the whole thing with Seto secretly enjoying Kisa wearing her KaibaCorp pin while working because it marks her as his for the world to see, and I definitely feel like that’d be a thing for him too. Branding her, either by things like visible bite marks/hickeys that she’s not allowed to cover up or something like a discreet necklace that is actually a collar (although tbf, with the fashion we see in the Yugioh universe, would anyone even blink at a BDSM-style collar? Like Yugi’s already wearing fetish gear as his everyday clothes lmao). I mean, Seto’s already pretty big on putting his branding on literally everything, so Kisa would be no exception (also imagine the ridiculous extravagance and amount of money and care Seto would put into a collar for Kisa).

While I’m not really into the idea of Seto being submissive per se, I do think both he and Kisa could easily have praise kinks because they both crave validation in their own ways and for someone to telling them that they’re doing/being good (Seto wouldn’t admit that though, but if I allow for some submissiveness on his part I think being called a good boy could fix him). But with him as the dom it also totally tracks for him to make Kisa worship him and stroke his ego in that way. On that theme, however, I could also imagine him making her allow him to worship her as a kind of ‘punishment’ bc he knows she has a hard time accepting that but that it’s also something that’s good for her to hear.

Also I can totally see Kisa being a little bratty as a sub sometimes because she likes to talk back to Seto and be deliberately cheeky, disrespectful and provocative (both because she enjoys the control of getting him riled up and because she knows that the more she gets him worked up the more forceful and intense he’ll be about putting her back into place afterwards).

Okay so this turned into a fic-chapter length essay about this topic instead of actually writing the fic (bc *ofc* i’d do that) but please lmk what you think!!! (and hopefully i'll use your ideas + my rambling and turn in into fic eventually)

[docmanda]

14 for some xie lian angst? Pretty please? Bonus points for him being trans

@zlodziej-wlasnej-tozsamosci there we go, I wrote a thing :-) it´s long and tumblr´s layout sucks so have a cut and I will post the link for the fic on AO3 too

Plain Brown Rice

Xie Lian should have known that a hydrangea bush would not be enough to conceal him from Hua Cheng for too long, his husband having developed a sixth sense for finding him by now if he even let him out of his sight at all. It was a testament of his bad luck making a reappearence that he had gotten separated from both of his husbands at the same time but this wedding was a big one after all, hundreds of fox spirits milling around the royal gardens of their Queen in a flurry of silks and fluffy tails, celebrating her Highness´beloved granddaughter´s wedding. And of course Hua Cheng would know immediately that he had been crying too, his happy smile at finding him after they had been seperated by the crowd instantly turning into a frown of worry. "Xie Lian..." Hua Cheng´s cold fingers are soft against his face, wiping away the moisture underneath his eye with the utmost care before kissing his cheek, "my love what happened? Why are you crying?" "Ah it´s nothing...", Hua Cheng´s gaze instantly turns hard and hurt, something that made Xie Lian cry never ´nothing´in his book after all and Xie Lian ducks his head slightly, feeling silly all over. "It really is nothing San Lang...I just, came here to be out of the crowd for a moment and overheard some people talking about us and I..." Xie Lian sighs heavily, closing his eyes as he tries to recount what happened for Hua Cheng. They had gotten seperated in the crowd and he had come here to the edge of the gardens in the hope of catching sight of one of his husbands from the outskirts of the wedding party, standing half hidden behind a luscious hydrangea bush, enjoying the scent of the blooming flowers when someone had started speaking on the other side of it. They clearly hadn´t seen him and Xie Lian was about to come out of his accidential hiding place when he heard his name being mentioned and froze. "That so called Dianxia, what´s his name? Xie something? Xie Lian? How boring...you really have to wonder how someone that useless and plain can manage to catch not one, but two supreme Ghost Kings at once. I mean that Kingdom of his has been gone for centuries now right, leaving nothing but rubble. If he wasn´t the one that chanced upon my sweet little niece and freed her from that trap years ago someone like him would never have been invited to her royal wedding like this, having such terrible ancestry. And they call him the scrap collecting God, whatever that is supposed to be...no proper title to his name, no estate, no power to speak of and on top of that he is as plain as rice, boring and bland." There is a giggle, high pitched and cruel. "No, like day old brown rice, boring and bland and ordinary, just good enough for peasants to eat. And surely nothing even close to good enough for the likes of Black Water and Crimson Rain. I mean that Chengzhu always had weird tastes, have you ever been to that town of his? Shameless I tell you. But you would expect more refinement out of someone like Lord Blackwater, he is a scholar after all with a proper education..and I sure as hell wouldn´t mind -him- waiting in my chambers at night I can tell you that." There´s more voices then hers, giggling slightly and suggesting even more unflattering monikers for Xie Lian, making the first one laugh again. The group had moved a little during their tirade and Xie Lian catches a glimpse of a magnificently made up, beautiful five tailed fox woman, covered in layers and layers of exquisite, translucent silks of all colors, sparkling with pearls and jewels and gold from the tip of her perfectly made up hair to her dainty little silk-clad feet and he suddenly wished he had allowed his husbands to make him up like this too, as much as he hated the confinement all that finery would have brought with it. They had put him into robes just as magnificent as this at first, clearly loving to dress him up in jewels and all kind of trinkets...but when it had been time to actually get ready for the wedding what had been waiting for Xie Lian had been two smiling husbands and a set of expertly made, but thankfully plain white robes instead of the finery. There were small, slightly off-white flowers woven into the hem and his sleeves, the same flower a small boy had gifted him so long ago and He Xuan had put his hair up in a simple bun, the crown they gave him plain silver with three small inlays in mother of pearl: The same small flower in the center, flanked by a fish jumping out of a wave and an intricately carved butterfly. His husband´s robes did match his too, He Xuan´s being his customary black with golden waves flowing along the hem and sleeves and Hua Cheng´s bright red, him forgoing his usual silver jewelry for woven, delicate silver butterflies. ´You looked so uncomfortable in all that fancy stuff we thought you might like this better´ and ´You are so beatiful already A-Lian, all this stuff would just make it harder to get it off later..ouch, what was that for Crimson Rain, you know I´m right stop pinching me..´ And Xie Lian had loved every single part of the outfit they gave him, simple but meaningful to the three of them...but some part of him still wishes he would have gone with the more elaborate robes they had prepared for him. At least he wouldn´t feel just as plain as he apparently was, small and unassuming and the part in him that could never stop to wonder -how- he had actually gotten so lucky to have not one, but two people fall in love with him as thoroughly as his husbands had. It was an old wound, but a deep one that feeling of being unworthy of kindness and affection that still plagued him from time to time and  that neither Hua Cheng nor He Xuan had yet managed to erase completely, no matter how much they showed their love for him. Xie Lian´s voice is small, knowing how -silly- the whole notion is, Hua Cheng and He Xuan -love- him, they show him with everything they do and say, a small crystal clear ring and a single, perfect black pearl around his neck the physical evidence of their adoration...and yet, he simply can´t get rid of that feeling of inadequancy. "They said I was plain...like day old brown rice, ordinary and boring. That I´m not good enough for you." "Who said that?" Crimson Rain Sought Flower´s voice is as sharp as his sabre´s blade, promising quick retribution and a painful death to anybody who dares belittle his one God...and even worse, make him cry. His eye scans the crowd as if he can find the perpetrator by pure will alone, killing intent bubbling up around him, making He Xuan look up in sudden alarm, rudely pushing aside a lady who had been trying to talk to him and immediately walking over, his own aura growing dark around him in answering worry. Xie Lian hastily wipes his eyes, grabbing for his San Lang´s sleeve. "Ah, please San Lang it doesn´t matter, it´s not of importance, I´m just being sensitive today, it´s probably just the wine haha.." Crimson Rain Sought Flower and Black Water Sinking Ships just raise their eyebrows at him, in unison, and it would be funny if both of them weren´t close to murdering a wedding party just because Xie Lian overheard an unhappy thing and couldn´t keep his mouth shut, He Xuan not even knowing what was going on, the sight of Xie Lian in distress enough incentive to follow Crimson Rain´s lead for him. Xie Lian can see the first heads start to turn and look at them. He had been hidden well enough behind his hydrangea bush that nobody saw him cry, but the surging power of the Devastations at his side is hard to cover up in a room full of magic beings...and it doesn´t need a proficient magic user for their displeasure and aggression being obvious. "Please my loves...I know you only want to protect me but it is their -wedding- , don´t ruin it because a single person in a hundred said an unkind thing.." It takes another second of suspense before Hua Cheng sighs and pulls him close with one arm, pressing a kiss into the soft hair on Xie Lian´s temple before resting his chin on Xie Lian´s head, not caring that anybody can see their display of affection. Neither does He Xuan when he leans in close for a kiss of his own, cold fingers slipping between Xie Lian´s warm ones. "Alright gege, but just because it is you asking...but we will be having a very serious talk about that whole "I am not good enough for you"-thing later." He Xuan twitches and his scandalized ´Who said that?´ exactly mirroring what Hua Cheng had exclaimed earlier would be funny too if it didn´t bring another spike of killing intent with it. This time it is Hua Cheng though who grabs for his sleeve keeping the other Devastation from doing something rash, like summoning his dragons in the middle of a wedding for example. "Calm down Black Water sheesh...Gege overheard someone talk shit about him and had another one of his ´I don´t deserve you´-moments hiding behind a bush." The sarcastic uncertone in his voice ruffles He Xuan´s feathers just enough for his focus to shift from ´100 easy ways to kill effectively and leave the Gods to sort out the innocent´ onto Hua Cheng...and only a long suffering, pleading look from amber colored eyes keeps him from tearing right back into the other Devastation. He is pretty sure that Xie Lian´s ´please don´t ruin the wedding´ includes fighting between him and Crimson Rain too. "..please, behave?" Xie Lian´s voice is tired with an undertone of love, like an overworked mother trying to keep her kids in check and both Devastations smile a little sheepishly, bending down at the same time to kiss him on the cheek, one side for each Devastation, finally getting a small giggle at their ridiculousness out of Xie Lian. When one of their hosts finally walks over, a young girl, barely into her second tail, clearly sent as a deliberately non-threatening envoy, carefully eyeing the Devastations at Xie Lian´s side his usual smile is back in his place. "Taizi Dianxia is anything the matter? The noble  Lords seem...distressed? Is there anything not to your liking?" Even at a wedding party full of fox spirits the two Supremes are still the most powerful beings in the room, aside maybe from the bride´s nine tailed, royal grandmother, so it stands to reason that everybody wants to keep them happy...including Xie Lian, who smiles apologetically at the young girl and bows slightly to her. "Ah I apologize. Your fantastic wine is a little too rich for me I fear and I was feeling a little unwell just now, making them worry. Please, don´t pay us any mind, it´s nothing a little fresh air won´t cure and my husband´s favorite hobby is fussing about me so I will be perfectly fine." The fox girl giggles a little at that, clearly relieved that nothing serious had happened and it was just a case of the Prince´s husbands getting worried over nothing. They exchange a few more polite words before she scampers away again, off to report to whoever sent her that nothing terrible was amiss after all. "Look at you Gege, lying without getting red in the face, I am proud of you." Xie Lian swipes at Hua Cheng for that, a soft blush covering his face at the gentle teasing as he grabs for his husband´s hand, dragging him along with He Xuan following them like a very black, protective shadow. "You are terrible, San Lang. And i am hungry, I did have a lot of wine which was probably a bad idea. Lets go find something to eat before all the good things are gone yes?" As usual, Hua Cheng is in favor of anything that makes Xie Lian happy having no objections to that...and He Xuan is always in favor of anything having to do with food anyway. Which is exactly what Xie Lian was planning on, trying to distract them from the anger he can still feel simmering in them. Hua Cheng does finally tell He Xuan what had actually happened, the other Devastation clearly as unhappy about it all as Hua Cheng but a soft pleading look from Xie Lian is enough for the moment for him to let go of it. And that´s where they´re staying for most of the night, close to the lavish spread of food arranged on a series of small tables, chatting to a never ending stream of relatives to the royal bride that Xie Lian saved, all wanting to have a look and a chat, at Xie Lian as well as his famous husbands. Mostly the conversations are pleasant, ranging from simply polite to heated discussions of some form of obscure poetry between the bride´s granduncle on her father´s side and He Xuan, who nearly stabs the poor old fox in the face with a half eaten bit of pastry forgotten in his hand when he tries to emphasize a point. It is testament to how passionate they are about that topic when He Xuan doens´t even so much glance at a laughing Hua Cheng and it needs the help of two more aunts to drag the granduncle away again before things can completely deteriorate. They finally managed to catch a moment of the bride´s time, silently chatting with her and her newly wedded husband when Xie Lian suddenly grows tense against Hua Cheng´s arm. And it doens´t take a genius to guess that the reason for this must be the new group of three who just joined their little conversation circle, a lavishly dressed and decorated five tailed lady -probably an older female relative of some kind to their bride- shadowed by what are probably her younger sisters. Hua Cheng´s brows draw together in a frown, his arm tightening around Xie Lian´s waist...until a sharp small tug at the back of his tunic brings him back to his senses. Xie Lian is slightly pale around his nose, softly shaking his head ´no´and thus confirming what Hua Cheng had suspected from the start: that these were the ones who had made Xie Lian uncomfortable enough to hide himself and cry. He Xuan seems to have noticed nothing wrong, still casually eating while pretending to be disinterested in whatever kind of topic the three of them were currently discussing with a slightly uncomfortably smiling bride...but Hua Cheng can see his golden eyes grow sharp as daggers, never letting the fox woman out of his sight. "..I just think this particular cut is so much more suited to bring out a lady´s advantages properly don´t you think? You are such a pretty thing you really should not be wearing such old fashioned rags...but don´t take my word for it then, let´s ask someone else.." She turns to He Xuan with a flourish, eyeing him in a way that makes it very clear that, while he was in fact very well dressed, she would vastly prefer him to be wearing nothing at all. "My Lord Black Water. You clearly are someone who has impeccable taste in fashion...what do you think about this new style of robe I am wearing?" Black Water finally looks up from his bowl, having been directly adressed after all, while the fox woman does a little twirl for him, very unsubtly showing off the way the fabric is draped around her full soft bossom, emphasizing her tiny waist and delicate throat to the fullest. Xie Lian can feel something in his throat constrict painfully at the display-plain, like day old brown rice indeed- gently pulling on Hua Cheng´s hand to please get him out of there when... "Vulgar." And then He Xuan turns back to his bowl, clearly done with the conversation and the flabbergasted woman in front of him paying her no mind at all anymore. Xie Lian is so surprised he has to quickly hide a smile behind a fake cough, while Hua Cheng can´t be bothered to conceal his laughter, not in the very least concerned about the cruelty of it. After all that bitch in front of them deserved that and a lot of things more, she should be happy that He Xuan was still on his best behaviour and didn´t tear into her more then he already had. She gapes at them for a few more minutes before turning around on her heel in a huff, her two sisters following her hastily as she takes her leave. Only when she has left does He Xuan look up from his bowl again, a sharp, satisfied grin showing his white teeth. "Unfortunately for her..," he scoops something up from his bowl with his chopsticks, slipping it into Xie Lian´s mouth and following up with a soft kiss as his husband starts chewing reflexively, "...plain brown rice is our favorite." Hua Cheng laughs at that, placing a kiss into his husbands soft hair before doing the same to He Xuan...and Xie Lian is sure there has never been a single bite of rice sweeter then the one currently in his mouth.

[phobidawg]

Six Fanfic Collab

Colds and Cuddles- A little Anna sickfic, featuring some KatAnna fluff and a bit of Anna angst. 

With US!Queens and Mack!Howard

“Guys I’ve got the plague!!”

Anna’s proclamation was met with a look of fear from Jane, slight concern from Catherine, disinterest from Anne, nothing from Cathy, and wide worrying eyes from Kitty.

In truth, Anna knew she wasn’t dying. Her head was hurting badly, and her nose was running, and her sinuses were most certainly clogged, but she was nowhere near death. 

Not that the other queens needed to know that. 

“Plague?” Jane asked tentatively, taking a small step back. 

Catherine looked Anna up and down. “You look fine to me. Maybe a little head cold.” She gestured to Anna’s red and stuffy nose. The sick queen sneezed loudly into her sleeve. Jane winced. 

“Go upstairs and nap, make sure you sleep, get lots of water, and vitamin C. Maybe orange juice.” Cathy didn’t look up from her phone and she ordered this to Anna. Anna wrinkled her nose. Sleep? Orange juice? Water?! How boring. 

“I’m on the verge of death, and you’re telling me to nap?!” Anna’s voice was congested, but no less reproachful.

“You’ll survive,” was Cathy’s short response. 

“But Anne may not.” Catherine interjected, with a disgusted side-eye to Anne, who was stirring a concoction of chocolate milk, pickle juice, and french fries.

The queen shrugged at Catherine’s comment, the smile of an overexcited evil genius taking over her face. “My three favorite foods together can only mean the ultimate drink.”

“You’ll say that, until you puke.”

“You insult me. You think my stomach can’t hold this?”

“No one can hold that.”

“Bet.”

Anna was filling to the brim with frustration.

She was sick. They should be looking at her, not Anne’s stupid drink. 

“Fine! I’m not going to die, but I actually do feel sick.” She admitted. She got no response, the other queens had tuned Anna and her dramatics out. A pang in her heart startled her. She coughed loudly in her arm, and blew her nose with all the force of a trumpet. “Does anybody care?”

But the queens had all turned to Anne, who was taking a sip of her crazy creation. Except Jane, who had seemed to disappear at the first sign of sickness. 

Anna stomped back up the stairs, and it wasn’t until she was at the entryway of her room that she felt tears sting her eyes. 

Why wouldn’t they look at me?

Ever since Henry had rejected her, she had a deep set fear and despise of being considered unworthy of a person’s attention, and therefore always needed such attention to feel good about herself. With the other queens blatantly sidelining her, she just… 

Anna rapidly swiped a single tear away. She banged open her door, regretting it when it made her head throb, and collapsed into her bed. As she buried her head into her pillow, dark thoughts began crowding her mind.  First, they were reproachful and angry. How dare they not consider my sickness a real issue. Well, maybe I was being overdramatic, but I told them that I was really sick! And they still didn’t care!  They’re my friends, don’t they feel bad for me? Instead all they would look at is Anne and her ridiculous drink...  

However, the thoughts quickly turned on her.  I am overdramatic so they tuned me out, but what if…  I really am not that important to them? The thought was startling, and terrifying. 

After all this isn’t the first time they’ve ignored me like this…  but then again we’ve had fun times together. But fun times don’t exactly ensure that I’m as important as the other queens.  After all, I’ve always stood out. The only one without a sob story to tell, the only queen who didn’t really suffer at Henry’s hand. Heck, we were friends! I’ve always known that, but what if they’ve been more aware of it than me all along? Maybe I’m not worth their time. After all, Anne and Kit were out there getting their heads chopped off, while I rode horses and had parties. 

In the midst of her worrying if the other queens held this against her, Anna began to hold it against herself.

Her whirling inner screams were interrupted by a small voice. 

“Anna?”

Anna peeked her head up from the comforter. Kitty was standing in the doorway, eyes wide. 

In a second, she had thrown herself across the room, and taken a stunned Anna into her arms. The sick queen was too shocked to move as Kitty squeezed her tightly. 

“Oh Anna, I’m so sorry you’re sick.” Kitty said into her ear. The girl was sure and comforting, and her hug soothed the million thoughts running through the German girl’s head. Anna finally came from her stupor, and wrapped Kitty around with her arms as well. 

Anna tried to recall the last time she’d be held like this… if she ever had. Many times she had hugged Kitty when she was panicking, but she always had to be the initiator. Even then, it was only to calm her down, so the embraces had been rather one-sided. 

But here was Kitty, who had just run at her and was holding her tightly and lovingly. Anna sunk into the warm embrace. She felt her tears coming forward again as Kitty petted her hair. There was no explanation, if anything Anna was happy in her arms. Yet, they came.

“Shhh…” Kit murmered in her ear soothingly. Anna sniffled, baffled at her own tears. 

The girl gently broke them apart and climbed to sit properly on the bed. She propped herself against the headboardz and took Anna’s head in her lap. Anna’s eye widened at the sensation of being in the position of weakness, but there was also a tempting sense of comfort to it. Besides, she told herself, it’s Kitty. She’s harmless. 

And pretty, sweet and smells nice. 

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Kitty pushed something soft into Anna’s arms, and she looked down. It was an adorable little stuffed seal. 

“Meet Princess Bling Bling Sparkle Bling Bling!” Kitty beamed. 

Anna settled her head back in Kitty’s lap, petting the stuffed animal. 

Kitty smiled down at her, and began to rhythmically push Anna’s hair off her forehead. Against her own will, Anna’s eyes started to close. She clutched the plushie close as Kitty tucked the blanket around her with her free hand. 

“Kitty?” Anna asked, words thick with sleep and sickness.

“Yes?”

“Do the other queens… care, about me?”

Kitty looked at her in confusion. “Of course they care about you, why would you ever think they don’t?”

“I don’t know, sometimes I wonder if they’re mad that I had such a good life…”

Kitty shook her head slightly. “That’s silly, they are not mad at all. If anything, we’re happy that at least one of us got to enjoy life to the fullest.” She had a sad sort of smile of her face, and Anna was hit once again with a sort of guilt. Kitty absent mindedly tucked hair behind Anna’s ear as she said, “I know it wasn’t easy for a lot of us wives, but even though we bash each other because of it in the show, in reality we don’t care about that, and just want the best for each other. I know you know this, but I hope reminding you helped?”

Anna thought about that for a second. We just want the best for each other.  Maybe they hadn’t looked twice at her during breakfast, but she knew that wasn’t the whole story. She thought of the times when she and Catherine had talked about their past lives and countries to each other, and the times when she and Jane had worked together to soothe a panicked Kat. Or when Anne had lent Anna her wheelies, with disastrous results. And the times Cathy would watch American Ninja Warrior with her when no one else would, just so she wouldn’t be too lonely (though Anna knew she liked the show as well, even if she wouldn’t admit it.)

The queens might not always give Anna their complete attention, but that didn’t mean they didn’t love her. And Kitty was right, they all did want the best for her.

“That actually did help, a lot. Thank you Kitkat.” Anna turned to sneeze.

Kitty brought the tissue box next to her, and resumed her hair petting. Anna, finally content, found her eyes getting heavier. Kitty leaned down to brush a light and sweet kiss on Anna’s brow, and the sick queen smiled before drifting into sleep. 

Links to the other parts- 

Aragon- https://woulddieforkhoward.tumblr.com/post/190945870568/six-fanfic-collab 

Boleyn- https://vidyamakan.tumblr.com/post/190964963034/six-sickfic-collab 

Jane- https://czuritaa.tumblr.com/post/190982058564/six-sickfic-collab

[yogaadvise]

Top yoga book recommendations

Esther Ekhart

Your body Your Yoga by Bernie Clark - So much greater than makeup publication. It's composed from the viewpoint that we are as different on the inside as we are on the outside as well as the value of practising yoga exercise from an useful technique, according to the range of movement provided by our very own distinct body.

Living Dharma, the flavour of freedom, Quantity 4 by Burgs - Bringing the Buddha's teachings to life, revealing that they are just as relevant today as they were 2500 years ago.

I am that by Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj - an old standard that every serious yogi interested in achieving knowledge ought to read.

Julie Martin

What is Fascia as well as Why it Matters by David Lesondak - The initial publication to truly give a clear picture for everybody concerning fascia and its properties and also why we really require to start collaborating with this knowledge. You don't need to be a researcher or composition nerd to understand this publication as David has a fantastic, casual design of composing as well as clarifies what he's discussing really clearly. A must-read if you educate yoga!

Awakening the Back by Vanda Scaravelli - A lovely publication created by a leader in the yoga exercise globe. Her job wasn't really fashionable in the early years of the yoga exercise boom, but numerous even more individuals are headed in that direction now. Vanda is accountable for the quote, 'We require to deal with the body, not versus it'.

Healing the Core Injury of Unworthiness by Adyashanti - An amazing book for everyone, as our culture is plagued with the concept that we are not 'worthy'. Adyashanti is a spiritual non-dualistic educator who brings an obtainable high quality to how we can regard as well as ultimately stay in the suggestion of oneness.

James Reeves

Tantra Lit Up by Christopher Wallis - An extremely comprehensive explanation of how Tantra educates most of our modern techniques of yoga

Finding Quality by Jeru Kabbal - Clear, verbalize and stunning. This is the instructor of Esther's initially instructor [Taetske Kleijn] and it's a publication that touched my heart deeply.

Yoga and the Quest for real Self by Stephen Cope - A great read and a terrific tale of the trip right into the globe of yoga

I Touch by John Prendergast - A truly charming review inviting and also being totally attached with our internal globe of thoughts and feelings.

Anat Geiger

Yoga related: God talks with Arjuna, Yogananda's discourse of the Bhagavad Gita. The job he has actually done is astonishing and there is sufficient motivation below for lots of life times. An additional Gita variation I like is Eknath Easwaran's translation. Beautiful.

Also, anything by Vivekananda. He is incredibly straightforward and also extremely motivating. Whenever I read something by him I feel he eliminates some coat of justifications as well as reasons I indulge in as well as reaches me ideal where it most matters. Raja Yoga - his own commentary on the Sutras of Patanjali - leaves me inspired and also amazed every time.

Poetry: Kabir! Stunning as well as informed. There is so much surprise meaning, delicacy as well as beauty in his words. I obtained a publication with 44 of his thrilled poems from my instructors and I prize it deeply. Here's one of my favourites: Are you looking for me? I am in the next seat. My shoulder is pushed against yours. You will not discover me in stupas, not in Indian shrine rooms, neither in synagogues, neither in basilicas: not in masses, neither kirtans, not in legs winding around your own neck, nor in consuming only vegetables. When you actually search for me, you will certainly see me quickly - you will find me in the smallest home of time. Kabir claims: Trainee, tell me, what is God? He is the breath inside the breath.

How awesome is that?

Buddhism I enjoy the works of Pema Chodron. She is an American Buddhist religious woman with enormous concern, a scrumptious sense of humour as well as a talent with words.

Fiction: I was deeply relocated as well as impressed by Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell. It spans numerous lives and lifetimes (in my view) as well as for me it was everything about Karma. It's an intricate book and also worth every effort. Every from time to time I indulge in well-written fantasy stories - excellent v. wicked kind of fights and also challenges!

Marlene Henny

Moving right into Tranquility by Erich Schiffmann - Wonderfully created as well as quickly reaches the heart of what practising yoga exercise has to do with in easy to understand terms (without all the fluffy brand-new age things). The photographs as well as descriptions of the asanas are clear as well as understandable. I reference it regularly for my own practice as well as for teaching. Get it, read it, like it!

Yoga Spandakarika - The Sacred Texts at the Beginnings of Tantra by Daniel Odier Daniel Odier is a great author as well as his take on the Spandakarika is a lot easier to recognize than several various other translations. What I such as concerning this publication that it that provides an interesting viewpoint and enough info about the actual philosophy of Tantra and also leaves enough location for self-interpretation of the sacred text.

Awakening Shakti: The Transformative Power of the Goddesses of Yoga by Sally Kempton - I discovered SO much concerning Hindu sirens, as well as the writer offers the information in an available and compelling way. Each phase, which follows the very same layout, is centred around a specific goddess and consists of reflections to help the reader materialize the goddess as well as her energy. The feminine powers of the world are so interesting. Even assuming regarding them just a tiny little bit as well as taking advantage of them at all can be profound. Certainly recommended!

David Lurey

The Gleam Sutras, translation and discourse by Loren Roche - A heavy poetic present of consciousness and also living a liberated life.

Dying to be Me by Anita Moorjani - A real 'life after death' story that brings a beautiful point of view on the gift of life as well as exactly how to maintain points basic. This publication also offers attractive insights on just how to make challenging choices and also how to keep those we absolutely love in our hearts

A Brief Background of Nearly Whatever by Expense Bryson - Exactly as the title claims ... Fantastic for those who enjoy facts, insights on evolution and also amazing stories of just how we got below as a human race on this one-of-a-kind planet.

Down the Freeway: The Life of Bob Dylan by Howard Sounes - The tale of the best singer/songwriter of contemporary times (in my viewpoint). I am a big Dylan follower as well as this publication lit up many dark edges of the life of among my idolizers. I highly suggest reading a couple of chapters, after that most likely to YouTube for video clips of that time duration to see him and what was taking place. As well as likewise, much more notably, listen to the songs that are explained in the chapters you read.

Gulp by Mary Roach - A lovely as well as detailed story of our digestive system ... yes, seriously! It's amazing and also you'll never ask yourself once more what they are discussing when somebody states 'fecal transplant' at an alcoholic drink party.

Helen Noakes

Life on Land by Emilie Conrad - enthusiastic, dramatic, deep and also discusses breath motion as well as fascia beautifully.

Awakening the Spine by Vanda Scaravelli - Lovely images, poetic radical and also rebellious.

The Initial Body - Primitive Movement for Yoga Teachers by John Stirk - Totally initial, artistic, deep and also imaginative. A publication for life.

Jennilee Toner

Yoga and the Course of the Urban Mystic by Darren Key - Darren Main's book has actually been required reading for all my 200-hour educator trainees because 2010. It is such an enjoyable and easy means to study the practice and viewpoint of yoga exercise. The light and also fresh way Darren Main authentically explains his own way of dealing with the 8 Limbs of Yoga exercise is delightful.

How Yoga Works by Michael Cockroach and Christie McNally - This publication actually changed the means I came close to practising and teaching yoga. My personal technique and also teaching grew unbelievably after my very initial analysis of this Sutra-inspired tale. It came to be more intimate, a lot more intentional, more deliberate and extra soulful. I have actually needed it ever because in my 300-hour teacher trainings and each re-reading has actually even more assisted to advance my method and also training to new degrees of affection and service.

Katy Appleton

One Soul as well as Entering as well as in by Danna Faulds - Danna Faulds' verse publications are expressions and understandings to the internal landscape people as humans. I utilize them to supply deepness in the practice and open the area within.

The Diamond in Your Pocket - Gangaji - this book has to do with spiritual awakening in this life time. The common in the extraordinary!

Tracey Uber Cook

Light on Life by BKS Iyengar - This is a fantastic publication to have in one's collection. It is the culmination of Mr Iyengar's understanding from years of practise as well as teaching, weaving with each other Patanjali's 8 Arm or legs of Yoga exercise as well as the 5 Koshas from the Taittriya Upanishad. I have read this book numerous, often times, though never from cover to cover! I always pick it up and look to a page or phase which calls to me as well as each time it speaks something brand-new and profound to me. I have actually utilized it as a resource in teacher trainings and very suggest it to any person wanting to inquire much deeper right into the method and philosophy of yoga.

The Brilliance Sutras, translation as well as commentary by Loren Roche, PhD - Dr Roche has actually invested decades studying and also equating this luminous translation of the ancient Vijnana Bhairava Tantra message. Its 162 knowledgeables sing the tune of Life and Love in between the Devi (Shakti), the innovative power of deep space, and also Bhairava (Shiva), the boundless awareness which embraces Her and also from which She occurs. The verses define the enigma as well as wonder of Life within every thing, assumed and task. Bringing light to the loving understanding which makes all existence possible.

The Heart of Awareness (Ashtavakra Gita) - translation by Thomas Byrom - Referred to in numerous Vedanta circles as 'the highest training following to silence', this is the tune of understanding in all of its boundless types. I like to take it to the coastline as the sun increases, check out a few lines, and also rest in the quiet of the morning.

Marlene Smits

The Absolutely Nothing that Is by Robert Kaplan - more a metaphysical philosophical publication than a yoga exercise publication, 'taking us from Archimedes to Einstein and making fascinating connections between mathematical insights from every age and culture'.

Living in the Heart by Drunvalo Melchizedek - for a description of how to move from the brain-centred experience of truth to that which originates from the heart.

Irina Verwer

The Course Of Technique by Maya Tiwari - A stunning book on Ayurveda for women. Inspiring as well as heartwarming.

After the Euphoria, the Washing by Jack Kornfield - Quick, succinct, funny, and always informing stories.

Feeding Your Demons by Tsultrim Allione - Clearly created, sensible, and thorough instruction.

Nichi Green

Yoga and also the Quest for the True Self by Stephen Cope - I've simply finished reading this as well as definitely enjoyed it. Written much more like a novel, Stephen is a psychotherapist as well as yoga educator. His insight and experiences of yoga exercise are phenomenal and also he associates a great deal of it to spiritual technique as well as the restorative influence that yoga exercise has when you immerse on your own in it for enough time. Among my leading 10 yoga books!

Gilda Goharian

The Subtle Body by Stefanie Syman - This book is concerning the growth of yoga in the United States as well as exactly how it progressed from an old spiritual technique to a practice that countless Americans position at the centre of their lifestyle. Guide is entertaining and also simple to read.

... Unlike virtually everything by the late Georg Feuerstein, who dedicated his life to the understanding and also technique of yoga exercise! Every one of his publications are thick and scholastic however I can still advise him for his substantial knowledge as well as knowledge. If you ask me to select one I would certainly select Yoga Custom: Its History, Literary Works, Ideology as well as Method. The book supplies a full introduction of every yogic tradition, from the familiar to the lesser-known types. Not always a web page turner however it may be whatever you need if you're interested in yoga exercise viewpoint and background. And also once you begin checking out and get utilized to the design it can be entertaining too.

George Langenberg

Kriya Yoga: 4 Spiritual Masters as well as a Novice - If you have checked out Autobiography of a Yogi by Yogananda then you learn about the sages who acquired the highest degree through reflection in the Kriya Yoga family tree. Yoga is a course of Self Realisation as well as through Kriya Yoga exercise you can walk this path.

I read Autobiography of a Yogi in 1998 and also at the time wished that I might fulfill an educator that would show me 'the way' and show me a lot more regarding Raja yoga, reflection and also Pranayama. In 2001 this wish came to life: I satisfied my Guruji (spiritual teacher) in India and obtained Kriya Yoga exercise initiation in 2002. This book is concerning the Kriya Yoga family tree I comply with and also concerning being devout to a living Master. I have found out so a lot under his assistance over the previous 16 years. The lessons and reflections that I share on EkhartYoga are simply an understanding of the depth of the Kriya Yoga method where breath, embodied awareness and dedication collaborated in greater realms of the mind.

[bountyofbeads]

Eight black women — including Michelle Obama — on Toni Morrison’s life and legacy

https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2019/08/09/eight-black-women-including-michelle-obama-toni-morrisons-life-legacy/

Eight black women — including Michelle Obama — on Toni Morrison’s life and legacy

By Michelle Obama, Esi Edugyan, Sherrilyn Ifill, Sarah Ladipo Manyika, Tayari Jones, Jacqueline Woodson, Michele L. Norris and Leah Wright Rigueur | Published August 09 at 1:30 PM ET | Washington Post | Posted August 11, 2019 11:47 PM ET |

MICHELLE OBAMA

“We belong, she showed us, not just in paperback books but in textbooks, not just in a publishing house but in the White House.”

The summer after my senior year of high school was a slow one for me. I’d had a cyst removed from my wrist, and a heavy white cast cocooned my forearm up to my elbow. There wasn’t a lot I could do. Sidelined on my parents’ couch in the South Side heat, I picked up a paperback copy of “Song of Solomon.” I hadn’t heard of Toni Morrison yet, so I can’t say I did it because I was curious about her writing, or that I was being purposeful about supporting African American women authors. The truth was, I didn’t know anything about the book. It was simply there in the living room, just like me.

I like to think that this is the way that she would have liked it; that she’d have wanted the tidiness of her prose, the interiority of her characters, the complexity of the stories to stand on their own, away from her growing legend. Toni Morrison understood, you see, that people gravitate to what’s real. And in her writing, the truth was always right there on the dog-eared pages.

For me and for so many others, Toni Morrison was that first crack in the levee — the one who freed the truth about black lives, sending it rushing out into the world. She showed us the beauty in being our full selves, the necessity of embracing our complications and contradictions. And she didn’t just give us permission to share our own stories; she underlined our responsibility to do so. She showed how incomplete the world’s narrative was without ours in it.

It’s a thread running through “Beloved” and “Sula” and “The Bluest Eye” and all of her work — that black stories, particularly the stories of black women and black girls, are worthy of examination and celebration. Again and again, she was unapologetic about that fact, deliberate in proving that our stories are rich and deep and largely unexplored. We belong, she showed us, not just in paperback books but in textbooks, not just in a publishing house but in the White House. And on their own, our stories are more than enough to inspire a Nobel laureate.

In the years since that slow, scorching summer on the couch, I’ve read “Song of Solomon” twice more, cover to cover — once as a young professional and once more as a young mother. Each reading has revealed new lessons that accompany my own changing perspective as I’ve grown and evolved. Each reading also serves as a reminder of the patience and rigor she demands. I often find myself reading and rereading passages multiple times in order to uncover her secrets. But that work is part of what makes the act of reading her so special; that at times, you have to earn her wisdom.

I’m sure that someday I’ll pick up “Song of Solomon” again and see what new lessons it has for me at this new stage in my life, now that my own girls are off writing their own songs. That’s perhaps the best thing about Toni Morrison. It will never really matter how many years have passed since her novels were first published. The words may have been new when she wrote them, but the truth behind them wasn’t. She was simply uncovering the beauty that was always there.

Michelle Obama is the former first lady of the United States and the author of “Becoming.”

ESI EDUGYAN

“In the unexpected slide of her sentences, she was our foremost poet, our foremost truth-teller.”

In 1998, when I was an undergraduate at the University of Victoria, my father sent me a parcel. I’d gone there to study writing, and I was still reeling at the impossibility of it — still feeling myself an imposter, astonished that someone like me could even begin to think of herself as a writer. A parcel was an unusual gesture on my father’s part — we weren’t particularly close, and the weight of the package suggested more than a short letter. I opened the slender manila envelope to discover a copy of Time magazine bearing Toni Morrison’s portrait, a sticky note hastily pasted over it. My father’s scrawl read, simply, “Thought you might enjoy this.”

I could not have expected how much this simple, thoughtful gesture would change my whole sense of myself.

I had, of course, heard of Toni Morrison; when she won the Nobel Prize in 1993, I remember attempting to read “Tar Baby,” but I was young and unpracticed, 15 years old, and it was not a book for my immature sensibility. My father’s parcel sent me back to her work as a young woman — and, more important, as a budding writer — and what I found there shook me.

It seems we all have these stories — when we first discovered her work, how profoundly it marked us. For a generation of black female writers in particular, she was crucial, the one without whom nothing would have been possible. Her work spoke of our lives and directly to us, and it was also universal. She gave us the permission of visibility; she said, as much with the fact of her body as with her stirring prose, that lives that had rarely been acknowledged in serious literature without ridicule or censure not only mattered but also were a central part of the Western story. She looked directly and sometimes mercilessly at the choices of the vulnerable and at the powerful who profited off that vulnerability, and she allowed the inevitability of their tragedies to play out in ways that sometimes left us outraged or wounded, but never indifferent.

She wrote of black life in all its complexity, quarreling with the notion that the “black experience” was a single monolithic thing. She spoke as honestly about the marginalization of black people within the larger fabric of American society as about the ways black communities can fracture and sometimes turn against themselves. No one, it seemed to me, had written as soberly about the pain of colorism, about how absent fathers can derail a life, about the ways that class and gender complicate race. She dragged into the light issues plaguing lives that until then had rarely been discussed in the mainstream.

But her concerns were universal, and Morrison spoke about how thwarted desires, both grand and small, can utterly destroy a life. She was never instructive, nor was she relentlessly dark — there was always lightness, both in her touch and in her insistence on an essential human goodness. She was deeply moral without being moralizing.

And all this was written in a prose as exacting and exquisite as anything that has ever been set to paper. To read Morrison aloud is to revel in the astonishing musicality of the English language (which in these days of Twitter and Facebook is easy to forget). Her phrases were touched by the cadences of black dialects, but also by Homer and the King James Bible. I remember hearing her described as a “black Faulkner.” And yes, she did share William Faulkner’s almost alien reach with language, but she was sui generis, entirely her own creation. In the unexpected slide of her sentences, she was our foremost poet, our foremost truth teller.

Esi Edugyan is the author of “Half-Blood Blues” and “Washington Black.”

SHERRILYN IFILL

“The ‘word’ she brought forth was one of life, of dignity, of survival, of integrity.”

I always marvel when I see people reading Toni Morrison on the subway or on planes. When I read her, I am conscious that at any moment, her writing can, without warning, bring me to my knees, and provoke an embarrassing, emotional response I’d rather not have witnessed by strangers. This happened to me while reading “Home,” Morrison’s 2012 novel about a young man who returns to his hometown to save his sister Cee Money and reconcile them both to long-held family secrets.

As Cee recovers from abuse she suffered at the hands of a sadistic doctor, she is forced to address the profound issues of abandonment that made her vulnerable to abuse. Cee explains to one of the older women taking care of her that she was unloved by her mother and raised instead by a disapproving grandmother. Cee’s belief that she is unworthy of love has left her unable to protect herself. She gets no platitudes or sympathy in response. Her caretaker tells Cee that her emotionally impoverished childhood reflects her mother’s deficiency, not her own. Cee realizes that her mother should have cherished her and told her, “You my child. I dote on you. ... You born into my arms. Come on over here and let me give you a hug.”

Reading those words I unexpectedly burst into tears and wept for 20 minutes. Not tears of grief for Cee, but tears of gratitude for my own mother who, it suddenly and earth-shatteringly occurred to me, had done precisely this for me in the five short years we had together. Dying of cancer, and with nine other children who needed her love and attention, she managed to give her youngest the experience of unconditional, doting love that gave me an unshakable sense of my own worth, which I carry to this day. This is essential armor, Morrison tells us, that women need to meet the inevitable challenges to our self-esteem that we will confront in our lives.

I am also a huge fan of Morrison’s nonfiction work. Her 1992 volume about the issues of race and gender in the Clarence Thomas Supreme Court confirmation hearings was literally a bible for those who were shattered by that weeklong televised drama. She understood that to process what was for so many of us a kind of traumatic national event, we needed, as she wrote in her introduction, “perspective, not attitudes; context not anecdotes; analyses not postures.” She was there to help, assembling a “who’s who” of African American scholars who could situate this dramatic and devastating event into the framework of our historical and contemporary race and gender struggles.

And we cannot forget that Morrison’s voice was its own body of work. She was a kind of a preacher. Her interviews and speeches are mesmerizing. And the “word” she brought forth was one of life, of dignity, of survival, of integrity. When you listened to her, you believed that these were unmovable, nonnegotiable truths to which each one of us is entitled, because she so effortlessly embodied them.

Toni Morrison — who, it seemed, was always there — is gone. In her tribute to James Baldwin, Morrison wrote, “You gave us ourselves to think about, to cherish.”

This was also the gift she gave to us. Rest in power.

Sherrilyn Ifill is the president and director-counsel of the NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund.

SARAH LADIPO MANYIKA

“I remember how we laughed.”

When I heard that Toni Morrison had died, I walked to a church in Peckham, South London, and sat on an empty bench outside. I wanted quiet, but I also yearned for the church bells to ring out in celebration of a mighty writer whose voice rang clearly in my head.

I remember that Easter Saturday, in 2017, when I spent an afternoon in Toni’s home — and she said to call her Toni. She told us about the novel she was working on. She planned to call it “Justice.” I remember how she sat straight-backed and magnificent in black trousers, caftan and woolen cap, waiting for the interview to begin.

She said in “Justice,” there was a slave owner named Goodmaster who made his slaves call themselves Goodmaster. The slaves kept the detested surname to make it easier to find each other in later generations. Three of the descendants would be her characters. She’d named them Courage, Freedom and Justice. I remember thinking we have not yet emerged from this struggle and wondering whether she completed “Justice” and whether justice can ever be complete.

When, in the course of our interview, I mentioned James Baldwin, she sighed lovingly and called him “Jimmy.” I remember what she wrote of him in the wake of his death — of his gifts to her of tenderness, courage and language. She, too, gave us these gifts, especially the courage to write our stories without a care for anyone’s gaze.

I remember her Nobel Lecture and the lines I had committed to memory: “Language can never ‘pin down’ slavery, genocide, war. Nor should it yearn for the arrogance to be able to do so. Its force, its felicity, is in its reach toward the ineffable.” In that lecture, she told the parable of an old woman, and I remember the intensity of the questions the woman is asked. “Tell us what it is to be a woman so that we may know what it is to be a man. What moves at the margin. What it is to have no home in this place. To be set adrift from the one you knew. What it is to live at the edge of towns that cannot bear your company.” Toni wrote that in 1993 — it could have been written in 2019.

I visited her guest bathroom that Easter Saturday and found it filled with photographs of writers I had long admired — Wole Soyinka, Gabriel García Márquez, Baldwin — and a letter from the Nobel Committee announcing its decision to award Morrison its highest honor. There was also a “Publication Denial Notification” outlining why Morrison’s novel “Paradise” was banned from Texas correctional facilities for fear of “inmate disruption such as strikes or riots.”

I remember just how much she made us laugh that day. I asked her what President Barack Obama had whispered to her after presenting her with the Presidential Medal of Freedom and being surprised when she said she didn’t remember. I realized later that she, the master storyteller, was simply explaining that when one is in awe of someone, what stays in the memory is not what is said but how it is said. It was her son who later asked Obama what he had whispered into his mother’s ear. “I love you,” Obama answered.

I remember at the end, telling her that my son wanted to know her secret to writing so well. “Tell him I’m a genius,” she smiled. I remember how we laughed.

Sarah Ladipo Manyika is a British-Nigerian novelist and author of “Like a Mule Bringing Ice Cream to The Sun.”

TAYARI JONES

“She wasn’t one to search for common ground; she was looking for the true path forward.”

People often ask me what Toni Morrison has meant to me as a writer. No novelist has influenced me more. I tip my hat to her in some way in each of my novels. In my latest, my hero is from the town of Eloe, the fictional hometown of Son, the troubled hero of “Tar Baby.” I make these gestures as an homage to the greatest writer of our time but also as a gesture of gratitude to the woman whose wisdom helped me understand my real life, the one I live in private, off the page.

Morrison wrote novels that gave us cautionary tales on life and love, but she also modeled the way forward. These stories nudge us away from respectability in favor of true respect for ourselves, and each other. She wasn’t one to search for common ground; she was looking for the true path. Her moral compass was impeccable and her intellect peerless. Her ear for the poetry, beauty and brilliance of African American language lifted us, reminding us that we are marvelous — anytime we open our mouths to speak.

Tayari Jones is a professor of creative writing at Emory University and the author of four novels, including “Leaving Atlanta” and “An American Marriage.”

JACQUELINE WOODSON

“Morrison had provided, through her characters, some of my earliest mirrors.”

I’m in Morocco and the emails, texts and WhatApps come at me: Toni Morrison has moved on to the next place. Weeks before, I’d spoken to some friends who’d told me that she was close to this transition, but a part of me thought, Aren’t we all? Isn’t each one of us living in this moment with all its madness, beauty and despair, knowing that at the end of this is death? Death and whatever we believe of what comes after.

And still …

What I know now — and have known for some time — is how fortunate I am to be walking through the world at this particular moment in time.

When I first read “The Bluest Eye,” I was a fifth- or sixth-grader. It was one of very few books on the shelves of our Brooklyn apartment. We could not afford shelves lined with books and depended on the neighborhood library for our weekly dose of new narratives. But the cover of my mother’s book had caught my eye — a photograph of a black woman dressed as a child and holding a white doll.

I despised this cover. And I was fascinated by it. A slow reader, I read through “The Bluest Eye” with my finger moving beneath the words. I remember being captivated by the story — so many people walking through it were like people walking through my own life. When I picked up the book again in high school, I would remember it as having a happy ending. I remembered Pecola Breedlove’s wish for blue eyes had come true and everyone lived happily ever after.

And for many months after reading “The Bluest Eye” for the second, third, fourth time, I was certain that Morrison had written two versions of the novel — one for children and one for adults. The adult version was stunningly heartbreaking. The children’s version — what was that? Something I could grasp parts of. Hold on to.

“The Bluest Eye” was an awakening for me. Already, I wanted to write. Already, I wanted to show and see representations of the people I loved on the page. Decades later, as an adult when I heard Rudine Sims Bishop talk about the importance of books being mirrors and windows for the reader, I’d realize that Morrison had provided, through her characters, some of my earliest mirrors. And windows. In the lives of the people she brought to the page, I began to see parts of myself in the world — reflected, legitimized, loved.

And so here I am now. Here we all are. Toni Morrison as light, as way, as ancestor. And the many writers she has left in her wake, and the many writers coming after, and those after them, will hopefully always know this: that because of her, we are.

Jacqueline Woodson, the author of “Harbor Me” and “Brown Girl Dreaming,” lives in Brooklyn.

MICHELE L. NORRIS

“I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to swim in her laughter and lean into her deliberate silence.”

My heart went to her words, but my mind went straight to her voice.

Perhaps because I worked so long in radio, it was her voice that washed over me when the news flash rolled in announcing that Toni Morrison had joined the ancestors. Her voice was as measured and magisterial as the words she put on the page. It had the quality of music, in the way that an artist can take a single note from a single instrument and make it hang in the air like tendrils of cigar smoke, move it back and forth like an old porch swing or send it drifting toward the moon like an owl in flight.

I imagine that many people reached for her books in their moment of grief. I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to swim in her laughter and lean into her deliberate silence — because she used silence as a kind of punctuation, pausing when she spoke to let her words sink in, long pauses to give you a moment to sop up her wisdom or perhaps in her own mind to say, “Mmm, that sounded good.”

Morrison’s speaking voice was low and feathery and playful, which is a bit of a conundrum because her writing voice cut like a knife — straight to the bone — examining the physical, spiritual and soul-crushing wounds of race and racial hatred.

I’ve interviewed Morrison several times and, though the books we discussed were always drenched in pain and heartbreak, the interviews felt like a visit to a juke joint. At a 2015 event, I asked her to begin our chat with a reading from a section of what was then her latest release, “God Help the Child.” She chose a passage that described her character Bride — a statuesque, dark-skinned woman dismissed as ugly by her parents and teachers and just about everyone else — as she discovers that she possesses a kind of magnetic power over men. A young Morrison had studied theater and you could hear the training as she danced through her prose. I looked out over the audience and several hundred people had their eyes closed in a trance. You could hear in Morrison’s voice how much she valued her own words. You could hear how much she valued black life.

I loved her voice, but I am most grateful for how she used it. She changed the publishing industry in the United States. That is not hyperbole. She was known as the “black editor” at Random House, and she wore the title like a badge of honor, using her perch to knock down doors previously closed to black writers. She edited Angela Davis, Chinua Achebe, Gayl Jones and Toni Cade Bambara.

She used that voice to encourage young writers and she challenged booksellers to stop placing even best-selling black authors in the black book section that was always — always — in some hard-to-find back corner of the store. And when she herself became a best-selling author, she used her voice to reject the notion that being a black writer was a subgenre of high literature. “Reject” is almost too soft a word. She was asked time and time again if she chafed at the term “black writer” or whether she would ever consider centering white characters in her work — and with a smile on her face, she flicked that off her shoulder, flung it to the floor and stomped on it with an elegant grace. “The inquiry comes from a position of being in the center and being used to being in the center and saying is it ever possible that you will enter the mainstream,” she once said.

She shot past the mainstream and elevated the highest levels of literature with her own language on her own terms. “I stood at the edge and claimed it as central,” she said. “Claimed it as central. And let the rest of the world move over to where I was.”

Michele L. Norris is a former host of NPR’s “All Things Considered” and the founding director of the Race Card Project.

LEAH WRIGHT RIGUEUR

“Once you’ve read her work, you cannot unread it or leave it behind.”

When I was 10 years old, I borrowed my mother’s copy of “The Bluest Eye.” I was a gluttonous reader, consuming every book I could get my hands on. But that’s not why I chose Toni Morrison’s book.

I had seen my mother, my aunts and their friends reading Morrison’s work. I listened silently, watching as they praised, argued and even gossiped over the layers and textures of Morrison’s words and stories. I wanted to be a part of that — not simply as a witness, but as part of their congregation, offering up my own testimony.

Reading Morrison’s words for the first time made my chest and my throat ache. It took me months to finish as I struggled to process the story. It was so different from anything I’d read. It was rawer, more precise and more cutting, but it was also so much freer. I couldn’t articulate it then (and even now, I struggle to do so), but I certainly could feel Morrison’s words. Her prose made me feel seen, visible. I could feel Morrison writing to me, about me, as she documented the rhythms of black girlhood and the fullness of black community in America, in all its joy and trauma. She loved black people so thickly that it pulsated through her prose.

Once you’ve read her work, you cannot unread it or leave it behind. The ideas and lessons linger — sometimes as a caress, other times as a slap. I have birthed two children in my life, and each time, Morrison’s words from “Beloved” emerged instinctively to haunt and comfort me: “Love is or it ain’t. Thin love ain’t no love at all.”

When I was a graduate student at Princeton University in the early 2000s, one of my most potent memories is of sitting in on Cornel West and Eddie Glaude’s class on the black intellectual tradition; on this day, our guests were Morrison, the actress Phylicia Rashad and Jay-Z (Shawn Carter). Turning to Carter, West asked the rapper to comment on his musical catalogue, his lyrics and race in America. Jay-Z vigorously shook his head, laughed and responded: “Why should I talk when Toni Morrison is here? She’s the one who taught me. I need to learn from her.” The room broke out in laughter born from a shared understanding that Morrison was our translator, our teacher, our literary great, our canon.

Long before I became a professional historian, Morrison put me through a masterclass in doing history imaginatively, reassuring me that the careful excavation of stories that unapologetically center black life and community was, and still is, a revolutionary act, especially for a black woman in America. “I write what I have recently begun to call village literature,” she once noted. “Fiction that is really for the village, for the tribe. … I think long and carefully about what my novels ought to do. They should clarify the roles that have become obscured; they ought to identify those things in the past that are useful and those things that are not; and they ought to give nourishment.” Morrison told us to explore that which is foreign, and to wrestle with both the beautiful and the horrifying parts of blackness, and to do it with clarity, love and empathy. She constantly reminded us that writing us “whole,” in all our intricacies and silences, was a necessary part of freedom. She leaves a legacy of limitless possibility, for our community, our liberation and for us: “The vitality of language lies in its ability to limn the actual, imagined and possible lives of its speakers, readers, writers.”

Leah Wright Rigueur teaches 20th-century American history and politics at Harvard University.

Diana Ejaita is an illustrator and textile designer based in Berlin.

[omgrachwrites]

Ocean Avenue (Bucky Barnes)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

Summary: When Darcie Baker - the daughter of a police officer - breaks her misfit friend’s heart at 16 she regrets it everyday even after she graduates though she knows she can’t go back and change what happened. Everything changes when over 10 years later she meets the gorgeous mechanic.

Warnings: angst, fluff, underage drinking, sad Bucky :(

Words: 2170

A/N: I really hope you enjoy this next part, please let me know what you think and if you would like to be tagged because I probably won’t be making a masterlist or linking the chapters because I think that tumblr is still being stupid lol. I love you all very much! xxx

Part Two

Bucky sighed, sitting back in the rubbish chair on wheels and he wrinkled his nose in disgust, the room smelled horrible – it smelled of stale coffee, body odor and it smelled like someone had tried to microwave fish for their lunch. The other side of the desk was empty but the other desks weren’t and he was getting tired of waiting, he was going to make them listen to him. Breathing angrily through his nose he clenched his teeth together and attempted his most polite voice.

“Excuse me? This really isn’t necessary,” Bucky exclaimed, pulling at the handcuffs that bound him to the desk, “I shouldn’t even be here, it’s no big deal!” he thought that nobody was going to answer him until a policewoman scowled at him.

“Well considering the amount of attempts you’ve made at escaping in the past, those cuffs are completely necessary,” she stood from her chair, grabbing her coffee cup, “now shut up and wait for Officer Baker.”

Bucky chewed on his bottom lip, he’d never been seen by Darcie’s dad before, and he would have to stop himself from mentioning that he was friends with Darcie. Bucky definitely couldn’t spill the beans about the fact that he had a crush on her. It would only make Darcie’s dad angry at her and Bucky didn’t want that, Darcie didn’t deserve that. He still felt unworthy of her friendship. He didn’t really care what happened to him, he wouldn’t be in this damn city for much longer anyway.

A couple of moments later a door opened and out walked Darcie’s dad, his nose too wrinkled at the smell of the room. He remedied this by very obviously spraying the room with air freshener, he wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it and that made him a jackass. He had the same grey eyes as his daughter but they had node of Darcie’s warmth and kindness.

“Here again Barnes?” he sat down, holding a photograph, “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you properly,” the cold glare that the Officer fixed him with told Bucky that it was just the opposite.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Bucky sighed, lying through his teeth. Officer Baker slammed his fist down on the desk, causing it to wobble and it made Bucky jump.

“This photograph says differently,” he paused, presumably for dramatic effect before he continued, “it shows that you were speeding, nearly twice the speed limit. Normally you’d just get a ticket but you’ve been here before haven’t you?”

Bucky chewed his bottom lip, it was true, he was an adrenaline junkie but he just wished that Baker would shut up. It took every inch of Bucky’s willpower to not open his mouth and say something that he would surely regret.

Instead he said, “so what now Officer? Am I going to jail?”

“No,” Officer Baker simply said which surprised Bucky, “you’ll be getting a fine, and I know you’re good for it. You’re only here because I want to meet some of the trouble makers that my daughter goes to school with. She’s smart enough to avoid people like you like the plague.”

Bucky bit his plump bottom lip so hard that it almost bled, he was dying to rub it in Baker’s face that he was taking Darcie to Homecoming. Though he reluctantly refrained.

The following day Bucky was walking down the hallway with Steve, complaining about his run in with Darcie’s dad, “it’s not like I even care though, I’m leaving soon.”

Steve sighed at his best friend, raking his hand through his golden blonde hair, tilting his head slightly to look up at Bucky, “do you still want to leave man? I mean, you’ve got something to stay for now.”

Bucky shrugged, “nah, she’s just a girl. They come and they go,” both Bucky and Steve knew he was lying. Darcie wasn’t just any girl.

A soft warm touch on Bucky’s elbow made him turn to look, it was Darcie and she was smiling at him shyly. Bucky felt a warm, swooping sensation in his chest, he just couldn’t believe that they were friends and he was taking her to Homecoming.

“I’ll meet you in class man,” Steve smirked, Bucky nodded at him before turning to face the beautiful girl, “so what’s up Darc?”

She blushed a rosy pink colour, it had quickly become Bucky’s favourite colour, “I guess, I um just wanted to say hi and tell you that I can’t wait to go to Homecoming with you. And, I know that you were worried about coming to pick me up but I’ve convinced my parents to go out that night.”

Bucky thought that she was pretty adorable, “yeah?” he asked, cupping her jaw, rubbing slow circles into her warm skin with his thumb, “well, I can’t wait to go with you either,” he murmured before leaning so close to her that their lips were mere inches away from one another. Their lips were about to touch when the bell rang, a sharp shrill sound that made them jump apart from each other, chuckling nervously.

“I should get to class,” Darcie giggled, gesturing in the opposite direction.

Bucky pouted as he nodded, “okay but just remember doll, I will get that kiss someday soon.”

A couple of weeks later, on the night of Homecoming Darcie was sitting next to Bucky in his car, she looked a vision, she really did. Her pale blonde hair was curled and twisted into an up do; she was wearing a powder blue dress that floated daintily down to the floor. She was absolutely stunning but something was the matter, she seemed distant. Her smile looked forced and her laugh sounded fake, it bothered Bucky because he just wanted her to have a good time.

“Darcie is everything okay?” he asked, glancing over at her for a moment before fixing his eyes back onto the road.

“Of course,” she smiled but Bucky didn’t see the sadness swimming in her bright eyes and he didn’t notice the way her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Bucky nodded and decided to leave it at that, he trusted her to tell him if and when she was ready.

The gym looked amazing, there wasn’t a theme for this year’s Homecoming but it was still decorated beautifully. The room was awash with holographic light from the numerous disco balls that were hung around the room. Scattered all along the floor were multi coloured balloons that people were forced to kick out of the way.

“Hey, you two!” Clint slurred, holding a solo cup and he got in between Darcie and Bucky, wrapping one arm around their shoulders, he’d obviously been here a while, “I spiked the punch bowl with vodka,” he giggled drunkenly, swaying a little, he clearly thought that it was hilarious, “you look really pretty Darcie.”

“Why thank you Clint,” she giggled, her laugh was musical and pretty, she shared a smile with Bucky and that was one of the few genuine smiles that Bucky would see that night but he would have no idea.

The night went by wonderfully, Bucky didn’t drink any of the spiked punch because he wanted to make sure that he got Darcie home safely, though that didn’t stop her from drinking a little. She soon became giggly and tipsy – her cheeks prettily flushed with pink – even more so when she met up with her best friend Sam and his date Nat.

Bucky was completely entranced by the gorgeous young woman as she socialised and danced with her friends, he’d tried to kiss her a couple of times already though each time they either got interrupted or she backed away. Bucky soon got the horrible nagging feeling that Darcie was elated to be at Homecoming, just not with him.

Regardless, Bucky and Darcie were having a great time with their group of friends; they danced together, ate together and laughed together. Even though everyone was having an amazing time Bucky still couldn’t help but feel that something was really wrong. It wasn’t until Bucky and Darcie were slow dancing that he spoke up.

“Can I kiss you Darc?” he smiled, faltering a little when he saw the split second of hesitation on her face, “I’m sure that we won’t get interrupted this time.”

“Sure Buck, you can kiss me,” she blushed and Bucky leaned down towards her lips and finally, finally their lips met.

Darcie’s lips were soft and warm and they tasted of cherries, as Bucky kissed her he got chills and fireworks exploded in his head and chest. Though, it seemed that she was only half-heartedly kissing him back. Bucky pulled away and sighed.

“Did you even want to come here with me tonight? It’s okay if you didn’t,” Bucky felt his chest clench painfully as he spoke those words.

Darcie bit her lip and looked up at him from beneath her long lashes, “we need to talk but not here. How about we go down to the beach?” Bucky nodded, he supposed that that was going to be okay but he was nervous about what they had to talk about. Darcie leaned forwards on her tip toes to kiss the corner of his lips. Bucky noticed that she looked sad. She looked so very sad.

---------------------------------------------------------

The ocean water lapped over Darcie’s feet refreshingly – she had taken her heels off, they had been killing her – as she walked along the beach with Bucky. Out of the corner of Darcie’s eye she saw the handsome young man glance at her then back down at the sand.

“So, I think that you’ve stalled long enough for one night, what did you want to talk about?” Bucky asked, breaking the peaceful silence.

Darcie sighed sadly before gazing up at Bucky, trying to memorise every inch of his beautiful face because she knew that after this conversation he would never want to see her again and she couldn’t blame him.

“I don’t think that we should be friends anymore,” she simply said, closing her eyes for a second. Her words were so harsh and bitter but she didn’t want to sugar coat it or build it up for him.

“What?” Bucky burst out laughing, it was Darcie’s favourite sound and she’d miss it more than anything, “you’re kidding, right?”

“No,” Darcie shook her head, somehow finding the courage to look at him and she wished that she didn’t, he looked very hurt and confused, “I’m not kidding.”

“B-but, I don’t understand, what did I do wrong?” he asked in a small voice and hearing how weak he sounded tore at Darcie’s heartstrings. It made her want to wrap her arms around him, hold him close and tell him that everything would be okay.

“I can’t afford to be distracted by someone like you Bucky, I need to get into medical school, being a surgeon is the only thing that I’ve ever wanted to do, and I’m not compromising that for anyone.”

“What do you mean someone like me?” his voice was wobbly like he was trying not to cry, “I would never try and distract you.”

“I don’t want to be friends with someone who thinks breaking the law is a good pastime,” Darcie looked away, not wanting to see the lost puppy expression on his gorgeous face, she didn’t want to see those blue eyes well up with tears.

“Why did you even come to Homecoming with me then?” Bucky grabbed her arm so that she was facing him, so that she could see him cry. The tears were flowing freely now, they passed over his lips and he didn’t even bother to wipe them away. Darcie hated herself for what she said next.

“You’ve got a crush on me so I knew you’d take me and Sam was already going with Nat, nobody else would have asked me. You were my last resort. I didn’t know if you would leave me alone or not,” she winced at her own words.

“You’re so conceited, you really think that everything is about you, you're not the only one with dreams,” he mumbled, his voice breaking, “though I guess it’s a good thing, I’m joining the army and I wasn’t looking forward to leaving you. But now I can leave you in peace knowing that we never would have been anything and you will just be another pretty girl I knew once in High School.”

“Bucky,” Darcie started, she didn’t want him to leave like this, what if something happened to him and this was the last conversation that they would ever have. She longed to reach out and stroke his cheek, brush away those tears that streamed from his eyes.

“Don’t,” he shook his head, “just don’t. I hope you’re happy now, don’t bother contacting me. Ever,” that was the last thing he said to her before he walked away. Before he left her standing on the windy beach, in the cold water with the hole in her heart.

--------------------------------------------------------- 

@void-imaginations @theonelittleone @marvelellie @thesswintersoldier @dreamacoholic

[ladybalem]

Divine Damnation - a Confession about Osmund

Let's talk sincerely: My Tumblr ask box is always full of blessings. Look at that one that just arrived ---  How to https://ladybalem.tumblr.com/post/183074724768/oh-holy-mother-of-this-church-can-we-please-have Osmund resist to such? There's no way to. I say amen to that. * * *          Something that is needed to be said about the demons is that they own the the capacity to disguise themselves, assuming any form they want and, that when they do such, it's to try to contribute with the damnation of a human being and the loss of their immortal soul, taking them off from light and winning them to the darkness' side. Another thing to be told about them is that, in the contrary of the angels, the demons are, yes, endowed with sexual organs, and we can say that's due to quite practical reasons: This is simply a factor that helps contributing a lot for the temptation - and in consequence to the damnation - of the lambs of our Lord, who always fall so easily into carnal temptation. But generally the demons do everything they do in a little automatic-like way, as a kind of job to be done, as a fulfillment of duty. Now, imagine a demon acting in their own interest. Imagine then a SHE-DEVIL acting in her own interest, with all of the cunningness and artifices to which only a woman can have.          Imagine it how much you want, and you'll be still far from the truth, cause this is something beyond what the simple human imagination can achieve. *          The beautiful she-devil Baal Saba, just as any other devil, was wandering through the Earth in search of souls to lead to loss, in a time in which it wasn't actually very difficult to be done: The black plague was raging the Europe mercilessly and the poor souls were dying by heaps, in big suffering, everyday, what was causing that many many people were with their faith in God quite much shaky, if not lost for whole - what was doing the antagonists' job to be some times too much easy. But Baal Saba enjoyed challenges, actually preferring them to monotony. Hence, she stopped wandering through the small villages beaten by the plague and started to turn her attention to the monasteries. If she could make to be loosen the souls of some of the called "men of God", then her merit would be quite bigger next to her King and Father, Satan. This way, sometimes invisible, sometimes turned into birds or insects, Baal Saba started to resort the monasteries to understand her new victims and pick the best one amongst them. What she just didn't wait for it was to find the young monk Osmund in one of them.          At a first moment she felt thrilled by the idea of seducing him and make him to lose himself because, as she gotten such, it would be a great deal, cause it was clear as water the gigantic faith and purity of soul that moved him. But, without noticing it, as the time was going by Baal Saba started to feel personally pleased by observing him while Osmund was praying or managing to fulfill to his duties at the monastery, as to translate texts from Latin or reading the sacred texts in the masses, feeling pleased by his youngness, his beauty, his innocence. And before she could notice it was already sort of personal purposes which were motioning her, and not only her duties. She, herself, of her own accord, desired to seduce him, independently of the results. She wanted him for herself, and not only for the darkness.          Had she fallen in love? some of you can ask me now, and I'll just tell you: Don't you be ingenuous, my children. *          So, after some weeks observing him and knowing by heart all young Osmund's so simple routine, Baal Saba decided that it was came the time to finally show herself to him. Then, using all of her astuteness and all of her so feminine (and so demonic) capacities, she assumed the form of a young maid with long golden hair, gold as the sunset and ruffling like the sea, beautiful as it only could be the most divine of all creations, and then she became corporeal at the small cell in which he used to sleep, in a dawn while Osmund was reading sat down at the tiny table,  under the diaphonic light of a small tallow candle.          - Osmund - she whispered under a breath as soon as she become visible at his back, the young monk in a jolting of fright getting up and turning at the voice, as he widened his quite beautiful green eyes, looking at her before himself a little dumbfounded and having no reaction - Osmund... I came for you.          - Sacred God, Merciful Lord - Osmund finally whispered with trembling voice, dropping to his knees on the stones of the cold floor, his brown wool habit barely protecting him against the chilliness of the moist cell.          He was sure that the creature in front of him was an angel. Such beauty couldn't be anything but angelic, but divine. He was facing a miracle from God. For so long Osmund had been praying for a miracle, so the plague finally cease  to rage the province, rounding up and taking so many lambs of our Lord prematurely, and finally the awaited miracle had come. Looking at her right there before him, her wonderful face, her dream hair, her long white dress, light and fluttering as a cloud, Osmund was seeing nothing less than the one sent from God, the messenger who finally had came to answer his prayers. And lowering his face as he rose until it his both hands united between in a prayer, Osmund began to worship the divine angel standing in front of him:          - Merciful Lord... I return thee thanks in this dawn because thou sent me thy sacred messenger - and raising up his face to stare at the splendorous angel before him Osmund carried on - Sacred angel, I worship thee, with all of my devoutness and devotion, cause thou deigned  to attend such humble and unworthy servant as I am...          Baal Saba smiled sweetly, faking the innocence of a child as she did it, slightly opening her arms into his way, as she said with tender voice:          - Don't you underestimate yourself this way, mine most beloved of all the monks. You're the most worthy of the entire Order, that's why you deserved my holy visitation.          Shaking his head Osmund lowered his eyes again.          - No, I... I am not worthy of such grace... But I feel grateful that our Almighty Lord had the benevolence of allowing me that much.          - Look at me - she asked tenderly, and slowly Osmund raised his face, suddenly surprised that the angel had managed to show herself even the most beautiful than she had did a second before. And dropping his mouth in awe he did as she had asked, staring at her fixedly, actually in wonder - I've been observing you - she said - Your faith, your benevolence and your prayers didn't scape my notice (not even your stunning physical beauty, she  thought, with malice, but didn't say) - Now get up.          And awaiting for some  instants but seeing that Osmund hadn't move from place, Baal Saba smiled with the purest of the purity of the most innocent of all the virgin maids as she repeated - Get up, Osmund.          Feeling stunned he raised himself as he could off from his shaking knees, only to let a loud sigh and quake the most as his astonishment only grew as, not believing in what he was seeing, Osmund saw the Angel of God herself getting on her knees before him.          - I came to worship your qualities, my cherished. Believe now how much you're worthy - and she lowered her head in a bow, her long scented hair cascading with the movement of her perfect head - Our Creator wants you to be worshipped, and so do I, desiring to worship you.            - Good Lord Jesus Christ - Osmund felt all of a sudden groundless, vacillatingly looking around before to focus his eyes again on the angel right in front of him - No, I don't... Oh, God - and the only reaction he managed to have was to kneel again, causing her a smile.          - Your innocence enchants me - she said, raising a hand and touching his face, the young monk getting frightened and withdrawing a little as he felt her physical touch, he, who used to believe the angels were only spiritual and not material beings, once again his green eyes getting slightly wide as they shone a lot, slightly wet - I know what you're thinking - she smiled, sliding her fingers along his face slowly - That the angels have no bodies... But we have - and lowering both hands Baal Saba took his, leading them close to her chest - This is just one more miracle of our Creator. He created me, as so as you as well, so why would we two be that different? I have something of human in me, and you, something angelic, Osmund.            Lowering her glance to his hands, that were so large, between hers, Baal Saba smiled lightly, as she started to caress them - Your hands are quaking. And cold.          - I can not believe.          - About what? - she smiled.          He lowered his eyes in shame - Maybe my faith isn't that big.            - Never say that again - she whispered - Hadn't I told you I've been observing you? If I've chose you, it's because you're special - and then Baal Saba made him to ground a hand on her left breast, only then Osmund noticing she had them. And swallowing he let his eyes to go down along of her chest - Can you feel my heart?          He tried to stammer but just didn't get to articulate not even a word, and Baal Saba smiled, increasing the pressure on his hand, and Osmund finally closed his fingers around the roundish and smooth contour of her taut breast, his full lips trembling slightly.          - Can you feel it pulsating for you?          - I... I guess I can, yes.          Seeing him with his glance captured by the contour of the breast he was holding, Baal Saba didn't get to avoid to have a smile slightly wicked and difficult to get at and a slight biting of lips before to get a little bit closer, stretching her neck onto his face, who blinked his eyes as he felt the inebriant perfume that the angel, in a second, exhaled over him, just as if through magic.          - So let me see now if it's there are love pulsating inside you for me too.          And leaving his hand Baal Saba at first touched at the left side of his chest, Osmund's heart really discharging inside it, then letting her hand to go quite slowly through the stomach of the young monk, lowering even more until to reach then his loins. And when Baal Saba finally took him between his legs young Osmund closed his trembling eyes having a slightly gag, letting the angel to caress him while his breathing was turning step by step panting and cut. And smiling and slightly rubbing her lips to his she whispered:            - You never had a woman before cause you were destined to me, to be sanctified, Osmund - and with her other hand on his chest Baal Saba pushed him back quite softly. And as he was already on his knees Osmund just sat down on the cold floor, letting her to place him laid on his back on the irregular floor in sequence, as laying atop the young man she whispered from close to his lips - Pray for me. Pray for me, Osmund.          - Sanctified angel of Our Lord - he stammered as he could, trembling as he was, from head to toes - to whom it was trusted the Devine piety...            Having a triumphant smile Baal Saba lifted her torso up, getting then straddled upon him, her both hands grabbing to her dress and taking it off in a single movement as she lifted it raising her arms. And as Osmund got mute before the stunning vision of that magnificent body in front of his eyes, she herself completed the sentence of the prayer:            - Guard, reign, protect and illuminate myself.          Voiceless for an instant the young man shyly raised both hands placing them on her white as milk thighs, feeling her skin soft as silk, when only then he managed to whisper:            - But and what about the miracle I asked for? And what about the plague?            - I AM the plague - she smiled.            And lifting his habit up over his narrow hips having a smile, Baal Saba finally got down upon him, covering Osmund's lips with a hunger kiss.            The poor monk, enraptured by the passion for her that took him; the ancient she-devil, old as creation itself, satisfying her vile luxury. *            And something to which Osmund didn't get to see was that the angel not only had a sex, in which he rejoiced himself in a pleasure as such as he had never before not even supposed to exist, but it had too a long and spiky tail, that ended in a sharp-point.          Cause, as soon as they get their intent, a demon is already able to start showing themselves as they really are.          - Amen - Osmund moaned. * * * ***************************** * MY CONFESSION TO PRIOR PHILIP: Prior, I won't tell a word. I'll just confess that I'm a witch. I am. For real. I've studied with Merlin, and did an intensive course in Avalon. As if it wasn't enough, then I ingressed into the Hufflepuffs just to screw it all up at once. I have three cats, I kiss the ass of each one of them, and when it's full moon they turn into, each one of them, into a version of Balem, Loki and darkness' Osmund only to satisfy my luxury. I stir a caldron better than anyone else and my wooden spoon is my love. And as I'm sure that this one Confession of this present day only contributed for our little Osmund to take a shortcut to turn into Dark Osmund, you can call him right now cause I'll deliver myself voluntarily to his fire, I mean, to the pyre that he will prepare for me. By the way, what a delight the image of Osmund with something prepared for me. Ayay. AMEN LORD BALEM!

[jesussavedevenme]

Afraid to trust

This is for Wolf lover 27 thank you for your continued support! And thanks for your suggestion. This is during the 5th book when Bracken is talking to Kendra on the beach! Enjoy! Disclaimer: I don't own Fablehaven Chapter 2: Afraid to trust Bracken sat in the passenger seat of the SUV, they were driving to the spot where Patton's map led. Bracken reflected back to the conversation with the blix. She had some nerve! But as much as Bracken wanted to be angry and blame her, he still felt guilty. He had lied about what he felt and his words had obviously cut deeply into Kendra. They were lies, all of them. Words that slipped from his mouth. He hadn't thought about what they meant or who they would hurt until after he said them. He hadn't considered that everyone would be watching them. All that has mattered at that moment was getting that blix off his case. His mother had said once that his flaw was that he said things without thinking. He ran his mouth. She had said that he could kill more people with his words, than all the demons in Zzyxx. At the time he hadn't understood what she meant but now, reflecting on the look of hurt on Kendra's face, he did. He may not physically kill them, but his words could leave fatal wounds that would never heal. The car came to a stop and Bracken exited. He noticed Kendra sitting by herself close to the shore line, the waves gently caressing her bare feet. He stood for a moment admiring how beautiful she was in the moonlight. Gathering his courage he decided it was time to make it right. To let her know how he truly felt.                                                                                 †††† Kendra sat down near the shore and took off her shoes, letting her bare feet feel the waves. She thought about all their adventures. From that first mid summer's eve to now. Becoming fairykind, stopping the shadow plague, Lena, Navarog. Kendra shivered remembering the last one. Her heart ached, she felt unworthy. She knew that she was being silly and naive but Bracken had been the first person to break down the walls she had built up. The first person she had trusted since Navarog. Maybe she had given her trust to easily. It was her own fault after all. Kendra knew she shouldn't ,but she sometimes wondered how much better off they would be if she had been the one to touch the rock to the tree, during the shadow plague. She had never told anyone she felt like this. She knew Warren noticed a difference despite her efforts to hide it. Through her dark thoughts she almost missed the fact that someone had sat down beside her. Expecting it to be Seth or Warren, she was surprised to see Bracken. At the moment, he was the last person she wanted to talk to. She wanted to sit here by herself and think. She was afraid that she would start to cry. Looking into his eyes  made a flood of memories rush through her. Threatening to pull her further into the deep darkness she was sinking into.coming back to reality she realized that Bracken was talking. "I'm sorry about Vanessa earlier," he said . " She was trying to lash out at me for embarrassing her. " He sounded sincere and she wanted to believe him. But why was he apologizing for Vanessa? She understood he was trying to bridge a gap but she wanted to build up her walls and never let them down. Instead of voicing these thoughts she said, " Don't worry, I get it. " Expecting the conversation to end she was slightly annoyed when Bracken continued. Her annoyance quickly turned to surprise at his words. " Vanessa wasn't wrong. " Kendra's head snapped up to meet his gaze. It took all of her not to hope. He's probably just trying to make you feel better. Your so weak you need someone else to crawl too. She told herself. That was probably the case  why would he like her anyway.                                                                             †††† Bracken was worried by Kendra's reaction. He continued, hoping to get a better one. " I should never have said those things. They weren't true. I got so caught up in not giving her the satisfaction of being right that I didn't realize what I was saying. But none of it is true, I really do like you Kendra. A lot. I understand if you don't feel the same way -" " No! It's not that. I like you too, but I - I...." Kendra said trailing off. " You what?" He asked confused. Why would she be acting this way of she likes him? " I want to trust you, I want to let you in my heart, but I'm afraid to trust again. " she answered ,her voice quiet and unsteady. Like she was fighting back tears. At her words Bracken 's heart broke for her. He saw the distant, disturbed look in her beautiful, green eyes and instantly wanted to pulverize whoever has caused her this much pain. Pushing down his anger for the time being he put a hand on he shoulder. " Kendra, I don't know what happened, or who hurt you. But I promised , with every ounce of my being, that I will never hurt you. I know that sounds cliche right now. I promise I will wait, and when we survive this, I will do everything in my power to help you learn to trust again. "  Kendra still  hadn't looked at him ,but he could tell his words had hit home. Her next words shocked him, and his anger for whomever had hurt her returned. " Why? Why would you like me? I'm just a worthless, useless-" "Stop! You are none of those things! " he put his fingers under her chin and guided her face to look at him. " You are the nicest most beautiful girl I have ever met. You're far from useless, your resourceful, quick on feet, smart. I don't know why you think these things but please believe me. "  when he finished the tears in Kendra's eyes spilled over and traces down her gorgeous face. For a moment he was afraid he had done something, but Kendra threw her arms around him in a hug. He hugged her back tightly. " that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. " she said quietly. " Then people in the mortal world must be blind. " He relied slightly surprised Kendra pulled back and wiped her eyes on the backs of her hands. " Thank you. " she said. " Any time Kendra. Now maybe part of the trust issue is because we don't know a lot about each other. How about I ask you a question and you ask me one? " "Okay, you go first." She answered " Alright, ummm. Oh I got one, what is your favorite vacation memory. " " I have never technically been on a vacation. " "Are you serious?' " Yes, my parents think vacation time is better without me and Seth. " " Well then. Alright well in May not have known your brother long, but I am slightly surprised he hasn't snuck off to go with them. "  He said jokingly. Kendra broke out laughing " You sure have Seth down pat! " she said between laughs. Bracken joined her. He decided that her laugh was the most beautiful sound in the world. He promised himself right there sitting on a beach, that he would strive to help her and make her laugh , for as long as they both lived.                                                                                †††† As Kendra laughed for the first time in a long time she realized that while she wasn't ok, she sure was a lot better. Maybe things would be better in the end.                                                                               †††† Vanessa looked over as she heard Kendra laugh. It had been way too long since she had heard that. Maybe the Unicorn wasn't so bad after all. I hope this was  decent! It turned out different than even I expected it to. Please review and give me suggestions for further chapters. also remember that this was a dark time for Kendra. She had been betrayed by a lot of people and felt a lot of hurt.She is going to need a little time to trust people fully. I may express this further in the future if people want it.

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Just Be Good To Me

Summary: Emily and Teddy have been having a no-strings-attatched relationship for years now. When one of them step over the line, things get complicated.

Rating: T -  Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 1210/4min02s ERT

Notes: I asked for pointers. No-one volunteered. So now you’re verbotten to not liking it. That’s democracy for you.

I’d like to note that this is my thosandth post, so congratulations to me, I guess.

Teddy fidgeted on the bed as he woke, confused. He had company over, but he was alone on the room.

He rubs the sleepiness away from his eyes and checks the alarm clock on his bedside table. 3:54 AM of a Tuesday. Sunrise was a good few hours away from New York City.

His body was plagued with that pleasant ache typical of the muscles who were ready to wallow in a night’s sleep or, as was his case, weren’t quite willing to part with a warm bed. Be as it may, his mind would not rest if he didn’t go out and check on his companion, so off he went.

His room was much tidier than what he had slept on. His clothes were arranged cleverly at the armchair, and the dishes he swore he would take to the kitchen vanished. Pleased with the situation, he covered his nude body with a used pair of boxers and walked through the door.

The apartment in which Teddy lived was diminutive, as were most pieces of real estate in New York, but he had no roommates, something he couldn’t help but feel terribly delighted about. From the bedroom, there was a short hallway that connected it to the bathroom and the conjoined kitchen and living room ahead.

Like he half expected, Emily was in the kitchen, concocting something on the oven.

“What’re you doing?” He asked, frightening slightly the redhead.

“Teddy!” She exclaims. “I’m making some hot cocoa. Would you care for some?”

“Hot cocoa? At four in the morning?” He scoffed, with a teasing grin. “C’mon, let’s go back to bed.”

As he said that, he noted that the young woman was fully dressed, using the same working attire she did when she knocked on his door earlier that night. A pair of boots, black pantyhose that covered her legs, otherwise exposed by the palm-above-the-knees skirt and button-up shirt.

Emily had graduated from Hartfeld on the prior Spring, and promptly found employment at a publishing house in Manhattan. Not the most glamorous of jobs, mind you, but she was happy and on the right track to a grand career as a romance editor.

“I’m not sleepy.” The redhead dismissed. “Nathan passed by the office this morning.”

The mention of the fair-haired man perked Teddy’s attention. “What he wanted?”

“He needs a date for some charity ball this weekend, so he asked if I didn’t want to join him.” She answered.

The brunet briefly wondered if the other guy didn’t have a cousin to accompany him like every other single man in the world. Notwithstanding, Nathan despised the pedestrianism of being like every other man in the world.

“What did you tell him?” He preferred to ask.

“I said I’d check my schedule.” She informed him, with a hint of a shrug. “You’re performing on Saturday, right?”

He nodded, sleepy. A small, but suffocating, silence followed. “Teddy? What are we doing?”

He walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing her back against his chest. “You’re making hot cocoa, and I’m trying to convince you to have sex.” He furthered his point by kissing her exposed neck.

She wheels around and nudges him away with both her hands. “No, Teddy, I mean this. Us. Our relationship.”

Relationship might be the only way to put it nicely. The two of them had been on a sex-based, non-exclusive relationship for five years now. They were going on at it ever since their friend in common, the author James Ashton, had introduced them on her Freshman-year Summer.

Their encounters were casual, not to say rare, during her college years, as he lived in New York and she was all the way over in Connecticut. But ever since she moved to the city, they would come together at least once a week, often even more.

“What do you mean?” He asked, confused, as he takes a seat at a stool on the isle.

Evading his question, she continues: “My friends say that I’m crazy. That you’re a waste of my time. Even James is having some trouble finding something nice to say about you lately.”

“He’s jealous.” He accused, still good-humoredly.

“Be serious, Teddy.” The woman chastises.

“I mean it, Emily.” He raised his amber-colored eyes to hers and bore a neutral expression. “People talk. They always talked, and I have a reputation. When we started this,” He preferred the use of the pronoun, something Emily has noticed he frequently does. “You knew that it would happen. That just how it is.”

She sighed. “I knew. I know. But now…” She trailed off, taking the time to pour the cocoa on a mug and gathers her thoughts. “I know who you are, Teddy. You love to bounce from bed to bed. You love the thrill of the conquest. You love to be bad. But I always thought you’d be good to me.”

“And I’ve always been.” He defended.

“And you’ve always been.” She agreed. “Until this weekend.”

He smiled, half of sheepishness, half of that kind of amusement one has when a forecast comes true. “So, he told you.”

“Yes, Zack confessed he had sex with you. He cried and implored my forgiveness. I said there was nothing to be forgiven, naturally, and I meant it. My only disappointment is that you didn’t deign to tell me yourself.” She shrugged. “I never begrudged you for going after another person and am not starting now. I just hoped you would respect me enough to lay off my friends.”

If he was being candid to himself, he knew Zack would cave in quickly, he even preferred him for that exact same reason. If he wanted secrecy, he might have chosen the blonde. He enjoyed testing his limits too much.

“Now what?” Teddy dared to ask. “You’re breaking up with me?”

“No.” She responded, simple. “You see, Teddy, I like you. I really do. Somewhere in my heart I nurtured the hope that we would eventually move from… whatever we have… to something real. It was wrong of me to pin you with those expectancies, and for that I’m sorry.

“From now on, I’m seeing our relationship like it is. You’re a waiting room in my life, Teddy. A person who I amuse myself with while the real thing doesn’t strut along.”

Emily then finishes her tirade with: “Do you have anything to tell me?”

Despite her tirade, Teddy knew Emily had no intention of abandoning him. She would never do. His ‘bad behavior’, as she puts it, excites her too much, just as her pleasant demeanor soothes him. Besides, for an overall doormat like her, defying expectations by dating someone seen as unworthy might be even cathartic.

However, he won’t risk mentioning it out loud, so Teddy shook his head with the negative.

“I should go home.” She grumbled, picked up her purse and walked over to the door.

As she was leaving, the man calls her name: “Emily?”

“Yes?” She turns to face him.

“Just be good to me.” He said and let her go.

[brokenhayatim]

exhale

idk how long this is gonna be but it goes a little something like this. you ever been so afraid of failing that you just procrastinate and avoid for so long? each day you tell yourself you’ll finally suck it up and push through but the fear and anxiety are almost so paralyzing you don’t even wanna go near the task.

i’s just been months..like maybe even five at this rate. i tell myself to start the clock the day i graduated but i know the truth. the last year-ish was my idkwhatimdoingwithmylifeohmygod era and i just thought i passed it with a bit more advice and options. but it’s like it was all almost pretty bubbles and they just popped so long ago that i’m lost and confused and afraid and nervous and all of that is so ridiculous, it embarrasses me. i’m not really that lazy but i say it to try and explain alot, i think. or i say that i’m just relaxing or something, when i know everyday my thoughts are always on this same thing and never being good enough to get through the rut. it wasnt till i was on a walk, voice memo-ing a friend and the anxiety just peeked through a bit and i was hearing my own thoughts aloud like ....thats true? and i’m told to not be afraid and to just let whatever happens happen if it’s best for me and i know that but i also dont?

everyday i constantly think about deleting every single social media app i’m on bc i feel this heavy weight of uselessness and incompetence. why couldn’t i have learned things like this person or been more out there like that person?what’s wrong with me? and i begin to rationalize it with my childhood and how i was raised and it never is fulfilling. it’s constantly not enough, nothing about me is. i’m not creative at all and what i can do, so many can do better and so why would anyone actually pick me? even the things and issues i’m passionate about, what do i really know? even my knowledge seems so below average and it’s confusing and stressful. i feel like if someone asked me a question about anything right now that i’ve just forgotten everything important and couldn’t even articulate a proper response. and i wanted to be an activist??? since i have to interview for jobs online now bc the pandemic it’s made me so nervous. i feel most in my element during in person interviews and i say that as someone that’s also awkward and nervous in the room. but i’m more anxious of the constant string of rejections i know i’m gonna receive now bc i can barely speak english and there’s nothing special about me at all. at least in person, i can smile and make it less weird. and i connect so much better that way, which loosens me up .000009% more. it’s really babyish i guess bc everyone is adjusting and i’m just not. and i thought i was with everything but i guess i really wasnt. and coming home everytime makes me fall back into this person i dont like ad i get so sluggish (my sister says its the trauma) and i dont know bc one day she’s waking up in florida and being a good semi productive human and the next she’s back in new york and its many low days and nerves. honestly the way this house sucks the life out of me, i dont even think i’d be good at any remote job. it’s kinda the reason half my brain is pushing the dead part bc i want to leave. be more self-sufficient and alone again. but where and how, you know? obvs im gonna need a job for that. it’s just this domino effect and i’m scared to push the first one and it’s annoying and i hate it goddaammit.  the moment i came home, i just have always felt unworthy and other to my family. like they don;t care, like they’re not proud, like i’ve done nothing these past years and that’s my fault for not being an open book like the rest.

i’m gonna have to edit this bc i will not remember 87 months worth of pandemic thoughts into this post right now but. i tell myself i came home and decided to take a break for a bit, or focused on my health and appointments, but really..i dont know. i think i say it to justify all these hollow days of disappointment, which it never does. i’m afraid to ask for help or even a nice job recommendation from my last employer bc all i can think about is that it’s been months and what have i been doing this whole time? and i think they’ll ask that or think ??? now ??? and i get in my head. i know its not illogical and the worst anyone can say is no and yada yada but ugh this is why i hate my mind and just overthinking ... or not thinking?? who knows. i’m constantly letting myself down but .., i dont want anyone to know that. does that make sense. maybe i have this need to be superficial and make my life seem so nice and good and right bc i never see myself as that and i worry of people’s opinions and crave affirmations. 

the first appt i had coming home was my neurosurgeon one and my dad and him sort of just had this rushed timeline in their heads of how i would go into the ER one day soon and bam its done. i didnt wanna think about that so i tried to focus on my job stuff .. then got stressed so i just started scheduling the appointments i needed. then stopped and did more work stuff. then the secretary called me like ???? u havent done these exams yet and i was like yeah uhhh. bc when i do them it’s one step closer to doing the surgery and i know i want the surgery i’m just getting in my head again and don’t want it to be now. my sister told me to make sure i let her know when i choose a date and i was like mhm i wanna finish the job stuff and get my life sorted first and she was just ???? what ?? this is clearly more important. but here’s the kicker. i went on a walk the other day and just cried coming to terms with it all bc honestly i still dream of not making it out alive and a part of me thinks, at least if i did this one thing right and found a job and all that, that it would okay what happens next. like at least i was successful in that one thing. i think about how unworthy and unproud i am of myself and for months now, just felt like this would be a beautifully cowardice way out. and i think about the after, and cant even imagine strong devastation and sorrow. is that strange? like i expect everyone to just go on. bc i’m a simple buffer with no real purpose left. i walk and think about dreams and hopes and what i would miss and just one thing that make me call this entire fantasy completely insane and i just draw blank. so i cry because, of course. this fantasy isn’t new either, since last year i’ve been speaking to my therapist and writing about it. we would speak of suicide and i always respond like that’s a huge no bc of my religion but i say, i think about if something went wrong and that was it, how i want it to be like that. take the pressure, take the blame, take it all off me in a way. and some days i’m scared that i’ll wake up in the hospital bed after and be in pain and coddled and annoyed by the attention i’m only getting bc of that pain. and i dont want you to be here just because of the pain but i feel like you’re here only because of that. that you came, that you’re seeing me, that you care only because of it. so what am i without it? just back to nothing? the headaches were lonely but i feel less lonely with this diagnosis, like i have something good about me, worthy about me. something that makes me important to someone, even if it’s the neurologist that wants my money. to be real, i dont even think i care about the pain leaving as much as the fact that i can’t label myself as this person with chronic pain. like even if i was cured and oo lala all better, a part of me would still want to have this neuro condition. like ?? i was thinking: imagine beating cancer and feeling better but wanting to say .. and then realized the key difference. with that you survive, you are survivor. even if it’s gone that who you are. when this leaves me, i’m nothing and i’ll just go back to being nothing. no one says u survived brain surgery or survived a brain condition. it’s just done and forgotten. there’s nothing exciting about my life other than my mri visits i swear. i decided to do the surgery bc it would be stupid of me not to, and i’m still holding back, still unsure of even a set month. i just know i didnt want to follow covid rules of 1 visitor bc i know it would be one of my parents and i would jump out the window myself. but covid isnt rlly going away so is that the best excuse i have? i havent thought past these appointments and its almost like im doing it all for the wrong reasons, like enjoying it rather than wanting it to help me. i dont know.

unrelated but a song that always makes me cry and is actually the song i was listening to when i had that panic attack on the plane: finally by james arthur around 2:30. always brings out the hollowness in me hm.

**** i’m coming back to this but i got all my plaguing thoughts outish so

[animmortalist]

I am so here with all of this Sam, and thank you so much for taking the time and sharing. I thought I’d offer some coping mechanisms that work for me, and try to help in any way that I may be able to. Again, I am an American living with good health insurance and a supportive, if limited number of them, family. I also want to be clear that everyone’s struggles with mental health are unique and different. They all impact us in varying ways, and there is no “right” way to deal with depression, anxiety, etc. Nevertheless, here are some things that have helped me. 

Breaking the intrusive thought. If you are anything like me (which you might not be, but I am speaking from my own experiences) then you are plagued by intrusive thoughts. Ones that tell you to hate yourself or question everything you’ve ever done. Most of this is brought on by depression, but I suspect part of it is anxiety as well. Sometimes, it feels like I can’t escape these thoughts—that I simply can’t turn them off. What helps me is doing something to distract myself, a thing that requires my attention. I’ve found that moving around is the best. Even if it’s for a short walk or just listening to music and dancing around your bedroom. I love blasting music or organizing my music into playlists. It requires my attention, but also isn’t a grueling task. It gives me the opportunity to break that cycle and let go of whatever self-loathing or compulsive thoughts I’m having. 

Separate yourself from people that bring out the worst or make you feel unworthy. I am hesitant to call anyone “toxic” as I feel it really does nothing to help rectify the situation. It just creates more pain and less understanding imho. However, you can and should distance yourself from people you feel don’t value you or bring out traits in yourself that encourage your feelings of depression. I know this is not possible for so many people (myself included) because families are complex and financial, stability, and other issues prevent it. Despite this, you can change how you let those people impact you. For me, I have had to learn to not let my abuser (who I still have to be in contact with) impact me and tear me down when I am doing my best. It’s not easy, and I frequently fail at it, but through therapy, I am learning that I cannot change her behavior, but I can change how I react and its impact. 

Keep a schedule. For myself, I know a routine is so, so important. Sam already discussed this in her post, but I wanted to repeat that it really can have such a positive impact on you. I bullet journal, and it keeps me accountable and on a routine and ensures that I am doing my best for my mental health. Now, bullet journaling is an intense process and definitely doesn’t work for everyone. I would look into any kind of organizing or planning apps though, if you prefer that. Anything to help you feel a little more in control and able to look back at a day and see how much you did. Even if all you did was wake up, take a shower, and read a little. I really recommend the app Notion for both phones and computers for all your planning needs as well. 

Take in one piece of media a day. I am a lover of all things music, books, tv shows, movies, etc. I find my best days are when I take in some kind of artistic media. It helps me separate from the constant flow of the 24 hr news cycle. Of course, being informed and staying on top of what’s happening in the world is still so, so important. But don’t feel like you can’t take in things you really enjoy and make you happy. Even if you just watch one episode of a show or listen to a single album, I find it can really help.

Try creating. As a writer, I love creating new projects or planning them. It’s soothing to me. It makes me feel like I’m doing something, even if that thing never sees the light of day and stays just for myself. You don’t have to be the best writer, painter, drawer, etc. That doesn’t matter. What does is that you’re using a different part of your brain to create something that brings you joy. I know the days I write are usually far better than the ones where I don’t. An important note though, don’t be afraid to try a new form of creating if you’re feeling stuck in your current medium. For example, I doodle or draw in a notebook whenever I am feeling bogged down in my writing and am just not enjoying it for whatever reason. That escape into a different kind of creating can absolutely break a block or make me more proud of my works.

Sam is far more eloquent and well-versed than I am, but I wanted to offer my own advice in case it could provide help in any way. Thank you to Sam for offering all of her well-thought out and organized resources. Reaching out to anyone is a great first step, and you should be proud of yourself for that. If you are reading this and experiencing any feelings of depression, anxiety, etc. my ask and DMs are always open. You are not alone. You are important. We need you. Sending all the love and good thoughts 💖💜💙

tw: depression/mental illness hi sam, excuse me if i’ve over stepping my boundaries here, and if i am, feel free to ignore this. you’ve talked about your own mental health issues before and i was hoping you could give a little advice. i’m in a really bad place in my life right now, like probably the lowest i’ve ever felt. i know i need help but i don’t know where to get it. where/who/how did you reach out to get help? i’m really lost on where to start, especially since i’m feeling alone in this.

Hi love. First off, you’re not overstepping at all. I’m so glad that you feel comfortable reaching out and I’m so sorry for what you’re going through right now 💙

To start, I’ll say I can only speak from my experience, as an American with healthcare and with family I generally felt comfortable opening up to. I’d never want to assume that people have the same resources at hand as me and I’m absolutely okay if you want to reach out to DM and talk more. I also want to make sure it’s clear that I’m not at all a professional talking about these things, it’s just based on my own experiences.

In the short-term, my advice is that you don’t have to struggle alone. You are loved and valid, even if your depression or anxiety tries to convince you otherwise. If you are feeling this low, please please reach out to a loved one - parent, sibling, friend, online friend - whoever you feel comfortable opening up to. If you don’t feel comfortable opening up to someone you know, that’s okay too. There are hotlines available - this is a good resource, with a lot of different options available if you’re struggling with a specific issue. The hardest part is acknowledging you need help, and reaching out, but it’s very important to do so. Know that although you are feeling alone, so many people struggle with depression. The fault is that we don’t talk about it like we should, but you are absolutely not alone.

In the long-term:

I’m a huge advocate of seeking out a therapist for any struggles with mental illness (and actually believe that everyone could benefit from it). Even if you have friends to talk to, I think that it helps to have someone objective to talk to that you can be completely honest with. If you have insurance, you should be able to search for them via your insurance website. If you know someone who has seen a therapist, you can ask them if they have a recommendation. I’m coincidentally going back to therapy next week for the first time in a year and a half and found mine on yelp. Finding a therapist can be daunting - it often feels like dating with trial and error - but it’s worth it.

If you have a primary care doctor, let them know what’s going on. They’ll be able to tell you if medication is a good option for you. There are varying opinions on medication - whether it’s a good option, whether they should be taken only short-term, etc. All I can say is that I’ve been on anti-depressants for three years and found what works for me. They help me immensely - they are not a band aid or automatic cure, but they help me enough so I’m able to complete other actions that further my mental health, like 👇🏻

I hate to use the term self-care. It’s really not correct in what that word seems to mean now, but yes, it is taking care of yourself. I notice a huge difference in my mental well-being when I stick to a routine - when I start my days with a walk in the sun, when I drink enough water, get a good night’s sleep, am intentional about my goals. Eat something nutritious. As someone with severe disordered eating, I’m really hesitant to blame food or say it is a cure, but I think it’s rather obvious that if we eat pizza for a week, we don’t feel good. It’s not about calories or any of that, but just making sure you eat some foods that make you feel good, if you can. These are small things and take time, but they’re worth committing to. The hardest part about these things is starting them.

If you are able to, get a pet! Two reasons for this - one, it’s proven that animals are just plain and simple soothing. They’re adorable and they love you unconditionally, on your worst and on your best days. Second, as I’ll talk a little bit about below, it helps to have someone to take care of, especially if you live alone.

Regarding all the above, I want to be clear it isn’t easy and that as someone who strives to do all these things, I am as imperfect as everyone else. I should have been in therapy a year ago and I’m just going. I’ve been drinking during the week which I usually try not to. I didn’t go on a walk today like I should have, etc etc. It is a long process, a journey. There isn’t an end point, it’s just taking one day at a time and doing your best. We’re living in a global pandemic and so many things are acting as external stressors right now. Try to be patient with yourself as you’re healing. These things can all help, but the last thing I want is for them to have the opposite effect if you’re beating yourself up for not doing them or for having a bad day here and there.

These are some anecdotal tips that are small that I hope help you. Some I read about online or elsewhere, but they’re little things that help me. I’d definitely recommend doing some googling because I’ve gotten great advice from just searching through some articles on tips on dealing with depression.

Separate yourself from your depression. It can be easy to let it consume you and for it to feel like it’s just part of who you are. You have so many beautiful qualities you get to claim, so many pieces of yourself that people get to love. Your depression does not own any of these parts of you.

Take care of yourself as if you’re taking care of a younger child - whether that’s you as a child or someone else. This one might sound strange, but if I’m feeling low, the thought of brushing my teeth or showering sounds impossible. I try to think of myself as a kid - would you ignore these needs when caring for someone else? No. Take the shower, even if it’s not something you want to do, but because it’s something you have to do to take care of that kid. I think it comes down to it being easier to care about another person than it is to care about yourself. So if it helps to think of you as a different person, then do that. Once you take these baby steps, no matter why you did, you start to feel better, and those actions build on one another.

Remember that no feeling in the world is permanent. Not happiness, anger, grief, despair - none of it is there forever. No matter how you’re feeling, or what your depression tries to convince you, there are always better days ahead. Maybe not immediately, but they are coming, and they will be glorious, and they will be all yours.

The five minute rule. If you’re feeling low, simple household tasks probably feel insurmountable, as does going for a walk, let alone doing a workout. The five minute rule is making a deal with yourself that you will do X task for five minutes. If you still don’t want to after the five minutes are up, you can drop it. But more often than not, once you find the strength to start - to put on your shoes and walk out the door - you don’t want to stop after the five minute mark. The hardest part is almost always starting.

Journaling. I used to journal everyday throughout high school and sporadically in college. I’ve been terrible about doing it lately and it’s something that I keep telling myself I need to start again and haven’t done - so I’ll tell us both, journal everyday. Even if it’s only five minutes, being able to unload your stream of consciousness on paper can do wonders. Truly say what you’re feeling - it is for your eyes only. Don’t worry about grammar or spelling or handwriting, just write. Be messy, and authentic, and you. Given the situation I was in growing up and in high school, and given that I wasn’t on any medication and probably should have been, I’m still convinced that journaling is how I stayed sane.

I really hope some of this made sense and helps in any way. Like I said, my DM is always open if you’d like to talk more. But I just want to reiterate that the most important thing for you to do right now is find someone to talk to and be honest about what’s going on. Nobody should ever have to struggle alone, and yet so many silently do so. Sending you all the love 💙

Please, if you have additional resources to share, reblog and add them.

[feministangertranslator]

The Daily Deluge

Image from Femstella

Bombshells big and small are being dropped daily as the result of the #metoo movement. I feel disappointed I don't have more hours in the day to read every tidbit of news about what is shaping up to be another major chapter in feminism, let alone sit down, process, and write about my perspective on it. I really wanted to have written more here by now. I am so busy loving the smell the Napalm in the morning, it’s hard to get much of anything else done.  Sometimes I want to call in sick to everything and everybody, make a bowl of popcorn and watch the patriarchy burn down from the comfort of my cozy home.  Honestly, I could eat this shit up all day and don’t want to miss a minute of it.

This, unfortunately, leads me to often find myself in ravenous consumption mode as opposed to thoughtful and deliberate output mode: I am devouring all of the news of the men who have been accused of sexual misconduct and their (mostly ridiculous) statements - I’m not even going to call those PR and attorney crafted liability avoiders apologies. Equally, I enjoy all of the beautiful heart-filled articles, posts, and videos from other survivors of sexual assault who are expressing reactions, thoughts, and feelings to which I strongly relate. I have a docket of saved articles in my Facebook account, tons of bookmarked Instagram posts, and cued up podcasts competing for my attention. I have to force myself to pull out of the social media rabbit hole, get up and away from my computer (sometimes TV) to go brush my teeth, straighten my hair, put food in my mouth, earn money, and do other things that are vital to taking care of myself. They seem so much more boring in comparison to the day of reckoning that seems to be unfolding right before my eyes.

I must resist this siren call for a few reasons. Firstly, I know this is the position our capitalist society wants me in: too busy watching, ingesting, consuming, buying, and promoting the ideas and goods being peddled by others to get angry about all the more important injustices and inequities from the fallout of capitalism befalling me and the rest of us. Fuck that. That is one of the reasons why I stopped working in television. I couldn't imagine myself working so hard to be (if I were so lucky) a part of a successful show; at the end of the day, even the best creation will always be an opiate of the people to me.

Whether it is the thoughts, theories, or products of others, like most of us Americans, I have been trained to consume and have reveled in it for too long. (My family is Romanian and I can definitely see the difference in some of our shopping and lifestyle habits). And I want to use my time, energy, effort, voice and dollars to only support who and what I believe in, and what will support and sustain me. It’s not just money that I have to be concerned with, it’s time and energy - which frankly, are more precious, and affect me, my psyche and actions, and therefore my life, tremendously.

What I choose to consume has to have the purpose either to benefit, uplift or inspire me, too. Because I am also dying to create and share I have to be mindful to not overconsume to numb myself out and satiate the fire inside me to make stuff. While part of me wants America to take a few cues from the Nordic market economy model or conversely maybe give Libertarianism a real shot, American capitalism can obviously work for others, albeit a select handful. So I have to believe I am also worthy of a piece of that pie, and there has to be a market for what I have to offer.  

For example, I find myself obsessing about the Roy Moore story. I need to constantly remind myself that paying too much attention to him and Leigh Corfman, with whom I identify with strongly who was brave enough to shed light on how he molested her by grooming and taking advantage of her, at some point puts me in the observer and consumer mode. If I’m not careful, the contact high I get from her beautiful inspired acts can placate me enough to detract from what I can do for myself, too. It is definitely easier to watch her do it than to put myself out on a limb in the public eye, even though I passionately want to get out there myself.

As a woman who was at many points throughout my childhood, adolescence, and even adulthood silenced through intimidation and abuse, I must heed the call to speak up and let it surpass my urge to stay comfortable and quiet because I think it will keep me “safe.” I must constantly fight the further ingrained notion that others (especially men) know better than me. That I’m not worthy of listening to. Or that I don’t know quite enough yet to open my mouth. This has plagued me for years - despite getting an English degree from America’s top public university, making it through the ringer to become a licensed attorney in one of the most difficult states to pass the bar, ranking obscenely high in verbal ability on an IQ test, doing well at public speaking in some of my jobs, and even breaking into difficult industries and making multiple career changes.

External achievements are no match against a deeply long-held belief that I am only here to serve others, and my life, safety, comfort, and opinions don’t matter. It would follow and haunt me in every job or relationship I had. I truly believe it started with experiencing many “adverse childhood experiences,” specifically being sexually abused by someone in my family who was supposed to take care of me instead of use and abuse me. This, of course, set me up for many years of unconsciously repeating that dynamic in a lot of my other relationships and further cementing this completely false belief as a “truth” for me. I know this is why it is important for me to speak now. It is the antidote to all my internalized shame, hatred and anger. That was someone else’s bullshit, dysfunction and pain put upon me, and I don’t want it anymore. And if anything I say can help someone else stop putting up with it, too, it will all be worth it.

I know I am not fully ready to say or act upon all that I have weighing on my heart and mind yet. Because I am insanely jealous of the output of others who are, I know I will do it, too. I have to make small steps that work for me, be patient, and hold onto my knowing I will get there when it is my time. As Julia Cameron said in the Artist Way, jealousy is a roadmap; to paraphrase in my terms, its purpose is to tell you where you want to go, what you want to do, and who you want to be by making you so fucking mad when you see someone else is doing it and you are not. It’s that simple.

I know why I am a bit hesitant to say what I truly feel, talk about my own experiences, and make myself vulnerable to judgment. It is way easier to read something someone else did and share it with a quick comment on social media as opposed to say and create something from my own heart. There is less of my skin in the game. And the game of speaking out about feminism and sexual abuse and assault? I already know what the rules are. When women publicly speak out about anything related to women’s rights, people (almost all of them men) systematically call them fat and ugly and threaten to rape and kill them. They try to silence them by attacking their womanhood: their looks (what society has deemed a woman’s hottest commodity), their sense of emotional and personal safety (through means of violating the anatomical vulnerability of their genitals in comparison to men’s), their actual lives (murder, duh), and if that isn’t enough, their straight up worthiness of being alive (by making them feel unattractive, unsafe, unloved, unwanted, unintelligent, unworthy and ultimately emotionally annihilated). For a woman not up to withstanding that attack, the threatening perpetrator doesn’t have to actually follow through on his threat; his words and fear they create are enough. Men systemically perpetrating violence against women is alive and well in our culture and we all know it.

Wielding the power to drum up fear of personal attack or violence is the main tool used to control women and it can be incredibly effective against one who has already experienced such awful acts. And words can be just as powerful as actions in affecting someone’s sense of safety. These trolls know that. That’s exactly what Trump did to Rosie O’Donnell when he called her awful names and whatever else he has done to other women who ruffle his delicate feathers. A woman who has experienced that attack and/or violence firsthand has to be able to do a lot of work to come to the other side of it to feel free walking down the street safely, and even more so to be brave enough to talk about such controversial subjects in the public eye. So since I already know what the rules of the game are, I am in the process of deciding how I and when I want to play it, what I need to strengthen, and equipment I need to bring with me to make sure I come out of it victorious and intact.

[ebenpink]

Postpartum Body Image: Primal Perspective http://bit.ly/2VriNox

Today’s post was inspired by a question that came in from a reader who is struggling with depression and body image issues after having children. I asked my colleague Dr. Lindsay Taylor, being a psychologist and a mother herself, to step in.

Having witnessed all the wondrous changes that women’s bodies go through during and after pregnancy with my wife Carrie, I’d like to add my support and encouragement to my readers who struggle with these issues.

This post is for all the mamas and mamas-to-be who are struggling with the ways in which their bodies have changed, grown, stretched, and been marked by pregnancy. For you mothers who have suffered a loss, I see you, and you are included here.

It’s really a shame, but not a surprise, that so many women are plagued by negative body image around pregnancy. A strong predictor of negative body image during and after pregnancy is negative body image before pregnancy. Body image is, of course, something so many people struggle with every day, women in particular. Volumes have been written about the ways in which our cultural standards of attractiveness, media and social media, and social factors conspire to make us feel unattractive, unworthy, and dissatisfied with our bodies. That doesn’t need to be rehashed here.

Then when you’re pregnant, you and everyone around you is hyper-focused on your body. Are you gaining the “right” amount of weight? Eating the right things? Moving in the right way? Strangers are commenting on your size and shape, and probably touching you too. (PSA: Don’t do this.)

Some women love this time and revel in the changes their bodies undergo. Other women feel completely alienated from and even disgusted by their bodies. Probably many women feel different and conflicting emotions at different times. No matter what your experience has been, let me assure you that it’s normal. The whole gamut of experiences is normal and valid.

If you feel confused, conflicted, sad, disappointed, or discouraged about the ways your body has changed because of pregnancy, it’s OK. Your body is different, your relationship to it is different. There is no right or wrong here. My goal for today is to help if you do feel distressed by persistent feelings of negative body image and self-worth after pregnancy. It needs to be addressed. Poor body image correlates with symptoms of postpartum depression (it’s not clear that one necessarily causes the other, but some data suggest that poor body image predicts later depression). This can interfere with your relationships with others, including your partner and, very importantly, your baby.

Sometimes when we talk about this, the first reaction is, “Great, I already feel like &%$! about myself, and now I feel worse because my feelings are going to mess up everything.” That’s not it. Most of all, you simply deserve to feel good about yourself. You deserve to have peace with your body. You don’t need to waste your precious mental energy on tearing yourself down. For many women, their postpartum body image issues are extensions of lifelong feelings of insecurity. Let’s interrupt the cycle now.

Accepting Your Postpartum Body

Most people who want to change how they feel about their bodies take the approach of trying to change their bodies. This rarely works. Postpartum bodies (and bodies in general) often don’t respond how we want, and anyway many of us have constructed ideal body images in our minds that aren’t realistic.

If you want to change how you feel about your body, you should be working on how you feel about your body. There is a lot of well-meaning messaging in the meme-o-sphere about how you should love your body, but I prefer to start with appreciating your body and practicing self-compassion and self-care. If you’re ready to jump right to self-love, by all means go for it! However, this can feel daunting for some women who are stuck in a cycle of self-deprecation and even self-loathing.

The first step in all this is acceptance: accepting the fact that you probably can’t control the size and shape of your body right now, not like diet culture tells you that you can. Yes, there are some women who “bounce back” and flash their postpartum abs in magazines and on Instagram, but they aren’t the norm. Your body is in recovery. If you’re nursing, it’s focused on continuing to keep another human alive. You probably aren’t sleeping, and you might be finding the transition more stressful than you anticipated. Even months or longer down the road, these can still apply. This is hardly the ideal scenario for controlled weight loss.

Moreover, the truth is that your body probably won’t look the same ever again. Even if you go back to wearing your pre-pregnancy clothes, your shape will likely be different. You’ll probably be sporting some new stretch marks. The idea that you can and should “get your body back” is unrealistic and unfair for most women. (Health is something different here.) Your body has done something new and fabulous. It’s not the same body it was.

It’s O.K. to feel sad about that at first. It’s O.K. to mourn the loss of your pre-baby body even while you also appreciate and respect the hell out of your body for growing another human. Denying those feelings or, worse, feeling guilty for them and spiraling into self-criticism and shame doesn’t help. Be open and honest with yourself, and talk to other people who will listen non-judgmentally.

I can’t stress enough that you should ask for help if you need it. If your partner or your friends can’t give you the support you need, or you just feel like you need an impartial ear, find a therapist who specializes in body acceptance and postpartum issues (including depression, even if you don’t think you are depressed, since they are so often linked).

I hear some of you saying, “There is just no way I could ever get to a place where I accept, let alone like, this body.” If you’re feeling too mired down in self-negativity to believe that this is for you, consider this: Self-acceptance allows you to care for yourself and the other people in your life. Imagine if you could model a healthy, happy self-image for your baby as he or she grows. Which of your friends would benefit from someone who speaks in body-positive language and who models self-compassion? How would your partner respond if you could believe that you are sexy and deserving of physical affection?

You don’t owe it to other people to work on yourself if you’re not ready, but sometimes a little outside motivation is what gets the gears turning when the inner motivation is hidden under layers of fear, shame, or self-doubt.

Steps You Can Take

Have I mentioned that I strongly advise anyone who is struggling with mental health and well-being to seek professional help? Good, and I’m saying it again for the record. Therapy rocks.

Self-appreciation, self-compassion, and self-care are things we all deserve and we can actively cultivate. I recommend checking out the book Self-compassion: The Proven Power of Being Kind to Yourself by Kristin Neff, Ph.D., as a starting point.

Quit Negative Self-talk: As I’m sure you know, we are usually our own worst critics. We say hateful, belittling things to ourselves that we would never say to someone else. If you want to deal with negative body image, this has to stop.

When you find your inner voice saying something self-critical, interrupt it and replace the disparaging comment with one that expresses kindness and compassion. Mantras and affirmations can be helpful here. (If you think they’re cheesy, humor me and give it a try.) The trick is to find one that feels authentic to you. One that I like, which I found here, is: I will accept that my body may never be exactly the same as it was before I had the baby, just as my heart will never be the same. Some others you might try are: I deserve to treat myself with kindness and respect, I am learning to be gentle with myself, or My body is beautiful and deserves all the love I can give it. It’s O.K. if you don’t quite believe it yet; still say it whenever a negative thought intrudes.

You can also actively redirect your attention from how your body looks to how it feels. Maybe you actually enjoy the feeling of softness is new places. Maybe pregnancy and childbirth made you feel powerful. When a negative thought appears, crowd it out with Hell yes, this body is strong and capable and awesome.

Again, if this feels forced at the beginning, that’s all right! Body positivity and self-acceptance take work. Many things feel awkward when they’re new, but over time they become second nature.

Negative Body Talk with Others: As a veteran member of multiple moms’ groups, I know that when a group of moms gets together, more often than not we end up kvetching about our bodies. I think social support from other moms is hugely important, but if I could go back in time to when my kids were babies, I’d really try to shut down the self-deprecating body talk.

If you have friends who do this, speak up! Honestly, this is a gift to the other women as well. Complaining about our mom bods is such a common form of bonding, sometimes we need permission to break the cycle. Try, “I’ve noticed we spend a lot of time criticizing ourselves, but I think we are all strong and beautiful rockstar moms. I’ve started a personal project to try to stop negative self-talk and replace it with compliments. What if we tried that here?”

And by all means, if there are other people in your life—family, your partner, co-workers—who try to engage you in body or diet/exercise talk that perpetuates your bad feelings, shut it down. Boundaries are fantastic; draw them often.  

Of course, I’m not suggesting you suppress your emotions. Find a friend or counselor you can talk to about your feelings, one who won’t respond with, “Ugh, I know! My belly button looks like a Shar Pei too, I hate it. That’s why I started this new diet, have you heard of it?” Processing and dealing with your feelings is one thing. Using language that keeps you stuck in a cycle of body hatred is something else altogether. You can tell the difference.

Curate Your Social Media: Think about the images you see on your social media. Are they mostly #fitspo accounts that depict a narrow range of what it means to be “healthy” and “fit?” If so, consider seeking out the many people who are spreading the word that bodies of different sizes and shapes can be strong, healthy, and attractive. Find other women who are at your stage of motherhood and who are also promoting positive self-image.

Move Your Body: Your body is so much more than what it looks like! Move for the joy of movement and to connect with your body on a physical level. Exercise to feel strong and powerful, not to try to force your body to “lose the baby weight.” Movement should be self-care, not punishment.

Wear Clothes That Fit: Dress up your body in clothes that fit rather than hiding in too-big clothes or squeezing into uncomfortably small clothes.

Step Off the Scale: I know this is a hard one for a lot of people, but if your daily mood depends on the number on the scale each morning, this is bad for your well-being. You don’t need to be aware of the daily fluctuations in order to take care of yourself.

Other Forms of Self-care: The sky’s the limit here! Let someone watch the baby while you take a nap or go for a coffee date with your partner. Get a pedicure. Ignore the laundry and watch a TV show. Taking care of your emotional well-being and feeling more positive overall can help you avoid the negative self-talk trap.

How You Can Help Support a Mom

If there’s a mom in your life whom you want to support, a good way to start is by not commenting on her body, period. (This is a good policy in general.) “You’ve lost weight!” is generally considered a compliment, but sometimes people lose weight because they’re ill or depressed. Plus, it draws attention to her body and reinforces the notion that she must be hoping and trying to lose weight. Better ways to engage her in conversation: Ask how she is feeling, and express excitement about the baby. Ask her if there is anything she needs. Offer to bring her coffee or a meal, go for a walk together, or watch the baby so she can shower or run to the store.

Resources for Finding Help and Support

If you feel like you could use help or support in this area, please don’t be afraid to ask. Below are some resources that cater to postpartum women specifically. There are also some great individuals and organizations that promote body positivity and self-care more generally.

Postpartum Health Alliance

Postpartum Support International

Pacific Postpartum Society

After the Baby is Born: A Postpartum Series — A collection of photos and commentary from new moms as part of The Honest Body Project.

“It’s also helpful to realize that this very body that we have, that’s sitting right here right now… with its aches and it pleasures… is exactly what we need to be fully human, fully awake, fully alive.” – Pema Chödrön

“Treat yourself as if you already are enough. Walk as if you are enough. Eat as if you are enough. See, look, listen as if you are enough. Because it’s true.” – Geneen Roth

Thanks for stopping in today, everybody. Comments, questions, experiences to share? Include them on the comment board below, and have a great end to the week. Take care.

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[ncfan-1]

Diplomacy Is a Process

Well, this time had gone better than last time. At least this time he actually talked to her.

-------------------------------

The interior of the corvette was refreshingly cool after hot, dry, dusty Atollon outside, though by the time Sabine and Chopper had made their way down to Cell Block A, Sabine thought the air was starting to get a bit stale. Not a lot of people went down here, and it told in the cold, silent air. Oh, well. At least down here, Chopper didn’t complain about how the dusty winds were ruining his paint job; he’d been griping about that for over a month. (Though to be fair, Sabine had had to touch up the paint on her armor rather more often than usual since settling here.)

She had warned Hera and Kanan about what she was planning on doing, before the first time. With everything else that was going on, Sabine was pretty sure that them finding out after the fact, without her even apprising them of her plan, wouldn’t have ended well. Chopper agreed to help if only because he was “sick of watching Hera mope.” For all his moaning, Sabine was pretty sure Chopper did genuinely want Hera to feel better. It was just that that impulse was deeply buried. Very deeply buried, a mile or so up from where the planet’s crust met the mantle.

Sabine had gone in expecting that she’d have to fight Hera and Kanan both for permission. She’d avoided Rau like the plague ever since she and Kanan had brought him back from Concord Dawn—not that that was difficult, considering the only time Rau ever saw daylight was to be transferred from one ship’s brig to another. On top of that, Sabine wasn’t entirely certain Kanan believed she wouldn’t try to kill Rau, or at least wound him a bit, if the two of them had to be stuck in the same confined space for any length of time. For the record, no, she wouldn’t; Hera had been back on her feet for a long time, and Sabine’s anger had cooled from a fire to a few lukewarm embers.

But Sabine’s expectations had betrayed her. Far from being recalcitrant to what she was proposing, Hera and Kanan were surprised, but pleased. “That’s… I’m glad, Sabine,” Hera had told her, with a smile so infectious that Sabine forgot her own mixed feelings and smiled back.

Not to say that they didn’t have some ‘advice.’

“Just please remember to be civil. Recruitment tends to work better that way.”

“I can be civil!”

Kanan laughed. There were still bacta patches hooked to the too-white bandage over his eyes, and a combination of pain and painkillers made his voice a touch weaker than it should have been, as he remarked, “Yeah, you can be civil. What we’d like is for you to be civil. If you’re successful at all, it probably won’t be immediately, so remember to be patient.”

Hera leaned over and rested her hand lightly on Kanan’s shoulder. “Diplomacy is a process, Sabine. Remember that, as well.”

The first time, however, it wasn’t a matter of Sabine being civil or uncivil; she never got a chance to be either. The first time, Rau didn’t just not take her up on a game of cubikahd, though he must have been bored to tears in that empty cell. He did not say one word to her, instead fixing her in a long, hard stare that Sabine could only hold for so long before she had to look away. Not exactly a rousing success.

Hopefully, this time around, he would at least talk to her.

Sabine nodded to the guards, who nodded silently back and deactivated the force field just long enough to let her and Chopper through. Rau sat straight and stiff on the bench opposite from Sabine’s—she didn’t know if he’d had advance warning of her coming, or if he’d just heard her and Chopper coming down the hall. Either way, he did not seem surprised to see them. A little annoyed, but that was about normal.

“Hello,” Sabine said quietly, feeling awkward in spite of herself. She had to fight the urge to fidget.

She got no response, and after a couple of minutes of silence, began to wonder if this really was just going to be a repeat performance of last time. I wonder if he treats the people who bring his food this way. Maybe I’d have more luck if I started serving in the mess hall. But just as Sabine was starting to think she was going to have to call this one off too, Rau said, sounding only a little like a man who had barely spoken in months, “Tell your droid to set up the game board.”

Well, this was already getting off to a better start than last time, not that that would be hard. “I’m standing right here,” Chopper grumbled (or, at least, that was a close approximation of what he said; what he actually said didn’t really bear repeating), but he brought the board up anyways.

There was a lot of variation to favored hologames among Mandalorians, with Mandalorians from different worlds or clans favoring different games. Cubikahd was the only game Sabine could think of that was universally enjoyed, and it was the one game she could think of that she and Rau were both bound to know how to play. It had been a very long time since Sabine had last played cubikahd.  Most of her family didn’t have much time for it, when she was growing up; with the kind of lives they led, leisure time was difficult to come by. She’d mostly played against one of her second cousins, who was a few years older than her, and who in retrospect she suspected had been going easy on her. Judging by how quickly she lost the first game, yeah, her cousin had definitely been going easy on her.

The look on Rau’s face as Chopper reset the board was an odd mixture of sardonic amusement and something that looked almost like disappointment. It was like he couldn’t decide whether to savor an admittedly petty victory over one of his captors, or be disappointed that the only other person around who actually knew how to play this game happened to be a lousy player.

When Rau made that face, he reminded Sabine irresistibly of a couple of her older uncles (Or, rather, parents’ cousins whom she called ‘uncle’ in deference to the fact that they were much, much older than her). He reminded her of some of her older relatives in general, the ones who could remember a time before the civil wars long before Sabine was born, and hadn’t become directly involved with Death Watch afterwards. Less aggressive than those who had joined Death Watch, but still markedly watchful of anyone who might logically be a threat to them. She hadn’t wanted to see it before, but she could now. And there wouldn’t be any telling Rau that; he’d probably be even more offended than her uncles if she said so. Of course, they’d probably all express their offense in exactly the same way, and prove Sabine’s case for her, but this would probably trigger another breakdown in diplomacy. Possibly one involving blunt instruments. She kept her mouth shut.

It did make her feel just a little lonely to see, though.

“I heard about Jarrus,” Rau told her suddenly, during a lull in the second game. His voice was decidedly, deliberately neutral, and he eyed her sharply as he spoke.

Herself, Sabine had to fight to keep from scowling. Of course. He probably heard the guards talking. Probably the only reason Rau had been any more responsive today than he had the last time Sabine had showed up was because he was trying to worm information out of her.

Figures. My version of diplomacy’s digging up an old hologame and hoping the guy I’m playing against will actually want to talk with me after long enough. Figures he’d just take this as an excuse to pump me for information.

He wanted to worm information out of her? Sabine narrowed her eyes. Well, fine. Two could play at that game.

“What have you heard?” Sabine asked carefully. The game was now forgotten, her attention fixed on the other player, though she could still feel Chopper looking at her.

“That he bit off more than he could chew during a mission.” Rau broke eye contact with her and stared off to his right, at the wall of the cell opposite from the doorway. He frowned deeply. “Seems a shame.”

Sabine bristled, and said hotly, all with Hera’s ‘Please be civil’ ringing in her ears, “He can still fight!”

“Yes, I imagine being a Jedi helps with that,” Rau shot back, his voice practically dripping sarcasm. “It still seems a shame. There’s little use in getting yourself maimed if it doesn’t even serve to achieve your mission objective.”

“He’s still alive.”

“He is, indeed. Dying to achieve your mission, unwavering, is not an unworthy act. Not that I would expect you to appreciate that.”

His tone was positively withering, and somehow, Sabine didn’t think he was talking about her involvement with the Rebellion. She tilted her head slightly. “What do you mean?”

There came no answer, except a look that gave Sabine the impression that Rau thought she ought to have known exactly what he meant. As it stood, Sabine didn’t, and she didn’t particularly want to have to press further to figure it out. I wonder if the Empire alerts the Protectors when someone defects from the Imperial Academy on Mandalore. It would make sense to put them on alert. Or it might be house politics; he does think my house is an even bigger embarrassment to our people than I am, after all. And with that thought, the probable answer slotted into place. Death Watch. He was talking about Death Watch.

“Rau…” Sabine frowned at him, staring intently into his face. “…How old do you think I am, exactly?”

Again, Sabine got no answer, and this time, she shook her head and bit back a sigh. “I was born two years before the Siege was lifted, and the Empire took control of Mandalorian space,” she explained, willing herself to be patient, to keep her voice level and impersonal. “By the time I was old enough to actually remember anything, Death Watch had already gone to ground. For a while.” Rau blinked, his eyes widening slightly, only just enough to be noticeable. So she had his attention. Good. “I don’t remember when Satine Kryze ruled. I don’t remember Pre Vizsla, or Maul. The only rule I’ve known anywhere in Mandalorian space is the rule of the Empire.” She forced herself to meet his gaze, forced herself to say, “The Empire wants us to treat them the same way we’d treat any clan chieftain who prevailed over us in war, but I think we both know that that isn’t the same thing.”

I figured that one out the hard way. Someday, you might, too.

Once more, Rau seemed to have nothing he particularly wished to say. Instead, he looked her over closely, as if trying to pick her brain apart with his eyes. He leaned back against the cold metal wall of the cell, the shadows falling over his face like a veil. Sabine said nothing, clamping her mouth shut so fast that her teeth made an audible click against each other.

There was no way he’d seriously thought she was old enough to have actually fought with Death Watch. It didn’t matter how old Rau thought Sabine was; she knew she didn’t look old enough to have been of fighting age during the Clone Wars, let alone beforehand. But it did seem he’d thought her old enough to at least have clear memories of that time period, of what Death Watch had done before the Empire came and they all, every warring faction, had gone deep into hiding. Well, more fool him.

Half-buried memories of history lessons surfaced from the back of Sabine’s mind as silence fell thick and fraught in the cell. After the civil wars ended (if they ever really had ended; Sabine could remember a few times when she was very young when it seemed like they had never stopped) and the Duchess Satine had cemented her control on the throne, she made it clear to the warriors of Mandalore that they were to lay down their arms and submit to her authority, or be exiled from Mandalore. Sabine’s people had refused to do either, and were restricted to Concordia. They weren’t the only ones.

The Protectors had recognized Satine’s victory, and thus her rule, as legitimate. Not exactly surprising; their allegiance was to the throne directly, rather to any particular clan or house. However, they had refused to lay down their arms, and had gone into a voluntary exile in the Concord Dawn system. From what Sabine had heard, the Duchess had still occasionally called upon the Protectors to track down especially dangerous fugitives, and she allowed them to recruit from the warrior clans (she must have; there was no way Rau was old enough to have already been with the Protectors by the time the wars had ended), but the détente was at best an uneasy one. Joining the Protectors meant exiling yourself from the Mandalore system, and the rise of the Empire had not changed that. The last thing the Empire wanted was the Protectors free to operate on Mandalore, or any of the other Mandalorian worlds; they’d gone so far as to put a moratorium on recruitment a few years before Sabine joined the Academy.

Sabine didn’t know when, exactly, Rau had joined the Protectors. It would have had to have been before the Clone Wars, for him to have been a flight instructor on Kamino, but no matter the exact figure, it would have been a very long time ago. The Mandalore Sabine Wren knew bore little resemblance to the Mandalore Fenn Rau knew. The Mandalore Fenn Rau knew probably had much more in common with the stories Sabine’s family had told her than to what she had known growing up. She knew that. She’d known that. He might know that now, too.

“Wren,” Rau said at length, sharply, but he couldn’t mask the sudden tiredness in his voice, and Sabine stared at him, surprised to hear it. He didn’t look directly at her. Instead, he focused his attention on the holographic game board in front of them, waving his hand so the image crackled and winked around it. “Either keep playing, or get out.”

It would have been kind of nice to be able to just leave, to get away from someone who played nice with the Empire just to keep their wrath from falling on him, and yet judged her choices and found them wanting. It would have been nice to get away from someone who looked at her with such scorn. But Sabine thought of Kanan, who would never fully recover from what had happened to him on Malachor, who now found himself having to adjust to blindness. She thought of Hera, whose face was perpetually strained with grief and worry, who hadn’t smiled wholeheartedly in over a month, and who Sabine occasionally caught rubbing at bloodshot eyes. She thought of Chopper, who would have loved for everyone to believe he didn’t care, and yet still followed her here without a single complaint. She thought of Ezra, who had grown distant and unsmiling, Zeb, who barely seemed to know what to do now, Rex, whom she caught staring off into the arid wilderness with a look in his eyes as though he was galaxies away.

She thought of the family of her blood, who had, long ago, made the same choice as Rau. Maybe for the same reasons, or maybe not. Sabine knew his reasons, but she had never been sure of theirs, had never been able to guess whether it would have been easier or not, had she known. She hadn’t been able to make them change their minds, but maybe, just maybe…

The Rebellion needed all the allies it could get.

Diplomacy is a process, Sabine told herself, and kept playing.

[seeroftodayandtomorrow]

Love Lessons

Chapter 5

Read on AO3

Kurt was sitting in Lady Sue Sylvester's overly opulent salon, sipping at a glass of admittedly excellent champagne, and pouting. He carefully schooled his features into a neutral expression, but knew he wouldn't be able to pretend to have fun or even be sociable.

He frowned as he watched Blaine, flirting over his hand of cards with every man and woman in his party.

It was his own damned fault. A few weeks into their arrangement, he had given Blaine the task of not only being his usual charming self, but to actively flirt with the other guests of the party. Blaine was good, if still a little shy, and it was working; the young ladies were giggling behind their fans, while the occasional older one would make a lewd remark while tapping him on the shoulder with her fan in reproof. The gentlemen were looking at him with calculating eyes, as if to figure out how far they could get him to go, and Kurt was slowly going mad.

He should have known it. It had been obvious, these past few weeks, that he was developing some...affection for Blaine, even though they had had not nearly as much time for each other as he might have wished. But the way he was thinking of him, not only at night in bed when he brought himself off to memories of Blaine fucking him, so gentle and careful at first until he gave him leave to move, and then with his usual vigor and the most delicious sounds, awe and wonder in his eyes. But during the day, too, when his father was showing him something that puzzled him, or he saw something amusing that Blaine would like - it had been clear as day, and whatever he might say, he had had enough warning to maybe cut their arrangement short before his feelings became too strong, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to do it.

He was distracted from his thoughts when someone stood directly in front of his chair, and looking up, he saw it was Blaine's brother, Cooper Anderson. Slowly, Kurt stood up. He had a lingering suspicion what this was about, and now it didn't seem half as amusing as it had been when he imagined it.

“Viscount,” he said in greeting.

Cooper sketched a short bow. “May I speak to you in private for a moment, my lord?”

“Of course,” Kurt said, and together they went on the balcony that was, for once, empty.

Once outside, Cooper's respectful behavior changed.

“I want you to stay away from Blaine,” he said without preamble, hands clenched into fists at his side.

“But Blaine doesn't want me to stay away from him,” Kurt said with a very impolite grin, amused by Cooper's usual dramatic behavior.

“Watch your mouth,” Cooper warned, scowling. “You shouldn't be so familiar with him.”

With some difficulty, Kurt refrained from telling him how familiar his mouth was with Blaine by now; calling him by his given name was nothing.

“I call him Blaine, he calls me Kurt. It's mutual.” Except when Blaine slipped and called him 'my lord', which happened when he got overwhelmed and sometimes in bed, or when he was in a teasing mood. Kurt rather liked it.

“You called me Kurt, too, Coop. What's your problem with Blaine and I?”

When Cooper only scowled without answering, Kurt relented. They had parted on good terms, there was no reason now to become enemies over this.

“I have no desire to hurt Blaine, Cooper. We are friends, too, you know, and both of us know what we're doing. I know he is your little brother, and you want to protect him, but he is a grown man too, and he wants to have his own experiences. Some of them, he wants to have with me. I promise I'll keep him safe.”

“Can you keep his heart safe?” Cooper asked. Kurt nearly laughed. He wasn't even able to keep his own heart safe, what was he supposed to do with another's?

“I have nothing to do with his heart,” he replied, somewhat sullenly. “He has given his heart away a long time ago, there is nothing you, I, or anyone else can do about it. We can only hope that the one he has chosen is worthy of him.”

“I suspect he is not,” Cooper said, but before Kurt could ask if he knew the name of the man, Cooper bowed and left the balcony.

After a moment, Kurt followed him inside. Cooper was watching Blaine playing at cards, or rather flirt over his hand, at the moment with a young lady who seemed especially delighted by his attentions.

“I grant that it doesn't seem like he needs my protection anymore. He does seem rather comfortable in society,” Cooper said.

“He does indeed,” Kurt said and made to return to his seat, where he was enough out of focus he wasn't requested to play too often. But he stood and looked back for a moment.

“Cooper. Congratulations on your engagement.”

Cooper smiled. “Thank you.”

Comfortable in society, indeed. Far too comfortable, in Kurt's opinion, and he more than ever regretted the stupid assignment he had given Blaine when he heard a particular loud, and so it seemed to him, exaggerated giggle from the direction of Blaine's table. They could flirt and flounce all they wanted. He would take Blaine home with him tonight, and he would finally claim him. None of the simpering idiots currently fawning over Blaine would get to fuck him tonight. Only Kurt. Only ever -

Who was he kidding. He was no one to Blaine, he had no claim to him, and in a few weeks, Blaine would be gallivanting off with the unknown man Kurt really did not like at all. Maybe, after a while, when Blaine wouldn't be so preoccupied with his new lover anymore, they could be friends. But that was all they'd ever be.

Suddenly, he wanted to be here even less than before. He had planned to take Blaine home with him, but he didn't want to anymore; he feared for his self control. He should go, he dared not tarry any longer lest he alert all and sundry to his foul mood by snapping at anyone who tried to talk to him.

He stood, said a discreet farewell to the hostess, and left. Leaned back in the seat of his barouche, he thought, and he was still thinking as he lay in bed.

Maybe it was time to finally admit to himself that this arrangement was not going according to plan at all. He had known Blaine, really known him, for only a few weeks, and yet there was nothing he could call himself but infatuated. Or maybe that word was too weak, even, maybe he should call himself...But he wouldn't. There was no sense in it, and only heartbreak, because whatever feelings he was building, Blaine would never reciprocate. Blaine had been in love with that unworthy scoundrel for years; that would not change because of a few weeks acquaintance with him. There was nothing to do for him but to somehow get through the last few weeks until Cooper's wedding, and then try his best to overcome this. As he would. Because he had to.

Lord Burt had excused Kurt from his duties for the morning, knowing as he did that there was no escaping Lady Sue Sylvester's invitation, and that even with Kurt's premature departure, the party had lasted well into the night.

So Kurt was late to breakfast, and somehow wasn't surprised to receive Blaine's card on a tray in the middle of it.

“Invite Mr. Anderson to join me, please, and bring a second cup and more tea,” he told the maid who had brought the card, and barely had time to take a deep breath before Blaine entered the room.

“I'm surprised to see you up so soon. You stayed longer than I did; shouldn't you still be in bed?” Kurt said, trying for light hearted and teasing, but not sure if he succeeded. From the way Blaine scowled at him, he did not.

“I might have been,” Blaine said slowly, sitting down and pouring himself a cup of tea, “had there been someone beside me, as I came to expect there would.”

Kurt winced. “My apologies. It wasn't my intention to abandon you. I was plagued by a headache and decided to seek my bed. I...you seemed to be enjoying yourself, so I left you in peace.”

Immediately, Blaine's expression turned into one of worry, and Kurt felt guilty for lying.

“Are you better now?” Blaine asked.

“Much better,” Kurt said, which again was a lie, because while he wasn't tormented by jealousy anymore, it was no easier to be aware of his feelings and know they would ever stay unrequited.

They talked about nothing of import while Kurt was finishing his breakfast, although Blaine was able to offer some new insights on a few things about the estate Kurt had been thinking about. As soon as he dabbed his lips, however, and set down his cup, Blaine asked,

“What did you think of my performance yesterday? Did I fulfill my task?”

Kurt suppressed a grimace. “You did indeed. Most admirably.”

Blaine stood up from his seat on the other side of the table, only to sit down again on the chair next to Kurt's. Their legs brushed as he sat down, and Kurt knew it was deliberate. Blaine really had been an exceptional student, and there wasn't much more Kurt could teach him that he wouldn't be able to learn by himself, just by getting more experience. Kurt also didn't want to teach him anymore. He didn't want to be Blaine's teacher, he wanted so much more he would never be.

“If I remember correctly, my lord, you promised to grant me a boon if I fulfilled your task,” Blaine said, and Kurt groaned inwardly. He had an idea what Blaine would ask for, and it would be hard for him to give. But how could he not? He was not strong enough for that.

“You have certainly earned it,” he said, forcing a smile. “If it is in my power to give, you shall have it.”

“Not only is it in your power to give, you are the only one who can give it. The first time, you insisted that I would be the one to....fuck you, since I was the virgin. And it was wonderful, but now that I am virgin no longer, I would know the other side. I want you to fuck me.”

Kurt hadn't thought Blaine meant right now. But here they were, in broad daylight, in Kurt's bed, and Kurt couldn't help but put all he was feeling, his whole heart, into his kiss. It felt almost unbearably intense to him, but Blaine didn't seem to notice; he moaned his pleasure and kissed Kurt back just the way he had learned he liked it. And Kurt was weak; he couldn't help but respond to it, to the way Blaine touched him, so sure of himself now, so sure that Kurt would like whatever he did. He responded, moaned and arched his back and fumbled for the oil on the little table beside the bed, even though tears burned behind his eyes that he would never, never, let anyone see.

And then he became even weaker, for he forgot about the pain and the heartbreak that would surely follow, and he forgot even himself as he pushed into Blaine, slowly, slowly, while Blaine was looking at him with wide eyes, and then let them fall closed and moaned, long and deep, his hands clutching Kurt's hips in a grip that would leave bruises. He forgot everything but the moment, and that he was giving Blaine this last thing, and himself this to remember, later, when his bed was cold again.