#she deserves claws and teeth and in this essay i will- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stones-x-bones · 4 years ago

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Where Is Your Guilt || Kyle and Bex (ft. Morgan)

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @darkh0wl @inbextween and @mor-beck-more-problems SUMMARY: Bex and Kyle meet up at the campus café to try and relieve each other of their guilt. Narrator voice: It went poorly. CONTENT: PTSD flashback, Panic attack, Sad wolf boi and sad witch gorl

Bex paced. Her chest was pounding with nerves. It didn’t hurt so much today, it was getting better, really. It didn’t hurt so much. She could do this, she could see Kyle. She could, really. She just had to keep telling herself that she was safe, that this was okay. That he wasn’t going to hurt her. Of course he wasn’t. This was nothing like the circumstances that brought the incident on. There was no mind link, no essay to write, no panic attack. No anger, no moon, no night. It was the middle of the day, in a crowded cafe. Well, not crowded. Bex didn’t like crowded places and she assume Kyle wouldn’t either. Especially for this. She paced outside because sitting seemed too hard right now, even if her chest was beginning to hurt from all the movement. She rubbed it and paused and tried to collect herself. She needed to calm down, lest her magic go haywire again. She couldn’t let it hurt him again. A familiar voice, Bex looked up. Across the way, Kyle was heading towards her. She wanted to run to him, to hug him, to reassure him everything was okay-- but something glued her to her spot and her entire body froze up.

Kyle had debated not coming. He had debated laying in bed forever and deleting Bex’s number. That was stupid. Of course he had to come, he nearly killed her. The least he could do was show up (in a well lit, well populated area,) and apologize to her face. If he could even look her in the eye after what he’d done. He had sat in his Jeep, staring at the wheel and willing himself to get out of the car. He had taken his time making sure he didn’t look like the sleepless zombie he felt himself to be. When he thought he could keep Bex waiting no longer, Kyle took a deep breath to ground himself, and he headed toward the cafe on the UMWC campus. It wasn’t as heavily populated as he had hoped. Maybe extra eyes on him could have been incentive enough to keep his shit together. That was fine, he would just have to keep himself calm. That was doable. As he approached, he called out. “Bex! Hey.” At least she knew he was coming this time. He hoped that when he waved, she couldn’t tell how badly his hands shook. He shoved his hands in his pockets to try to mask the anxious shaking. “How are you?” he asked, as he closed the distance between them, concern written across his face.

Bex stepped back as Kyle approached. She didn’t mean to, but she did, and her back hit the door as someone pushed it open and she jumped away, apologizing profusely. She turned back to Kyle, her hands were already shaking. She immediately knew-- this was a bad idea. This was a terrible idea. She looked at him and she saw red eyes glowing and she heard his voice in her head-- Prey, hunt, kill-- and she felt claws in her chest. She tried to open her mouth to respond but couldn’t get anything out. Drew in a breath in an attempt to calm herself down. This wasn’t that. This wasn’t then. She was fine. She was fine. “I’m-- okay. I’m doing-- I’m-- fine.” She withdrew her arms and tucked them tightly over her chest, folding into herself. “I--” her eyes tried their best to scan the boy. He looked okay, physically, but she knew he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. He was hit by a car. He was forced to change into a rabid animal. He had almost killed her. Bex took another step away. “Are you? O-okay? Please just...tell me y-you’re not taking all this on a-alone?”

Something about Bex’s body language was off. Kyle’s brow knitted together and he listened carefully to her. He swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat and nodded. “Fine,” he said, his voice sounding more hoarse than he expected. He cleared his throat, looking down at his feet. “I’m doing fine.” Kyle’s hands were clenched into fists in his pockets. It was hard to look at her because some animalistic part of his brain still wanted to see prey. He had to take a steadying breath when he looked back up at Bex. “I’m-- I mean I guess I’m alone. It’s okay. You-- How are you doing with things? Are--are you healing?” His eyes drifted over Bex. The way she hugged her own chest broke his heart. He did that to her. What if they had never been in the library at the same time? Would things have shook out the way they did? Would Bex be better off? He looked down at his feet again in an attempt to make Bex feel like she wasn’t staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. “Do you want to sit?” he mumbled at the ground.

So they were both liars then, huh? Bex didn’t know what to do anymore. Morgan had been right, this was a bad idea. Wasn’t she always right? Had Bex really not learned that lesson by now? She shook off the thoughts and looked over at Kyle. He looked almost as afraid and in pain as she was. He hid it better. She tucked her chin into her shoulder. “You’re not fine,” she muttered, turning to look around at the patio outside. Did she want to sit? No, she wanted to leave. Her heart was beginning to pound in her chest again. Her throat felt tight. Her body shook in a cold sweat. “You shouldn’t b-be alone. It’s not fair. I-- you deserve to have people helping you. Please, please don’t--” she paused, swallowed, “don’t take this all on yourself. It-- it’s my fault, t-too. Please.” She begged, finally feeling brave enough to step towards him. She reached out, unfurling her arms. She wanted so bad to reassure him, but, instead, a vision flashed before her eyes. The alley, the angry wolf. Running. Cold, hard ground on her back. She saw his eyes and his teeth and claws-- and she screamed.

“No, no,” Kyle began, shaking his head. “I don’t want to hear about how it’s your fault. It’s not.” He could hear the way her heartbeat picked up. He hadn’t even been listening for it, but became aware of it as it sped up. She wasn’t doing okay, and it was his fault. She was panicking and it was his fault. Kyle was ready to call the whole thing quits. He wanted to turn and walk away right now. This had been a bad idea, and he shouldn’t have agreed to it last night. Truthfully, he’d only agreed because it seemed like it might make her feel better. He had hoped she’d bring Mina or Morgan or, hell, even Nell. He hadn’t wanted her to come alone. But here they were, and Bex was trying to tell him not to take this on alone and that it was her fault. That hurt to hear. Kyle had sincerely fucked this girl’s whole life up in one go, hadn’t he? He took her whole world and just flipped it on its head because he couldn’t keep his cool for five fucking minutes. “Bex, this isn’t your fault,” he said, closing his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something more, but then Bex was screaming. Kyle’s eyes flew back open and he froze. The same feeling started rising in his chest; he began to feel that familiar, but pressing, urge to shift. Breathe. Breathe. “Breathe.” Was he saying that outloud? Fuck.

No, this wasn’t happening. This couldn’t happen again. This wasn’t the same. Breathe. Bex put her hands over her ears and sank to the ground. It was happening again. It was happening again. It was like waking up from all of her nightmares of it again, and again, and again. There was a pressure on her chest again and she gasped for breath. Breathe. Who was saying that? Was she saying that? Tear filled eyes looked around wildly. She saw faces, but they blurred into street lights. She remembered how they flickered above her. Remembered how they’d cast shadows onto the wolf as it charged from the alley and right towards her. “Stop it!” she shouted, reaching out and shoving whoever was in front of her. Hands found purchase on something solid and she pushed herself up, trying to get away from the alley-- the building. She needed space. She needed to breathe. She collapsed just shy of the grass, on her hands and knees, clutching her chest. Had she made it far enough away? She could feel magic seeping from her hands. The grass in front of her decayed in an instant. The sidewalk cracked under her fingertips. She needed to calm down. She couldn’t calm down. She put her head in her hands again and curled into a ball. This had been such a bad idea. She wished she’d never came. She wished she’d never met Kyle. She wished she didn’t have magic.

The push was unexpected, and Kyle stumbled backwards, landing on his butt. He barely felt it, eyes locked on Bex. At this point, Kyle was aware that spellcasters existed. He knew the effects magic could have on two people; the way it could make two divergent paths become one. He knew that Nell had healed Bex, too, and that it wasn’t always destructive. But something about seeing it right in front of his eyes--the way the grass just up and died, the way the sidewalk fractured like fault lines--made him feel as if he weren’t real. Mouth agape, Kyle stared at her for a long moment, before he jolted back to his senses and went to her side. “Bex? Bex, it’s--it’s okay, I’m--I won’t hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.” That sick little instinct at the back of his mind called him a liar. He did want to hurt her. He wanted to attack her again. But watching Bex curl up like that had him shaking his head. He had to stop thinking and do something about this. He knelt down beside her and tentatively put a shaking hand on her shoulder. “I won’t hurt you again I--I can’t hurt you again. It’s okay!” Should he call someone? Should he leave? He couldn’t leave her like this, right? This was his fault, he needed to fix it. He needed to do something.

She knew. Logically, she knew. He wasn’t going to hurt her. He wasn’t. Really. Hadn’t she told Morgan that? And Mina? And Nell? So, then, why didn’t she believe it. Her heart seized again at the sound of his voice. Bex doubled over, clutching her stomach. She felt sick. Her body was shaking, she couldn’t control her thoughts anymore. “Go away!” she shouted into the grass. Her body shimmered, glowed, a hazy piece of herself breaking away for only a moment. She wanted out of this moment. She wanted to run away. “Don’t touch me!” She didn’t even notice the bystanders at the cafe staring them down. Discussing whether to call campus security or the police or the medical staff. Bex’s breathing began to wheeze, as if she couldn’t get enough air to her lungs. The nearby lamps began to hum with the low pulse of energy. She needed to reign herself in, she was going to hurt someone again. But every time she opened her eyes, she just saw the wolf atop her. Teeth sharp, eyes full of bloodlust. He wanted to kill her. He was going to kill her. She could remember the thoughts echoing in her head. Prey. Hunt. Kill. “Stop, please!” she cried out. “Please, I don’t want to die, please.” And she hadn’t meant to, but she couldn’t control herself, could she? But her mind, her magic, it made them all see. Everyone nearby. Flashes of the wolf. The pain she’d felt as claws dug into her chest. The fear she’d felt when she was sure he was going to kill her. Now, she wasn’t the only one screaming. “Make it stop,” she sobbed, “please make it stop.”

Running his hands through his hair, Kyle stood up and backed away from Bex. This was bad. This was really, really bad. She hated him, and that thought was making him spiral. He dragged his hands over his face. “Focus, focus, focus.” He had to call someone who knew what they were doing. His hands fumbled for his phone, and he called Morgan, thanking the gods that he’d saved her number the day he was in the art studio. The second Morgan picked up, Kyle was already speaking. “Morgan, it’s Kyle. The campus cafe, you need--Bex--she’s-- Get here. Now.” He couldn’t keep the feeling at bay for much longer, though he was surprised with himself that he’d been able to at all. He was going to shift, and it was going to happen soon, if he didn’t calm down. He just needed to wait for Morgan to get here. Then he could go. Morgan just had to get here.

Morgan was in her office when she got the call. She didn’t pack up her things so much as she shoved as much as she could with one sweep of her arm, and everything left, books, charging cables, Pyrex, papers, whatever the hell, didn’t matter. She took the steps two at a time, shamelessly shoving students and faculty out of her way until she could sprint down the quad to the cafe.

“Bex!” She called. Kyle paced fastidiously nearby, his body hunched and tense. Which made the shape face-planted in the ground Bex. “Bexley!” She dropped her bag, tired of it banging and rattling uselessly against her side. Then she threw herself onto the girl, wrapping her up and pulling her up. “Bex, hey-- Honey, hey--” Bex thrashed in her arms, shaking with panic and terror. Morgan bundled her tighter against her chest. She looked up at Kyle, pleading for answers. “What happened? Is she hurt? Did you do something?” Around her, lights groaned and flickered. Sparks flew out from the nearest lamp. At the cafe tables, students were trembling and whimpering, an eerie chorus, out of tune in a way that reminded her of the worst of fae magic. “Tell me what’s happening!”

Bex felt something pulling her up and she lashed out, thrashing. “Don’t!” she cried out, not seeing who it was, not knowing who it was. “Don’t touch me!” But the grip just tightened. She cried out in anguish, lost in the memory that was consuming her mind. Pressure, like on her chest, claws digging in. She pushed and shoved and squirmed but she couldn’t get away. She couldn’t get away. She was losing control. She didn’t want to hurt anyone. She didn’t mean to hurt anyone. She inhaled sharply-- a lamp finally shattered. Exhaled-- the sidewalk splintered more, like tremors in the ground. Her body shook inside the vice grip she knew she couldn’t escape. “Please don’t,” she begged, she pleaded, her eyes seeing straight through Morgan, straight through Kyle, and looking up at the wolf, “please don’t kill me.”

There wasn’t time to answer Morgan’s questions. Not with all these innocent people around. Not with Bex reliving what he’d already done to her. Not with the kindness Morgan had shown him when he least deserved it. “She-- I don’t know, Morgan! I don’t know! She was screaming and she’s--It’s me! I-it’s happening again, and I can’t let it.” He couldn’t breathe. His eyes glinted in the light cast from the sparks that showered down from the lamps around them. “I have to go,” Kyle said breathlessly. He was already discarding his jacket and shoes and phone and keys beside Morgan’s bag. He couldn’t afford to buy new clothes every time this happened, and it was happening with an unexpected frequency as of late. He had to go. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered, turning and running for the forest as quickly as he could.

It hurt. His body was still so sore, his skin still so raw. No time. Can’t breathe. Kyle hadn’t made it more than ten yards into the woods--his shirt and pants discarded just beyond the treeline--before he was stumbling to his knees. His claws dug into the earth. What if he was still too close? He could hear Bex’s screams in the not so far distance. What if he turned around to go back after them? What if he couldn’t stop this time? There wasn’t enough time to follow that line of thinking all the way to the conclusion before Kyle was fully shifting. It took him a few minutes to recover. He took in a deep breath and he could smell fear. Kyle rounded on his heels, ears pricked as he listened intently. Please don’t kill me. He stilled. Head up, eyes darting around in search of an easy meal, Kyle slowly stalked forward. Suddenly, a twig snapped behind him. He whipped around, spotting a wolpertinger crouched under some low brush. The beast took off, Kyle took off after it, and he was gone.

“Kyle, no. Kyle, wait!” Morgan cried. But he was long gone and as much as it pained her to see him retreating, shamefaced over something he couldn’t carry, it was a lot easier to deal with one superpowered oversized kid than two. Morgan sighed, lamenting silently. (Someone had to do better for him, someone had to care for him, show him that he didn’t have to make such a mess or be so alone.) Then she turned the rest of her attention on Bex.

“Hey,” she cooed. “You’re safe, Bex. No one is going to hurt you. I’ve got you. You’re safe, and you’re here with me.” She spoke her words softly and steadily into the girl’s ear, the way Deirdre did for her during her worst moments. “You’re with me. You’re safe. And you’re not in that alley, you’re here. You have to breathe until you find your way back to me, honey. Can you breathe a little slower, like I showed you?” Morgan tapped the rhythm on her arm and squeezed her tighter still. If she dislocated something, she’d pop it back into place and apologize later.

Words began to break through her facade. You’re with me, you’re safe. You’re not in that alley. Bex slammed her eyes shut and did her best to listen to them, panting with exhaustion as she tried her best to breath. In for three, out for five. A steady rhythm being tapped on her arm. The grip around her tightening, shifting from a painful reminder, to a place where she knew she was safe. The arms were cold, the grip was warm. Morgan. Bex inhaled sharply as she suddenly snapped from her flashback, blinking rapidly. She tried her best not to hyperventilate, sucking in air, collapsing into Morgan’s arm from the stiff, frightened ball she’d tried to curl into before. She let her entire weight lean against Morgan, clutching her chest as she tried to breathe. Just breathe. Kyle’s words. Just breathe. She’d done it again. She’d ruined everything again. She should’ve just stayed home. She didn’t cry this time, just let her body grow limp against Morgan. “I’m sorry,” she wheezed, finally finding enough air in her lungs to speak, “I made it worse. I’m sorry.” Monotone words mumbled into her shoulder. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes lifted to the treeline, off behind Morgan’s shoulder. Kyle was spiraling into a world of hurt and loneliness and it was all her fault. She’d find a way to fix it. She’d do better next time. She’d fix it even if it meant tearing herself apart.

#chatzy #wickedswriting #too much too soon #chatzy: kyle #chatzy: morgan #kyle #morgan #//OKAY this is probably the last one for now #/for now/#anyway it's short and sweet :)#so soft :))

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cosmicangst · 4 years ago

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hello 😌 I saw someone asked for quotes here and i really liked them, so could you please share some that reminds you of grief and sorrow??

sure!

She never utters a sound even when she’s crying, and that makes me a little sad. Doesn’t seem right. When you cry, people should hear you. The world should stop.

— Libba Bray, Going Bovine

Each person’s grief is as unique as their fingerprint. But what everyone has in common is that no matter how they grieve, they share a need for their grief to be witnessed. That doesn’t mean needing someone to try to lessen it or reframe it for them. The need is for someone to be fully present to the magnitude of their loss without trying to point out the silver lining.

— David Kessler, “Our Experience of Grief is Unique as a Fingerprint”

I'm right behind you. / You say forget but I'll remind you. / You can try to hide but you know that I will find you. / ‘Cause if you won't grieve me, you won't leave me behind.

— “I’m Alive”, Next to Normal

Some of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.” / But I say unto you, they are inseparable. / Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

— Kahlil Gibran, “On Joy and Sorrow”

Oh, to be ravaged by loneliness. By its soft, malleable teeth. A slow death. A slow ravaging. More like being pulled apart than eaten. You used to beg God for this at night, used to beg him to go make you small enough to get picked up in something’s mouth and then swallowed. You used to bend your shadow into something worth slicing through, into something that deserved to be pried open. What you didn’t know was that nothing that wanted you had claws.

— Caitlyn Siehl, “Nothing That Wanted You”

Ivan Ilych's life had been most simple and most ordinary and therefore most terrible.

— Leo Tolstoy, The Death of Ivan Ilych

It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things.

— Lemony Snicket, Horseradish

Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.

— Jamie Anderson

You remember too much, / my mother said to me recently. / Why hold onto all that? And I said, / Where can I put it down?

— Anne Carson, “The Glass Essay”

FLEABAG: I don't know what to do with it.

BOO: With what?

FLEABAG: With all the love I have for her. I don't know where to put it now.

BOO: I'll take it.

[FLEABAG laughs]

BOO: No, I'm serious. It sounds lovely. I'll have it.

— Phoebe Waller-Bridge, Fleabag 02x04

The word grief means nothing. / Did I ever feel grief? / What did I know? / Death is death. / Now, let’s go into the tiger cage and talk.

— Chelsey Minnis, “Grief”

There are ways of dying that don't end in funerals. Types of death you can't smell.

— Haruki Murakami, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman

There is no country for those who despair. But I know that the sea comes before and after me, and I hold my madness ready. Those who love and are separated can live in grief. This is not despair; they know that love exists. This is why I suffer, dry-eyed and exiled.

— Albert Camus

And me? / I’m not doing anything. / I’m not helping or cleaning. / I’m not even crying. / I’m not doing anything. / She’d be so goddamn helpful. / Well, fuck her for dying ’cause I - /

I’m not writing her elegy. Not me. / I’m not writing that down. / They would scrawl her name on a city wall / but I’m a fucking clown. / I’m making jokes so I don’t drown.

— “Anyway”, The Bad Years

I demand a war to bring the dead boy back / no matter what his name is this time. / I at least demand a song. a song will do just fine. \\

look at what the lord has made. / above Missouri, sweet smoke.

— Danez Smith, “not an elegy for Mike Brown”

My lament, / a badge, follows me / everywhere I go. Sometimes the / blaze / is fury. Sometimes it is a soft sorrow. I look to the sky and I see it all / burning.”

— Casandra López, “Eclipse”

#reply.#anon.#provocations.

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ktxae · 4 years ago

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Wednesday 17/02/2021

Writing is something I adore.

Under my bed are three huge shopping bags that contain every diary and journal-type notebook from the age of 10 onwards that I hoarded to examine my progress over the years, convinced I would make it onto a bookshelf before I was 16. I’m currently eighteen now and sitting here in my bedroom during a pandemic with little to no money, let alone a book deal, but I still have the joy of seeing a ten year old Kates thoughts on how she was gonna make it big while also bitching bout how her 4th class teacher is a complete monster for making her do long division.

What a simpler time it was.

With Covid, I think it’s very easy to forget the things that brought us that joy, the joy you can only equate to a child learning their passion. And why would we remember? We don’t exactly have anything reminding us of it right now. You turn on the news and you see a new amount of deaths, a new amount of infected. People are out of jobs, children don’t know what is happening with school and their course - here in Ireland we don’t even know if we can sit our final exam that determines us getting into college. A grandparent gets sick, a high risk loved one dies. Those who can’t cope with it have no choice but to stay inside and those who struggle with mental illness have to grit their teeth ad just sit tight through that bad days along with everything else that has been thrown into the mix, and I’m sure the troubles get worse with the worse your position may be.

I can’t speak for everyone, but I know for myself, mentally this has been a struggle. I don’t think anyone who struggles with mental illness finds this period easy, and this is coming from someone who - although struggles with a number of issues - still has certain privileges such as the roof over my head and money to keep myself and my family going at a comfortable pace, something many people with my issues may not have. I’m one of the luckier ones and while I feel like it s very important to recognise the privilege I have, it is also important to acknowledge that this has not been easy on anyone. It’s very unpleasant to feel like the joy has been sucked out of most things in life.

What is my point to all this? Why come on here and state the obvious; that ten year olds write very cringe diary entries and that none of us are Covids number one fan? I think now more than ever, we need that thing that gave us joy, so much joy that we could jump up and down as children. We need our passions, our obsessions because we deserve to take joy in something. I have loved writing since the moment I could pick up a one as a child and despite my cringey diary entries about the ever so dreadful trials and tribulations of 4th class I know I have gotten better. I can see it in everything I write for myself, every essay that a teacher returns to me with a percentage that's just that bit higher than the last test. I see it as I write my girlfriend yet another love letter and see her beam just a bit brighter as she reads it because I have found another word, phrase, quote, comparison to truly capture how much I love her just a little bit better than the last time I tried. I see it when I’m out people watching and I catch a moment between two people that I just ache to write about until I can claw my hands around my pen and attempt to capture the feeling it evoked within me. I see it when I feel myself grow passionate about something, oh so passionate that if I don't let my thoughts pour out of me so much that I just may burst. I know I have gotten better at writing and know I love it with each bit of additional passion and drive to do it I spot within me. And I love it, I absolutely love to write so why not do it during this god awful time?

This blog can be a guilty pleasure for me but I fully intend to exercise my writing abilities on here. I want to keep this for the things I love, the routine I wish to maintain during these difficult times and something I hope others can take joy in too. Lets face it, however guilty this secret pleasure may make me feel, you can’t deny we all want our blog to gain a little attraction. No matter how little though, I will continue to write as I want to do this to maintain whatever little happiness we can squeeze out of the very...unique times Covid has brought upon us, and I recommend you all do the same. Painters; create something beautiful. Singers; belt the notes that send a thrill through your body. Go on that walk you’ve been putting off, tell that person you love them. Because at the end f all of this, I think its safe to say Covid has taught us to appreciate what gives us pure childish joy.

#writer #writeblr #writers on tumblr #spilled thoughts #thoughts #writing blog #blog #study blog #book blog #bookish #my writing #writing

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countessofbiscuit · 4 years ago

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Smothered and Covered, 1, 3, 5 , 9, 11, 14? This fic lives rent-free in my brain btw, thank you for writing it!

<grinch smile> thank you nonnie!!

Smothered and Covered

or: Boba was all shiny-soft under her hands, with dark eyes that stared past her into the next parsec. Far less innocence than most, yet the theft of his clawed harder at her shame. But one crude kindness deserved another. (Explicit, Boba/Ahsoka, cw: underage)

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?

A combination of factors.

This fanart, for starters. An anon who likened Aurra Sing to a trashy aunt. The persistent itch to write a grimy Bobasoka one-night-stand. All were catalysed by the bitter angst of the TCW S7 finale. It needed to be lanced and purged, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch Rexsoka directly: the grief was still too near. But I was desperate to play in that post-TCW, pre-Rebels void in a way that remained consistent with canon and my own fanon.

Then there was my Banned Bingo card, which had a free space that needed filling. Shipping Ahsoka with anyone but a flower crown will get you death threats in this fandom, but in the interest of being “Totally Problematic” and really earning that square, I decided to send her to bed with — le gasp! — a teenager who’d just been raped by a parental figure, and let her yearn the entire time for her estranged boyfriend (who happens to be a genetically-modified version of the dude she’s fucking).

This was also right at the time when rumours about Boba appearing season two of The Mandalorian went viral. The old disc horse carousel started up again: Boba is either an overrated, pointless, hollow character not worth the effort the sarlacc took to digest him, or he’s the Biggest Bossest Badass to ever make galactic citizens quake in their boots. I was sick to my back teeth of it. This guy is Schrödinger’s Mandalorian and all people seemed to wanna talk about was whether he earned his inclusion in the OT forty years ago. *yawns* Anyway, social media doesn’t thrive on nuance — but fanfic sure does. I wanted a character study of Boba as I (and a lot of excellent fic writers) understand and appreciate him; I wanted to let him be pissed about his traumatic life and act on it in his own way; I wanted him to be half as enigmatic as he thinks he is, while still being very unpredictable, even to someone who has good reason to know him better than most.

Smothered and Covered is the resultant greasy omelette, with lots of chunky bits, some easier to stomach than others.

3: What's your favorite line of narration?

It was almost too easy, like winning ‘round a sour tusk-cat just knowing where its claws can't reach.

5: What part was hardest to write?

The ending. I’m still not pleased with it. There’s something Extended-Edition RotK about it. Or an essay where you’re super sure you made the point in the body, but that profound, “in conclusion” thought which will earn you top marks eludes you. So you just write a series of semi-profound things and hope that does the job — oh, and throw in a quote a line of dialogue for good measure :p

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

Besides the hundred subtly different endings, the original draft didn’t have IC-8994 making an appearance. The exchange was just of information and bodily fluids. But in a ‘verse where Boba and Ahsoka are on texting terms, any intel that required a face-to-face drop seemed above their current paygrade as characters. Having an inconvenient commando in carbonite, however, gives Boba some plausible badass points and forces him to consider who can call to help bury a body. And besides, every story is better with whole-ass commandos, even if they’re just deadweight plot devices :)

11: What do you like best about this fic?

The Aurra reveal, by way of her blaster. I was stupidly satisfied with the rhyme it created, and that I got to wield obscure lore like a penknife to the heart.

14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

No one experiences or reacts to trauma in the same way. What one person does to reassure themselves that they still have agency in their life might be anathema to someone else; neither person is wrong. Fanpol/antis’ fetishization and policing of victimhood is fucked up.

#bobasoka #asks #boba fett #biscuit fic #cw: rape

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mimiplaysgames · 5 years ago

Text

save it for the morning after, pt. 2

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: E (Explicit) Word Count: 7,384

Summary: Terra learns to trust his body to another.

Read on AO3

A/N: HAPPY TERRAQUA DAY!!! I posted what would’ve been a one-shot last year... then came the messages asking me to expand on that. Considering what kind of writer I am, I don’t know if y’all understood what you asked for: I pick on Terra savagely - it’s dangerous to be my favorite. This piece goes to @lyssala who requested a piece that featured Character C interrupting Characters A and B during moments when they wanted to be alone, when I wanted to celebrate 100 followers on Twitter! I had to split this chapter in two cuz it got too long, so CONGRATS. You get two gifts. <33

~*~*~*~*~

Waking up is a nightmare.

Terra doesn’t remember his dream when he opens his eyes - only the sensation that he’s about to stare into a cloaked face, grinning with sharp canines and bright yellow eyes. His jaws clench badly enough that his teeth grind. His lips feel like they have been sewn shut. He can’t move anything, not his head cemented against the pillow, not his sagging arms or legs, as though the strings he’s used to move them have been cut.

Not again.

He takes in oxygen with short, desperate inhales through his nostrils. His fingers claw into the bed sheets as he tries to take back control.

As pleasant as this bright sunny morning, something presses on his chest, crushing his breath.

Yet, the only thing greeting him is an off-white ceiling.

Falling asleep is usually just as bad. It’s not the act of dreaming that puts him in danger - it’s the transition between consciousness and not that he fights every morning and every night. It’s the feeling of slipping out of fear that he’ll never speak again. If he didn’t have to rely on sleep to stay alive, he would just never close his eyes again.

She shifts next to him, murmuring before quieting.

Terra thanks himself for not moaning or yelling this time. The last thing he needs is to disturb her with his fits.

Aqua rolls over, readjusting her body before nestling into her pillow. She looks so serene like this, bedsheets wrapped tightly around her hips and her breasts exposed, creamy and still.

It’s bright for an early morning - the snow outside reflects the sunlight, painting the entire room in a brilliant glow that illuminates the entire room, including just how pink her nipples really are.

She’s like a mermaid. Precious and rare, something he doesn’t deserve, and he’s the stupidest, luckiest bastard in this world, who has done absolutely nothing to have her in bed with him.

He’s more unworthy than that - he’s in her bed.

Terra lets go of the sheet finger by finger, his breath eventually losing its deathgrip over his throat and settling still, letting his muscles relax and giving his shoulders back some control. Rolling over to his side to watch her, he leans on an elbow. The butterflies in his stomach flurry worse than ever, more excitable than even last night.

Last night… Wow. He can’t believe it all happened. Lying together undressed, touching her, sharing kisses that he dreamt of for years, feeling her on his skin, being inside her, how they exchanged breaths to keep going… now she’s sleeping soundly like she’s in the safest place in the world.

She’s told him before that she has the worst trouble sleeping, but last night, she fell under quite quickly in his arms, taking a spot in the crook of his neck. He’s glad he could help her in any way.

The Realm of Darkness has done an impressive job in preserving her. While Aqua doesn’t smile like she used to, her face is still everything he remembers. Face untouched by marks or lines. Lips pillowy and hair the same color. For her, sleep is peace, very much like the way she used to look when she napped on top of her open books in the library, halfway through an anxious night studying.

She’s been given a second chance at life - they all have, let’s be honest. A rare grace that most will never see. People grow old, they separate from their loved ones, they die. Here two of them rest in a soft bed, keeping their youth, grasping at something like childhood dreams and excitement about their future - but the truth is they’ll never have it again. He’s sorry about that.

And Aqua, she does have scars even if they don’t live on her face. There are scruffs crisscrossing down her arms, two on her collarbone - mostly unnoticeable to anyone who doesn’t know their history. There is one, faded and white on her bicep, that he inflicted on her one nasty afternoon when he wanted to prove that his brand new Keyblade was stronger than hers.

He paid for that afternoon with a severe lecture and a fifty-page essay.

Then there are others - nastier, some braided, others like craters. One on her ribcage right under her breast that curls and splays. There’s a slash across her entire back, and he’s scared of asking where it came from.

Really scared.

Of course, he has to account for all the scars he can’t see: the ones that make her flinch at night, like Ven walking in on her unannounced, taking her by surprise.

She pays for her second chance at life in plenty of ways.

Despite it all, she’s beautiful. She has always been. And when she’s gray and cranky, she still will be.

Her nose wrinkles and she sniffs - some of her hair strands have fallen in front of her face, tickling her.

When he takes the opportunity to brush her hair - gently, gently - off of her face, Terra lingers in the feeling of silk strands as he collects them behind her ear. He’s always wanted to do this.

Aqua hums, her arms stretching outward. Her chest arches with breath. He jerks his hand away, hoping against hope that he didn’t ruin it.

“Sorry,” he whispers, almost shushing her back to slumber.

Wiggling her eyelids open, the first thing she notices is him. Aqua smirks and immediately covers her mouth with her hand to giggle.

So seeing him struck memories of last night for her, too.

“Good morning,” he says, trying to sound cocky but his voice is rougher than he wants.

She brings the bed sheet up to her nose. Her cheeks are as red as a tomato. This isn’t really her usual self, Aqua has always had too much dignity for giggling. But he likes this sudden melting of her defenses - a flustered Aqua is a cute Aqua.

“Good morning,” she says, almost like she’s about to ask what he’s doing there. Despite covering herself, her smile reaches her eyes, and every time she glances at him, she beams even more.

“Looks like you’ve slept well,” he says with a distinct flavor, like he’s witnessing a scandal.

She narrows her eyes. “What are you insinuating?”

“Nothing.” He clears his throat. “You’re…” Naked. I’m naked. “The proof is under the sheets.”

Aqua composes herself, lowering the sheet to her collarbone, and confidently calms her nerves, her eyes whittling away all that childlike excitement from earlier.

But he knows she knows what he’s talking about, though there’s not a hint of shame in her eyes either. She rolls over to meet him face to face.

“I did sleep well,” she says softly, inching closer, looking up at him.

Her intense blue eyes glimmer, especially in sunlight. Drinking in the sight before her, they find solace somewhere on Terra, even though he doesn’t have the capability to give it to her.

Terra’s heart thumps and it’s the loudest thing in the room. His fingers strum the surface of the bed, so close to her face. He could tap her nose and make her laugh. Cup her cheek and let her sigh. Stroke her jaw and finally embrace her.

These are all just fantasies, but he indulges in them. Aqua’s quicker to act. She lifts her head up, closing the gap and taking his lips onto hers.

While the ones they had last night were hungry, maybe even desperate, this one is patient, feeling him slowly, taking him in different angles, exploring the sorts of ways she can invite his tongue to do more.

She gathers her arms around his neck, pulling him as she falls back. When she skates her hands over his shoulders - his biceps and back up to his pecs - his skin electrifies, shooting goose flesh down his spine.

Aqua lets one hand go to fuss with the sheets wrapped around her chest, letting nothing stand between his bare skin and her creamy softness.

The contact shocks him and he has to breathe deeper, taking it in like he’s drowning. It helps him feel her all the more.

More. Everything in his twitching groin needs more.

Gripping her waist in a moment of panic - the kind where he’d never feel her again if they let go - Aqua responds by pushing with her weight, rolling him onto his back, pulling them together with her hands on his jaw, her messy kisses pulling hard on his lips (they still need to practice).

Terra in the meantime glides his fingers up and down her back. Her scar is as long as the list of consequences that could all be traced back to his mistakes. Longer than that - as long as a trail that would lead out the bedroom.

The one under her breast splays like a mess of bare branches in the dead of winter, and he holds his palm there firmly, like he’s trying to keep them from ripping more.

How does he tell her with anything but words that he didn’t quite understand the extent of pain, of how far it could go, until he was possessed?

Is there such a thing as a hug comforting enough or a held hand loving enough to measure that?

His hands go to her hips, and squeeze what plumpness she has. He lets her make the decision to rock against his pelvis. Only then does he apply the pressure, make her pant against him.

Terra becomes more impatient, and he kneads her with both hands, starting with her ass before climbing up, taking notice of how her nipples harden under his palms.

The kiss breaks with her smile.

“What?”

Aqua is already red from the flush, but now she’s worse for wear and she’s trying to hide it. “Your hands are so big.”

“They are?” He doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Her breasts fit his palms just fine, supple and round. Letting one go, he tests the size by comparing it to her face; it covers everything, from his wrist on her chin to the fingers digging into her hairline, his palm taking up the entire space across her cheeks that he can only see dashes of her eyebrows. “They are.”

She chuckles into his hand, giving it a quick peck before caressing it. Her breath composes itself, and her smile is content. Her gaze is full of light, welcoming him in, and it makes him feel protected. Safe enough to surrender. Maybe even forgiven. She’s about to come back down, and they can continue. He can let her shine on him, let himself go and forget all about this horrible morning-

A knock on the door. “Aqua?”

Aqua sits straight up. Immediately clamps down on Terra’s mouth with her hand.

Everything suddenly… slams to a stop, and Terra’s erection writhes, begging.

Worst timing, Ven.

“Y-yes?” Aqua calls.

Terra stares at her with bulging eyes. Please don’t leave me like this.

She smirks.

“Terra’s not in his room,” Ven says through the door. “And I’m hungry.”

“Okay-”

Terra bucks up against her, gnawing at her toned thigh. It makes her gasp and wrestle with a smile.

“I’ll be right out, Ven,” she says, trying so hard not to choke on a laugh. She gives Terra a sympathetic smile, and quickly, silently pecks his lips before peeling off of him and pulling him out of bed.

His sternum grows stones and they all sink to his stomach.

Pushing him into her bathroom, she scrambles to pick up all of his items of clothing: his pants, shirt, briefs… is that everything? Yes. She throws them in a heap against his body before quietly turning the knob and closing it.

Her bathroom is chillier than the bedroom, and Terra rests his back against her closed door, grimacing.

Rustling behind him - she hurries to get dressed, calling out a You can come in, Ven, before turning her attention to her bed sheets.

“Sorry,” she says as footsteps approach her.

Terra keeps his breath steady and inaudible - but it’s so hard. Really. He’s still ready to go, the throbbing in his groin becoming agonizing. It tingles like an interrupted sneeze - worse than that, like a desperate itch with an uncomfortable squeeze - and he pushes and stretches his shaft to make it uncomfortable, just so it would calm down.

It doesn’t calm down. Why.

“I overslept,” Aqua continues.

Without a pause, Ven says, “So you must have really slept well, that’s great news!”

Terra swallows a groan.

Aqua rustles some more. He imagines she’s nodding, trying to find the right words. “It does feel good.”

“Do you know where Terra is?” the twerp says.

Terra will tell him where Terra is. Terra flips the shower on, only the cold knob. His erection needs it.

There’s an uncomfortable pause from the other side of the door, and Aqua has stopped making her bed.

“Is that him using your shower?” Ven asks.

“His isn’t working.” She sounds so confident.

There’s another pause - something about it, maybe the way Aqua finishes her words so trepidly, that makes the silence seem longer even though it isn’t.

“It smells weird in here,” Ven says, slowly.

“Terra is filthy,” Aqua says, like it’s the most obvious answer. “Ven, when I finish getting ready, I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

Terra is sure she’s probably throwing daggers with her eyes through the door and he grins at the thought. Most of his pranks are usually thought-out and have some figment of imagination, but this has to be his new favorite.

Cold water stabs at his skin - it’s terrible enough to make him forget every mood he’s experienced since waking up. He picks up her lavender bar of soap. It smells so different than on her skin, and it invigorates all of his senses. He never thought he’d get the chance to. But here he is, in her shower, covered by a turquoise curtain and seeing how neatly her toiletries line up.

Ven must have left by now, because Aqua knocks on the door, telling him where she’ll be… after breakfast they’ll all be outside to shovel snow from the lower windows and pathways… have a snow fight, that will be fun… and maybe she’ll see him later? There’s hope in her voice, shyness even.

~*~*~*~*~

Outside, he can’t help but stare at the way the sun gleams off of the snow. He has to shield his eyes from the way it blinds him, and yet it makes him grin from ear to ear.

Consider how much better it is than a decade of nothingness.

They were absolutely buried last night, but they all survived.

Snow blocks the front and back entrances of the castle, tall enough to reach Terra’s hips. The trees all sag from the weight, and the fields have hills on them now that don’t exist in the spring.

What a chore though - his friends don’t understand what it takes out of him anymore, now that he’s back in a body he’s lost touch with for years (to the point that he used to forget he ever had one). Shoveling is a skill that demands all the power in his biceps and triceps, his shoulders, his rhomboids, all the way down to the lower back, straining to the point that it feels like a heavy ball is chained into his skin, pulling down.

At the same time, he sweats profusely underneath all those layers, like he’s trapped in an oven, baking for two hours past the point of well-burnt. It makes him want to strip naked and run down the woods.

If Aqua and Ven are enjoying the cold in their faces from the exposure, or finding comfort in the heat of their snug clothes… they’re lucky because they can’t compare. They don’t feel as strongly as he does.

Terra hunches over the terrace, staring at the snow gathered along the stone railing.

He’s on fire.

Freeing his fingers from his gloves and throwing his knit hat off, Terra plants his bare hands into the snow. It stings. Then it burns in a different way, quick to sear.

“Doesn’t that hurt, Terra?” he hears Ven ask, skipping over to him.

Terra groans. It’s too much - too much cold, too much heat, yes, even from this morning, lingering and gnawing and asking for release… But he can’t think about that or Aqua right now, it will make it worse. It’s all Ven’s fault.

“It’s actually nice,” he mutters, grabbing fistfuls, nearly wanting to plant his face into it.

“I guess…” Ven means well. He doesn’t understand what it feels like to be a maniac (his words, not Terra’s). “Making a snowman?”

Terra continues to collect the snow into a ball - it’s massive now, definitely fit for a base.

He grins, and the sight of it strikes nervousness into his best friend.

“What are you-”

Whump.

Ven pummels backward, slammed in the face by a mound of snow. It was so large and heavy that Terra had to carry it in both hands, and it buries Ven when he lands.

Spitting snow out of his mouth, Ven’s nose is now red from the cold. “That’s not fair, we aren’t supposed to have a snowball fight yet!”

Not fair was the interruption this morning.

“Better now than never,” Terra says, lightly stomping the ground with his foot. The earth beneath layers of frozen water hears his call. It vibrates, radiating upward, and a wave of snow bursts outward and covers Ven from head to toe.

“You’re crazy!”

Ven crawls out of his frigid entrapment, and Terra prepares another massive heap. Something about this is very gratifying. He should pick on Ven more often.

“Heads up!” Ven yells.

A tiny snowball that Ven grabbed in a second - inconsequential, honestly, in comparison to the boulder Terra has now - strikes Terra on the neck.

It’s just the thing to take the beast down.

Snow runs down his inner coat, like a million needles pricking all those sore muscles that got a beating earlier from shoveling. They tense up until they’re hard as bone. It’s cold. Shit.

Terra falls on his knees, beating his shoulder to warm it up as much as possible, but it only gives the snow momentum to scuffle into his pants.

“Aaaaaaaaand,” Ven boasts, “he’s down.”

Terra staggers, the snow burning his hip and trickling down his thigh. He manages to stay on his feet, his skin getting numb. Then he lunges forward.

Ven shrieks and laughs, taking off, running as fast as he can from big, bad Terra. He’s much faster than either of them, yet they sometimes forget.

Terra underestimates Ven all the time, who is now disappearing into a thicket, but he doesn’t care. Running pumps blood into the right head. The wind brushes through his hair and it chills him all the more, overwhelming with the smell of fresh air, the sting of the light reverberating off of the whiteness, the unresolved frustration, the bead of sweat which has frozen itself on his forehead.

But more than the fact that Terra feels too much is that he’s tired. Sprinting can only get him so far (or so near, compared to how fit he used to be before the fall). He’s quick to lose stamina, and his foot sinks deep into a pot of loose snow. He trips, landing face first.

It’s cold and it burns, but Terra is relieved from all other sensations just the same.

~*~*~*~*~

Now he can’t shake off the shivers.

Aqua sets a hearth ablaze in the fireplace, a haven within the library on the first floor, close to the doorway which would eventually lead to the dining room. Everything about the bottom floor is situated like a home fit for a family. It’s expansive, where all the hallways interconnect so no one can get lost. It’s where all the pleasant memories live.

This isn’t the place where they had their first kiss, though. Nothing on the first floor can hide.

Terra rests on the lounge chair, a massive thing that swallows anyone smaller than him in a dark forest green. It looks black now that the sun has dipped behind the mountains so early today.

It’s a deep enough color to hide all the torture that three rambunctious children have whipped on the poor thing. Terra has a faint memory of where the stains might be, but he can’t find any.

The fire isn’t enough. Terra has an ocean blue blanket to boot, wrapped around his shoulders. Aqua’s. She’s always been the neatest of the three, so he can’t imagine this would have any evidence of foul play.

The door behind him creaks and he hears soft, bare footsteps approaching him. Unlike her, sound doesn’t really make him nervous.

But having her near him does. Always has, and maybe always will.

“Doing better?” She puts a warm hand on his forehead for the fifth time that evening to check for a fever. She was the one to find him slumped and groggy in the snow outside. Of course. “You’re still cold,” she mumbles.

At her touch, his heart beats obnoxiously for his attention, like a shrill child being purposefully ignored. Look, look, she’s touching us!

He groans.

“No, you’re not okay?”

“I am,” he says. “I just hate how I’m feeling.”

Aqua grins, taking a seat on his armrest, bringing one bare leg to her chest. She’s wearing shorts, and Terra takes a quick glance over. A baggy sweater covers most of her body, and his heart is now thrashing, knowing exactly what it looks like underneath.

But it’s her eyes that hold him still.

“You’ll get used to it,” she reassures him, nodding into her knee.

That’s usually her answer, and she’s right: the day he came back, the minty taste of mouthwash burned a hole through his jaw, and he had yelled from the pounding in his ears. You’ll get used to it.

Now, it just gives him a tense headache. See?

It’s her confidence that he finds so comforting - like she knows all these hyper-feelings will sort themselves out if he gives it another day (or week, or month). After all, she has said before, he’s been out of commission for so long.

Terra wonders if she’s ever said that to herself, night after night in the Realm of Darkness. It’s okay to be alone right now, I’ll get used to it.

Aqua does such a fantastic job holding it together, even late in the night, when he almost expects her break. She never does. How does she do that?

Love is such a strong word to use, but it’s the truth.

Terra knew it as a child. Aqua had begged him to play a tea party with her, under very specific conditions: she was the lady knight and he was the princess. She made him wear an apron and a paper tiara to play the part. As much as he begrudged the idea, the moment she told him he was holding the teacup wrong, he knew - he was going to marry her.

Adults would say that children wouldn’t know any better, but child-Terra knew his heart, and he knew it would never change.

He loves her now, as vibrant as the forest becomes the moment the rain hits. One day, he’ll get used to the feeling and won’t feel the need to cry at the thought.

He thinks about telling her what his last thoughts were, right at the moment he lost it all: her cerulean eyes. How there is the faintest sliver of amethyst in them if they reflect off the sun at just the right angle if he was close enough to see, like a secret jewel nestled in the shallow water of a beach...

“You’re right, I will,” he mutters.

“No more knocking yourself out in the wild?” She chuckles. “Please don’t worry me like that again.”

“I won’t, I’m sorry.”

She hums. “It’s nothing to be sorry about.”

There’s a lot to be sorry for.

Terra’s eyes fall for just a second. He can’t kick the habit of struggling with his own existence sometimes, but she finds reason after reason inside that insane mind of hers to smile when she looks at him. She forgives him way too many times, and it makes that small girl who barked at him for sipping his tea too loudly at a dainty party seem so distant.

Aqua brushes the tips of her fingers on his knuckles, leaning forward. “I’m…” Stopping herself, she searches the carpet for something to say, anxiety creeping into her face. Try as she might to say more, she can’t bring herself to. She’s chipping.

Terra turns his palm over to take her hand in his. She’s the one to thread their fingers together.

He doesn’t know why everything knots in his throat either, too apprehensive to come out. Love is a strong word to say after years apart. He’ll let her say it first, lest he scares her more.

If she ever does. Though he’s not scared of it himself.

The sound of footsteps approach from the hallway, and Aqua releases him before straightening herself out.

Terra’s heart sinks at the silence that crashed between them, uninvited. It drowns when it gets to his stomach, but it will breathe eventually.

“Chicken soup for the big loser,” Ven announces, rolling a cart with a boiling pot behind him. There’s a stack with three bowls, and spoons.

Terra and Aqua don’t say anything back, readjusting their posture and pretending that nothing has occurred this moment, this day, or last night. Terra brings his fingers - the ones she held - to his lips. They’ve made contact for so little that he can’t smell her scent on them, but her warmth lingers.

Ven’s about to tease some more when he glances at each of them. “Am I… interrupting something?”

“Not at all, Ven,” Aqua says sweetly, composed. She approaches his work, all the pieces that have crumbled away coming back to her. “It smells delicious.”

Ven tosses a pout at Terra, who’s uncharacteristically quiet in the vicinity of savory food, but Terra gives back a reassuring smile. It’s dimmer than he wants it to be, and Ven’s smart enough to notice it, but he says nothing.

The rest of the evening passes with pleasant conversations, as it goes:

They have never found a good enough reason to talk about anything else. Why bring the darkness back inside when they make a habit of lighting all the lamps at night?

In every case when one of them is ready to talk, they lock up. Swallow. Cough. Next question.

Pleasantness has its tremendous advantages, as it reminds them the worth of being alive: the warmth of drinking this wonderful soup together, the joy of sharing a joke, the thrill of panicking over the thought that Ven could catch Terra and Aqua in the middle of a compromising position.

They belong together, the three of them. Wayfinders were specifically made for that pact, and that’s something Terra would never trade anything for... he just wants something more from Aqua, and that shouldn’t break the delicate balance between the three. It shouldn’t, and maybe he’s still naive to think that way.

When the evening sweeps into night, Terra falls into a slightly different dance with Aqua. Lingering looks across the hall, right over Ven’s head, followed by nervous chuckles, with the grand finale of never whispering about what they would do before bed (if they’re going to bed together at all).

And when Ven finally retires to sleep, it’s just the two of them, with nothing left except to improvise.

Nothing in their timid conversations gives Terra the right opening to bring the subject up.

He’s ready to expect it’s just him and his hand tonight when Aqua holds his wrist to keep him from returning to his room alone.

“Do you want to…” Aqua hushes. She brings her hand up to brush her hair out of her face but it stops right before contact, like she’s lost the way. “Um…”

“Sleep with you?” Terra blurts out.

A shocked grin stretches across her face.

He stammers, running a hand through his hair.

There’s nothing wrong with sleeping with her - in fact, the night they came home, they all slept in the same bed, just so they didn’t have to be separated.

Terra’s being dumb - of course sleeping has a different connotation now, even between best friends. Why is it so awkward to bring it up in conversation? It was so much easier this morning when they woke up naked and could do what was natural from there.

Leaning on her door frame, bringing himself closer to her body, Terra braves what’s really on his mind.

“I- I’ve been thinking about it all day… I want to kiss you again.”

Aqua considers him for a moment. She stands on her toes and brings her mouth to his for a small peck, for a second, for a third, longer one.

She eyes Ven’s closed bedroom door nervously - it’d be a hell of an explanation if he catches them now.

So Terra steps into her bedroom, barely illuminated by a single desk lamp that’s living its final days, and she closes it behind him.

Whipping around, Aqua throws her arms around Terra’s neck, aching for a fourth kiss and so many more that neither of them can keep count. Terra squeezes her waist to his body, bending over to meld her to him while she digs into his hair.

Somehow, holding her this closely isn’t close enough.

When Terra massages the small of her back, it rustles her sweater so that his fingers make contact with her skin.

Aqua takes this as her cue, tugging at his shirt. She breaks contact (for an excruciating second) to pull it over his head and he responds in kind by undressing her sweater and tossing it.

With her bare, soft, springy breasts against his chest, he tastes her lips, her tongue… They have to pant for breath in between but they can’t take the hint to pause. And yet -

They still aren’t close enough.

Terra picks her up by her thighs, wrapping her legs around his hips to carry her. She buries her face in his shoulder to muffle a laugh, and she yelps when they fall together, bouncing on her bed.

With her head against her mattress, he can now kiss her deeper. His pajamas are so thin he can feel her pelvis in every way when he thrusts and he’s dying to take them off but he doesn’t want to part from her mouth either.

They’re running fast, desperate to finish what they couldn’t from this morning, and he doesn’t know what he should do next - if he should be focusing on some area on her body, or if she’d like him to do something and he’s not understanding what she needs.

So Terra slows down, savoring her bottom lip, bringing the whirlwind to a breeze, letting them both breathe easier.

He grazes her jawline and she trembles when he gets to her ear, lingering at a spot he discovers really makes her shiver. She squirms like she finds his lack of speed unbearable, grinding her hips up onto his. He groans.

She still makes a point to whisper. “On your back.”

So bossy. Terra stops to snort. “Those are fighting words.”

“I want to make you feel good.”

“You first,” he says, his voice rough.

“I mean it.”

Aqua’s hands push against his shoulders, massaging every curve in his pecs, and her legs wrap around his as she makes the first attempt to roll him over.

“Terra.” Her breaths deepen when he stays in place.

“I insist.”

He isn’t going to let her make him the focus of all her attention just yet - and they both know she’s always lost at wrestling with him.

She tries her game anyway, lifting herself to reunite his lips with hers while they sit up.

Both options are tempting. Terra can surrender to her, melt under her touch so she can have her way, and let her think she’s won. That’s a nice fantasy… but he doesn’t like losing either.

He laughs into her smile, grabbing her wrists and bringing them over her head. He holds them together in between the thick fingers of one giant hand, and brings her weight down with his. He’s won, easily.

Then he takes his other hand to brush his fingers across one nipple, from top to bottom, while his lips find a good spot on her neck that makes her whimper. She rocks her hips with his, coaxing him into a slow, intoxicating rhythm. Her shorts are also thin, and she’s wet through the fabric. It sets him on fire, sparking from his pelvis and burning up to his chest. It’s so hard to resist her.

“What are you doing,” he murmurs, and he feels her giggle from underneath her pulse.

“Playing a strategy.” She gasps and tenses from his nibbling. “I think I’m winning.”

Traveling down her collarbone, Terra finds himself at her breasts, taking his first taste for the night while rolling circles on the other, eliciting a moan from her - one she keeps stifled, so she’s not too loud.

“Not yet,” he says.

“Give it time,” she says, bringing one leg to hook around Terra’s hips.

Terra growls into her skin. She’s making it difficult.

She’s winning.

“Dammit, Aqua,” he whispers into her chest before standing up, taking her shorts and panties with him before fumbling with his pants.

Pleased with herself, Aqua rises to meet him, a hand snaking down his abdomen, playing with the tuft of hair before going lower.

He’s weak when she strokes him, when she grabs him, when she rubs the entire length, twisting her hold. She’s a quick study, and the gooseflesh crawling all over his back slips him into a stupor. He tumbles over the bed. His pants bind him by the knees still, but they’re forgotten.

Straddling him, Aqua settles. Slowly, too - she’s adjusting herself to him before taking him fully, and if he didn’t know any better, it feels like the sweetest, sickest comeback for teasing her so bad.

A shiver strikes through his spine when he gets warm and she gets tight. He has to bite his lip to keep himself from moaning out loud.

Meanwhile, Aqua experiments with her movement, her angles, her speed, whether she should rock her hips back and forth. She looks good on top of him, naked and bouncing and enjoying herself, running her palms across his carved abs, feeling the ripples where his skin dips. Something about the way she leans her head back sends Terra on a high.

His hands feel everything. He measures how her waist curves inward before following the trail out to her hips. The muscles on her thighs buck with every thrust she makes.

It doesn’t matter how she looks: with or without clothes, in bright light or in poor light, even with shadows chiseling her amazing form, none of it does her any justice.

She’s beautiful. He’s lucky.

The more she moves, the more he comes closer to that brink, and he’s too drunk to find the words to tell her. The best he can do is moan her name, and when she gently shushes him, it turns him on even more.

But then his heart beats too hard. It stings as sharp as a cut.

The monster with the sharp canines smiles. Snaps its jaws.

The brink will make him fall over (and never get back up again). He’ll die. No. He’ll lose control. Go to sleep. Lose her forever, all over again.

Terra grips her hips and lifts her off of him. “No no no no,” he says, lurching up, leaning over the edge of the bed. “I can’t, I can’t.”

“Terra?”

He shudders from the heat rising to the top of his head. His hands tremble violently, and he rubs the pads of his fingers against his palms to make sure he can still feel. Gritting his teeth together, Terra takes all he has to stop himself from yelling - no need for Ven to spring out of bed and burst in here to save the day - and the effort withers Terra to exhaustion.

Aqua holds the back of his hand - very gently, brushing her fingers first to test if he’d have a strong reaction. He realizes that he never responded to her.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Terra holds her face, stroking the worries off of her cheek with his thumb. “You were,” he swallows. Even in such dim light, her eyes keep their rich brightness. “You’re perfect.”

She doesn’t look like she believes him. A dark thought trickles in his mind, and suddenly he can’t look at her anymore - she must be so disappointed with his awful performance.

“I’m just a basket case, I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t say that.” She gifts him the most generous smile, one he doesn’t understand. But that’s Aqua, never asking for something in return.

She hugs him warmly, giving his shoulders a steady hold as if to keep him up.

Despite how big of a man Terra is, now he is fragile, wilting into her strength. He wants to be more like her, to keep himself together. Silent tears stroll down his cheeks until they land on her bare shoulders and continue on their way.

With his palm, Terra rubs their existence off of her skin.

A much-needed chill comes down his spine - she’s cooling him off with her magic, letting the Blizzard gently wisp off of her fingers.

“Can you talk about it?” Letting him go, Aqua throws her feet over the edge of the bed to join him, side by side.

Terra cannot. He stares at his knees, throwing glances at her to create words out of thin air.

Aqua threads her hand under his arm to interlace their fingers together, resting them on his thigh. Her hand is so small in comparison, but in Terra’s opinion, it’s a perfect fit.

“I think I have an idea of what happened,” she says when she’s waited long enough. “Even when we spar, you don’t let yourself go all the way.”

Feeling like he’s finally seen, Terra unravels. “What if I lose it and go crazy? What if I hurt you?”

She eyes him for a moment. At first she’s full of concern, but she’s the type that when she faces anything that intimidates her, she’ll find a reason to stay brave. “Then I retaliate. I’m good at that.”

It sounds like such a simple and logical answer that Terra can’t help but feel silly for never considering that she’s stronger than he is.

Yet there’s plenty to worry about - she deserves a better lover that wouldn’t have fits in the worst of times, or threaten to kill her in the best.

“I know,” she continues when he says nothing. “It’s weird to have good things.”

Terra huffs. Drawing his voice low, he says, “Aren’t we supposed to tell ourselves that we deserve them?” She shifts uncomfortably against his arm, and he chuckles cynically. “Maybe we can hope.”

“No,” she drawls, rubbing circles on his knuckles with her thumb. “Hoping is dangerous.”

The scar on his chest is rough under the touch of his palm. Those have been the truest words he’s heard in years, and they worry him. If they continue to try again, he’ll continue to dissatisfy her, with no guarantee he could give her what she wants.

“It feels like,” he says, “willingly jumping off a mountain.”

Aqua leans her head on his shoulder, watching the stillness of her carpet with him. It’s as dark as the deep sea.

“It does. We’re supposed to stay optimistic, and the letdown destroys us until it numbs. And then there’s nothing left.”

“And then there’s nothing left,” Terra whispers back.

“Wishing is a little safer.” He feels her smile into his bicep.

“That’s more like willingly drowning yourself.”

“Taking one swallow isn’t too bad by comparison,” she says, squeezing his hand harder. Her cheek trembles, and her eyes dart back and forth across the room. She’s chipping again. “Can I make one wish?”

“Of course.”

It takes quite a moment before she speaks again, and all he hears is her ragged breathing. It almost sounds like she’s about to cry, but she doesn’t. She’s a miracle.

“I wish for a good night’s sleep. I wish you’d stay in bed with me. I wish for more time with you, and… I wish you’d come back tomorrow night. Or maybe I could go to your room. Either way, I don’t want us to stop.”

Since he’s been expecting her to wish him away, Terra chokes on a sob. He wants the same, and he wants to say it, and he wants to kiss her again but he’s shocked. If he slips one word, he’ll fall apart and she’ll have to carry him all over again.

He squeezes her hand back, and all the tears wanting to pour out of his eyes find their place in the strength of his grip, and they stay dry.

As though she understands what he’s not saying, she smiles. “It’s a journey, just like everything else, right? I think there’s every reason to step off that cliff, and I want to be there with you when we do.”

Terra sits with her words, comfortable in the quiet. It’s not like they had a teacher to coax them in the right direction about the art of tumbling in bed. In the privacy of his mind, he can pretend the reason she’s willing to be patient is because she loves him, too.

“I needed to hear that,” he says, his pajamas slipping off of his ankles. He’s completely exposed but his skin is just the outer shell. The fact his soul has been heard is the most naked he’s ever been. “I’m impressed.”

Aqua holds her breath. “You’re impressed? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He stifles his snickering but it only makes it harder not to laugh.

“Nevermind, don’t answer that,” she says, giving him a playful shove. “I know I put my foot in my mouth, sometimes.”

“Sometimes.”

“Which means I’m sensible other times.” She holds up a finger to make a point.

Terra lifts the hand he’s holding and kisses the back of it. She’s still so much like the girl who glared at him when he slurped his tea. “Whatever you say, I’ll play along.”

She shoves him harder and finds herself in his clutches, under threat of unbearable tickling. She locks her laughter up so hard that it slips out in squeaks. Without her magic, she’s completely futile against his ferociously giant hands. She admits defeat when they fall on their backs.

Now they rest, and she’s finally close enough, their bodies locking warmth in between.

They whisper good night through soft, innocent kisses. Aqua finds refuge on his shoulder while her arms go limp on his thick waist, one leg tucked in between his, burrowing her body into his. Every time she drifts in and out and remembers that he’s with her, she inches closer.

How she wants to be near him this much blows his mind. He tells himself he’ll get used to it.

Her breathing slows as he rubs circles on her back, and soon enough, she’s asleep, like she knows nothing except a world without nightmares or shadows.

It’s been a long time since he’s thought about when they first started sparring - how they paused before striking, how they confused a cue for another and hit each other when they weren’t supposed to, how they bickered and teased when the course of the game adjusted to their skill level. They didn’t know what they were doing then.

Last night, she gave him the benefit of the doubt, too, telling him all they need is practice.

Now’s the perfect time than ever - Terra whispers into her hair until he finds it easier to say, knowing she won’t hear him until he’s ready to face her.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

~*~*~*~*~

A/N: I SWEAR this will end happily. I swear it. To be continued.

#terraqua #terqua #terraqua day #terra #aqua #smut #lemon #kh fanfic #kingdom hearts fanfiction #i felt a lot more comfortable doing it this time than last year #then again i downed two bottles of wine for this #my fic

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ladylynse · 6 years ago

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For Ectober 2018, Day 13: Help (AO3 | FFnet)

When a ghost attacks while Star’s stuck in detention with Fenton, she’s sure they need help—but he’s not acting like the scared loser she’s used to.

Star didn’t deserve the detention she’d gotten. She wasn’t the one who’d planted the whoopee cushion on Lancer’s chair. She didn’t even know who’d done it. She’d just been the one unfortunate enough to still be snickering when Lancer stood up again to survey the class.

Protests about her innocence had fallen on deaf ears, and no one—not even Paulina—had backed her up.

Which is how she’d wound up in detention with Fenton, who’d dashed into class halfway through Lancer’s lecture on respect.

They were supposed to be writing an essay on the subject—something Lancer said he’d use for extra credit, which Fenton needed more than she did—except she was too angry and embarrassed to think straight, and Fenton was beginning to nod off. She’d been staring at a blank page for at least ten minutes, her pen shaking in her too-tight grip as she tried to figure out who had set her up to take this fall—and if she’d even been the intended target of Lancer’s wrath.

Fenton’s sharp gasp came about the same time as the crash down the hall. Lancer sighed and got to his feet. “I’ll look into it,” he said. “You two stay here.”

Even from across the room, Star could see Fenton’s wide eyes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Lancer.”

“Mr. Fenton, I do appreciate your concern, but—”

“Can I at least go to the bathroom first?”

“No, Mr. Fenton, you may not. I’ll be back in a few minutes, and then you can go.”

“I don’t know if I can hold it.”

“And I don’t believe you wouldn’t have said something five minutes ago if that were truly the case. You may go when I come back,” Lancer repeated, cutting off Fenton’s protests.

The classroom door closed behind him. Star expected Fenton to slump in his seat, but instead he sprang to his feet and walked to the windows. He obviously didn’t find whatever he was looking for, because he spun on his heels and dashed to the door.

He seemed surprised when it didn’t open.

“What, you think Lancer trusts you after how many times you’ve cut class on the excuse that you had to go to the bathroom?” Star muttered under her breath.

Fenton heard her. “He wouldn’t have locked it,” he countered. “It’d be a safety hazard. And he’s never locked me in before.”

She was bored, which was the only reason she was having this conversation with him. “So? Things change.”

Fenton was shaking his head. “This is a ghost.”

A ghost. Of course. Maybe he was his parents’ son after all. “Just because this is Amity Park, doesn’t mean every inconvenience is ghost-related.”

“I wish,” mumbled Fenton. Then, louder, “I never heard the lock turn. Did you?”

Star rolled her eyes and got to her feet. “Then it’s stuck and you’re just too weak to open it.” Sure enough, the handle turned under her grip. She pulled, already turning to look back at Fenton and berate him for being such a weakling, but the door didn’t move. She frowned and pulled harder.

Nothing.

“What kind of ghost locks you in?” She couldn’t quite keep the panic out of her voice now. It was stupid. Being caught in a ghost attack wasn’t new. She was used to that. But she wasn’t usually locked in.

“Someone new.”

The grimness in Fenton’s voice caught her off guard, but Star latched onto it. “You have some of your parents’ weapons, then?”

Fenton shook his head. “Everything I have is in my locker.”

“That’s not going to do us any good!”

“Don’t panic yet. We’re on the ground floor. See if the windows open.”

“And what are you going to do?”

“Listen.”

Listen? What the heck was that supposed to mean? But arguing wouldn’t get them anywhere, and checking the windows wasn’t a completely stupid idea even if she had a feeling it was futile. If a ghost could lock a door on them, it could lock a window, too.

When Star reached the windows, however, she didn’t even need to try them to know they wouldn’t open. Even as she got closer to them, she could feel the cold. “They’re frosted over, Fenton,” she said. Ice grew on them even as she watched, thickening to the point that the intricate frost patterns became completely obscured. “The door’s probably frozen shut, too.”

“Good.”

“Good? How is that good?”

Fenton shot her an apologetic smile. “It means whoever it is probably isn’t after Lancer.”

“Wait—”

“Hide. It’ll want me, not you.”

“Where the heck am I supposed to hide? Under my desk? It’ll see me.”

“You might be small enough to squeeze into one of the cupboards in the back. Just move the books.”

She stared at him.

He didn’t seem to realize how ridiculous he sounded.

“Why would the ghost want you? Aren’t you the one who normally runs and hides whenever there’s a ghost attack?”

Fenton scowled. “I don’t always…. Look. You guys trusted me before, right? When Youngblood and Ember brainwashed all the adults? I helped you then and I can help you now. I can do this.”

She frowned. “How do you remember their names?”

“That’s what you’re—?” He broke off, and she blinked. Had she just seen his breath? Sure, it was getting colder in here by the minute, but it wasn’t that cold, not yet. “Hide,” he hissed.

Normally, she’d love to hide, but normally, there was someone other than Danny Fenton who could help her get out of a situation like this. “I don’t—”

With a crack, ice crystals burst from the ceiling, jutting down towards them like razor-sharp stalactites. Star screamed and dove under the nearest desk, not remotely convinced that would help. When she looked back, Danny was in a crouch, still in the open, head swivelling as if he fully expected he’d be able to see a ghost that could make itself invisible.

He’d already said he didn’t have any of his parents’ tech with him, so why play at being the hero now?

“You’re crazy,” Star hissed. “Just call your parents for help.”

“I don’t know if this is someone they can handle,” he said quietly. His matter-of-fact tone unnerved her. Why did he make it sound like he could take more than they could? They were professionals. He was…. He was Dash’s loser punching bag, and she could count the number of times she’d seen him fight ghosts on one hand.

Before she could figure out how to respond, the temperature in the room plummeted and she heard a deep voice say, “You’re weak when you wear that skin, halfa.”

She huddled, trying to make herself smaller and not breathe too loudly. The shadows in the top corner of the room by the door coalesced into a bluish white monster of fur and ice. There was no mistaking its fangs and claws, and ghost or not, Star was suddenly, horribly convinced that it could kill her in an instant if it wanted to.

Fenton’s eyes widened. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“You do not deserve the title my brother gave you,” the ghost continued.

Star officially had no idea what was going on. Fenton swallowed, but his eyes narrowed and he stood up straight. As if he could face down a ghost!

“You’re Frostbite’s brother,” he said slowly. It wasn’t a question. “So he got to be the leader of the Far Frozen and you got to skulk in the frozen wastelands until you found a portal? Sounds about right. Even Klemper wouldn’t waste his time befriending you.”

Star couldn’t remember who Klemper was, either, though the name sounded familiar. She wondered wildly why Fenton was on a first name basis with so many ghosts, even considering who his parents were; it wasn’t like ghosts would befriend the son of ghost hunters, right?

The snow ghost snarled. It raised a hand—paw?—and ice shot towards Fenton. He dodged with a grace he never showed in gym class, rolling out of the way and springing back to his feet. “You got brain freeze or something? You’re a little slow.”

Stop taunting it! You’re just going to make this worse! But she didn’t dare say anything now. If Fenton was somehow managing to hold his own, she couldn’t be the one to distract him. Not now. They just had to hold on until Phantom showed up. Or the Red Huntress. Or the Fentons, assuming Mr. Lancer was able to get off a call to them.

“You’re an abomination.” The ghost’s feet hit the floor, and ice shot out. Star shivered and tried to keep her teeth from chattering. Fenton didn’t seem nearly as affected by the cold, probably because he kept moving, but the ice had to make it more difficult to keep his footing. “You don’t deserve to know the secrets of our people.”

Fenton pulled a face. “Okay, I don’t like that nickname any better than the one Frostbite gave me, but you? I’m pretty sure you have no say in who learns what. Frostbite agreed to teach me. To help me. As payment for what I did and as a gesture of friendship. So even if he’s the reason you’re acting like Frosty the Snow Monster, I’m kinda more inclined to side with him on this.”

“My name is Icebreaker!”

“Funny, you didn’t really start this conversation with a good one.”

Icebreaker roared. Ice formed at his summons, sharpened spear points of shards, and he flew at Fenton in a rage.

Star flinched.

Fenton held his ground until the last second before diving sideways. He hit a patch of ice and skidded into a desk. She shrieked in spite of herself, and Icebreaker turned his gaze to her.

Fear clawed at her insides, gripping so tightly she couldn’t find her breath.

“Foolish little human,” Icebreaker jeered, “caught up in a world you’re never meant to understand. You’ll have to die for that, just like the halfa.”

There was that name again. He meant Fenton, but what—?

“No!” Fenton shouted, and he was in between them so fast it looked like he’d flown. “If you’re mad at me, don’t involve her!”

Icebreaker bared his teeth, and Star felt the ice forming around her. She scrambled out of her hiding spot, clutching the desks to keep her footing. Fenton—Danny—couldn’t protect her. Not when he didn’t have any weapons. Why wasn’t Phantom here yet? He was never this late.

Danny’s fists were clenched. “Leave her alone,” he growled.

Icebreaker just laughed and flew over his head. Star backed up, bumping into Danny. “We’re going to die,” she whispered. Even in Amity Park, even when it got bad, there had always been someone to protect them. The Fentons had their Fenton Ghost Shield, the Red Huntress could definitely hold her own in a fight, and Phantom…. Phantom stopped every ghost that dared to cross him.

But now none of them were here, and she couldn’t do anything.

“No, you won’t,” Danny murmured. “Just trust me.”

She looked at him. His eyes burned bright blue with a fierceness she didn’t associate with him. The tips of his hair were turning white with frost, and he was cold—colder than she was. Determination alone wouldn’t let him last much longer, even though she couldn’t see him shaking with the cold like she was. Whatever adrenaline rush he was on wouldn’t last forever, and with this cold, he’d crash sooner rather than later. “We need help,” she repeated.

He shoved her to the floor in answer as more ice shot where they’d been standing. “Trust me,” he repeated as he got off of her. “I can help.” He put his hand on her back and pushed her again.

Instead of being held against the ice, she fell through the floor and landed on a stack of empty boxes (possibly stashed there by the Box Ghost). She was too shocked to be in pain. Her heart beat a wild tattoo in her chest as she gulped in warm air. “What…what just happened?”

This time, she didn’t get an answer.

Continued for Day 15: Explain

(see more fics)

#danny phantom #ectober2018 #ectober 2018 #danny fenton #fanfiction #phanfiction #dp fanfiction #my writing #ladylynse #snippets #dp snippet

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lucywithlupus · 6 years ago

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Top 4 Bad & Good Things about my Body/ Top 4 Cosas Malas & Buenas de mi Cuerpo

Let's get real: arthritis sucks. It sucks incredibly hard. It sucks so bad not even all of the straws in this planet (serious issue) could suck as terribly as receiving the sad news that you suffer from a rheumatic condition. And because this condition is that terrible, it can lead your mind, heart, and soul to constantly attack your body with negative feelings, perceptions, and emotions. It is like your mind cannot stop concentrating about how not good your body is, how it fails to do the smallest things, or how it is not doing the things you ask it to do. The Mental Health Surveys published in 2008 their results on mental disorders among persons with arthritis. With a sample of 10 641 adults (wow!), with 78% response rate in an audience with 23% reporting at least one medical disorder in the past 12 months, they clearly showed that these disorders and mental illnesses go hand in hand. About 35% of people with a mental health disorder did seek treatment, while more than half did not even consider the idea. These were their conclusions:

"The high rate of not consulting among those with disability and comorbidity is an important public health problem. As Australia has a universal health insurance scheme, the barriers to effective care must be patient knowledge and physician competence." Aka there is a LOT of work to do. A lot. Another study by SAGE Journals said first what was said by The Mental Health Surveys in 2005, only focusing on rheumatoid arthritis (RA) About 150 participants, with varying duration of time since diagnosed, and the results were the following: 1. Perceiving illness as that something closest to you worsened depression and overall quality of life. 2. Remaining calm actually worked on those recently diagnosed:

"Optimism related to lower pain in early and intermediate RA. Social support related to lower fatigue in established RA. Indications for interventions targeted by disease duration are discussed." Sometimes, when the years go by and your good ol' pal arthritis has been sitting in your couch for way too long, it can really get heavy on your shoulders. So much to do, so many things to see and experience, only to be dragged down by your frenemy right there *aggressively stares at chair*. But it does not have to be this complicated. Your body and your mind are one and the same, they do not have to hate each other, or disconnect from one another in a way that actually will strip away all control from your hands. Your mind and body should not have fights every two seconds, they are both just trying their damn hardest to get by, and you know that. I know that. Your loved ones know that. So let's do it for them, for you and me, but most importantly, you. Without further ado, here we go! Top 4 Bad and Good Things about my Body with Arthritis.

Bad Thing 1: My body is weak

This used to be my mantra for six years of my life. I used to play this on repeat in my head like the hottest new summer mixtape. I already had enough with high school, trying to get unimaginable perfect grades and carrying the burden of being told every day that I was Einstein or something and I could achieve those grades if I wanted to.

The problem is that I wanted to, but know I know I never did. Does that make sense?

Let's be real. What kid likes to be sat down, all day, staring at colorful post its and trying to remember those English quotes for a massive surprise essay next week? No one! Not even me now, even though I am an adult. Kinda.

I just dreamed of getting to university, the days of the present shifting by while I had my eyes on the prize. At least I managed to get a spot on a university I love and enjoy with all my heart.

But even at arrival, I felt weak. Felt weak that I could not sit in my lecture hall comfortably for an hour. Felt weak because I had to take a nap in the afternoon after a three-hour lab. Felt weak because I could not finish that deadline because my knees hurt way too much to sit down and type away.

Feeling weak is normal, but we need to know that we cannot do everything. Nothing in life is free, but also it does not mean we do not take a break every now and then to make sure our body is taken care of. You cannot achieve what you want without rest. Your body will blow up! Poof!

Do not do that to yourself. Please.

Good Thing 1: My body is strong

Think of the strongest person you know. It's probably its Dwayne the Rock Johnson so let's stick with him.

Dwayne is a huge person. His arms are probably bigger than my ribcage, and his ribcage is probably bigger than my entire body. He trains a lot, eats more than that and is always ready to sing in the next Disney Movie, kick butt in the next action feature or yell in Moati dancing with a bunch of ten-year-old football players (pls do google this. It is hilarious.)

His life is pretty incredible, but that does not mean he did not have his up and downs. His childhood was pretty intense, as he was a major athlete and had to keep up with the legacy of wrestling legends established by his grandfather.

But this 101 on Dwayne's life isn't about him, it's about you! Look at you! You are the Rock too!

You managed to be told you have a condition that may probably never leave you and you successfully did not attempt to quit your life. You basically babysit your body all day, every day, trying to give it what it needs and avoid what it does not. You made and will make sacrifices to make sure you and those with you are ok, under any circumstance.

We get up every morning, in stinging pain, attempting to fling our bodies out of bed and waddle to the bathroom, take a shower, change clothes, brush our teeth, stuff our aching feet into some shoes and get out that door because we know we would go mad if we did not fight this every day. We know that if we did not go through that hassle every day and showed arthritis who's boss, our minds would collapse, we would lose the fight.

So keep fighting.

Bad Thing 2: My body is weird

Needless to say, a typical human body does not wreck itself everytime it goes up the stairs (remember kids: the first step is always the hardest). It is simply not the way it was designed to function, simple biology. Now, that does not mean your body is plain vanilla, but it also does not mean your body is an abomination like the ones in horror movies- or the ones who barely make it through horror movies.

My body is not weird. Period. I already spoke about how people are so legitimately shocked that I can properly function like the productive adult that I am, let alone those who just disapprove of me being me in public. Well, too bad Susan, I am here and so is my medical condition! I can't press the off button today thank you very much.

Your body can do so many amazing things. It can take care of itself and others. It can stump to the places you need to be in, or walk in good days, or run in the best days. It can do so many wonderful things, but you have to stop telling yourself that you are the odd one out. Anyone with a slight glimpse of intelligence will not care that you have to take your pills at this exact time, or that you have to sit down and rest for a while.

Keep those people close, but your enemies closer. No enemies, but confused strangers. Teach them about your condition, educate the public on what it is and how they can actually help us get by (aka this blog!).

Good Thing 2: My body is interesting

Maybe its because I am studying for a degree in science, but natural curiosity is never as bad as some people may think. Your body actually is fascinating to many doctors and field experts out there! The way it behaves and its mysterious ways are like an elegant puzzle, an enigma for them to observe and somehow complete.

Now, don't sell yourself to science, unless you really want to. Find money elsewhere.

I was always questioning why my body behaved this way until I realized the way I felt, when I felt it and how I felt it was pretty consistent, almost clock-like. The way our body operates is highly interesting, investigating on the subject won't blow your mind, but it may lead you to ask a question or two as to why your body is doing this to itself.

Maybe googling or reading a few articles some things will help you share your journey with others. Soon I will teach you the best ways to research for your own condition in a new post!

Just close your eyes for a moment, and focus on every single part of your body, one by one. Think about one good thing they did today: your feet took you to have breakfast, your hands held your favorite book, your eyes watched a beautiful movie today, your mouth helped you eat lunch, etc.

Any insignificant action that your body does is amazing and should be celebrated. Treat yourself for that!

Bad Thing 3: My body is ugly

Ugly duckling never felt so ugly. Now she did not only had to worry about her thick legs that could not fit inside those terribly small skinny jeans or that small bump in her stomach where, surprise surprise, but organs are also supposed to be in. Suddenly, what little body confidence she had taken a whole new spin: her body was now also not cute in other ways. Like abnormally inflated joints, finger stuck in a claw-like fashion, or the constant weight gain and loss I had during my experience with arthritis due to the lack of exercise.

Arthritis and other rheumatic conditions make yourself feel terrible about your appearance. Taking care of your looks sometimes is not a priority anymore. It can even be a challenge: you have to pick outfits, wear uncomfortable shoes, not have enough space in your purse or pockets (women pockets are the worst!period!) to carry your medicine around. Makeup can sometimes even be harsh on your skin when you get redness, or your hair may fall out because of the medication.

Let's not talk about shaving. Avoid for our own good.

But everyone deserves to feel cute, at least once in a while. Now I really don't care what they tell me: I can look a mess but feel beautiful, every single day. Because my body is my home, it takes care of me, and I take care of it. It deserves pampering and I will provide it every now and then.

Good Thing 3: My body is beautiful

Now, let's repeat the exercise we just did, now open your eyes. Look at yourself in the mirror, take in all that you are, every curve, every little detail, and imperfection. Say one nice thing about it all. Look at those eyes! Look at that hair! So stylish! Look at those shoulders! So strong! And so on.

No one's body is perfect, and trying it to make it magazine ready all day is not worth it. But please have the chance to try new things, look for new clothes (or used ones) that make you feel good, beautiful and confident all day!

So if you see a cute dress that you like and you can afford it, go for it! You will slay whatever place you will wear it to. Did you saw a nice shirt on sale? Buy it! You will look so cool, so fly.

Hint: there will also be a new post coming about tips and tricks on how to buy and wear clothes when you have arthritis. Struggling with that zipper every morning is a major problem! Stop!

Bad Thing 4: My body will never heal

As already discussed, no one really knows why arthritis is a thing, and thus, no one knows how it leaves and why. Maybe it has to do with stress. Perhaps it has something to do with environmental conditions or lifestyle. Who knows.

But that does not mean you lose hope that easily. Sure, some of us have had our condition for five, ten, even thirty years, and it still there. But arthritis' place in our bodies is not permanent, I swear on Yuval Harari (aka one of my favorite authors of all time).

You can bet all you want that when you least expect it, this uninvited acquaintance will be poofed off, and free you shall be at last. Just make sure you are working for it: be kind to yourself, take your meds, eat healthy (at least try), do some exercise, educate yourself and others, help out those in need, etc.

Good Thing 4: My body will get better

It will, and it is. Yas.

I sometimes I feel challenged to balance my priorities and make sure I am not overworking myself when trying to get better. The irony of it all: we sometimes work too hard in trying to get better sometimes. We read a lot, research to no end. We try so many different diets, hoping one will be the one to cure us at last, we go to so many different treatments, yoga sessions, detox classes, and God knows what more.

Being excited about staying healthy is important, a good solid start. But do not go crazy trying to find a cure that may not even be accessible to you at stores or detox juices. Instead, trust your body. It knows what it's doing, most of the time. It will heal itself in the only way it knows how to: eating, sleeping, resting, drinking water, and asking for stuff. Lots of stuff. Another hint: new post on how to make a survival kit soon!

Getting better can sometimes feel like a rollercoaster: sometimes we are up, sometimes we fall head first 20 feet up in the air towards the solid ground. Gravity is harsh, man.

But you know what I a trying to say. Things will not always be easy, and sometimes you will not be able to control everything or know what to do. That's why you have to ask for help. From your parents, your caretakes, your doctors and your friends. Build a support circle around you so you always know someone always has your back, sometimes literally.

Arthritis is no piece of cake, and other rheumatic disorders are not either. They are tasks for us to fulfill, but we are not bad. We are not sick. We are not ugly. And we definitely are not going to sit here and take it. Because we have enough things to worry about, and we could not care less about what you or others have to say about our progress. We know our worth, we appreciate ourselves and celebrate our bodies in the best way we can: by treating it right, with respect, dignity, love, and courage.

Love you so you can love. See you around!

Also, I would love to share with your guys this lovely group of families in Kampala with children with disabilities at Ndagire Ritah @ritandagire76 on Instagram. Please copy and paste their username and say hi! Drop a donation if you can! It's for a great cause!

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Seamos sinceros: la artritis apesta. Increíblemente. Es tan mala que ni siquiera todas las cañitas del mundo (problema bastante serio) no podrían igualarse a recibir la triste noticia de que tu sufres de artritis reumatoide.

Y por que esta condición es tan horrible, puede convencer a tu mente, corazón y espíritu de atacar a tu cuerpo con pensamientos negativos, percepciones falsas y emociones dañinas. Es como si tu mente no puede dejar de concentrarse en todo lo malo que tu cuerpo es, todas las fallas que comete, incluso en las quehaceres más pequeños, o cómo no está logrando las cosas que tu le pides que haga.The Mental Health Surveys publicó en el 2008 sus resultados en la relación que existe entre las enfermedades mentales y la artritis. Con 10 641 sujetos adultos puestos a prueba (wow!) y una tasa de respuesta del 78%, el estudio involucró casi 2,500 personas discapacitadas. Los resultados demostraron que los desórdenes reumatológicos y las enfermedades mentales van de mano en mano. Casi 35% de las personas que padecían de una enfermedad mental buscaron tratamientos, mientras que más de la mitas ni siquiera consideró la idea de hacerlo.

Y estas fueron sus conclusiones:

" El alto índice de falta de tratamiento mental en aquellos que sufren de discapacidad y comorbilidad es un problema de salud pública. Ya que Australia tiene un esquema universal de seguros médicos, las barreras que previenen cuidado efectivo deben ser el conocimiento del paciente acerca de posibles tratamientos y la competencia del médico tratante."

En otras palabras, hay mucho que hacer. MUCHO. Demasiado.

Otro estudio por SAGE journals anticipó en 2005 lo dicho por The Mental Health Surveys, solo enfocándose en la artritis reumatoide (RA). Casi 150 participantes, quienes padecían de artritis por variadas duraciones de tiempo. Los resultados fueron los siguientes.

Percibir la enfermedad como lo más cercano a tu ser puede empeorar la depresión y calidad de vida.

Conservar la calma tuvo, en efecto, un resultado positivo en aquellos que acababan de ser diagnosticados.

"El optimismo mejoró el dolor secundario en artritis reumatoide de duración temprana y intermedia. Indicaciones de intervenciones dirigidas a la duración de la enfermedad fueron discutidas."

A veces, cuando los años pasan y tu vieja amiga artritis estuvo sentada en tu sillón por mucho tiempo, en serio puede convertirse en una carga pesada. Tanto que hacer, tantas cosas que ver y experimentar, solo para ser empujada por tu amiga-enemiga, que siempre está justo ahí *miro mi silla*

Pero no tiene que ser tan complicado. Tu cuerpo y tu mente son tal para cual, fulano y mengano no tienen que odiarse, o desconectarse de una manera que quitaría todo el control de tus manos. Tu mente y cuerpo no deberían pelear cada dos segundos, solo están tratando de conseguir el mismo objetivo: trabajar super duro para sobrevivir, y eso ya lo sabías. Yo lo sabía. Tus seres queridos también lo sabían.Así que hagámoslo por ellos, por tu y yo. Pero sobre todo, hazlo por ti.Ahora sin más preámbulos, aquí vamos! Top 4 Cosas Malas y Buenas de Mi Cuerpo. Cosa Mala 1: Mi cuerpo es débil

Este solía ser mi mantra por seis años de mi vida. Solía repetir esto en mi cabeza como esas canciones pop que salen en verano. Ya tenía suficientes líos con la secundaria, tratando de sacar notas inimaginables y perfectas y cargar la responsabilidad de ser vista como Einstein o algo por el estilo. Todo el mundo me decía que yo podía sacar la nota que quisiera sin esfuerzo alguno.

El problema es que yo sí mi esforzaba, pero nunca quise hacerlo. Se entiende?

Seamos honestos con nosotros mismos. A qué niño le gusta estar sentado todo el dia, mirando post its de colores con datos para el siguiente ensayo sorpresa de Inglés la próxima semana? Ninguno! Ni siquiera yo ahora quiero hacer eso, incluso si soy una adulta. Casi.

Yo solo soñaba con entrar a la universidad, los días del presente un abrir y cerrar de ojos mientras yo tenía la mirada fija en la línea de llegada. Al menos logre un lugar en una universidad que yo a mi y disfruto con todo mi corazón.

Pero incluso al llegar, me sentía débil. Débil porque no podía sentarme en mi salón de audiencias cómodamente por más de una hora. Débil porque debía tomar una siesta en la tarde después de un laboratorio de tres horas. Débil porque no podía entregar el trabajo por que mis rodillas me dolían demasiado para sentarme en mi escritorio y prender mi computadora. No te hagas eso a ti mismo. Por favor.

Cosa Buena 1: Mi cuerpo es fuerte

Piensa en la persona más fuerte que conoces. Probablemente es Dwayne the Rock Johnson así que utilicemoslo de ejemplo.

Dwayne es una persona enorme. Sus brazos son probablemente más grandes que mi pecho, y su pecho es probablemente más grande que mi cuerpo. El entrena un montón, come más que eso y siempre está listo para cantar en la siguiente película de Disney, pegarle a alguien en el siguiente blockbuster de acción o gritar en un baile Haka junto a grupo de niñas de diez años en un partido de football (por favor busquen eso. Es divertidisimo.)

Su vida es muy increíble, pero eso no significa que no tenga sus altibajos. Su infancia fue bastante intensa, pues esa un atleta profesional desde muy chico y siempre trató de mantener el legado de leyendas boxeadoras establecido por su abuelo.

Pero este 101 en la vida de Dwayne no se trata de él. Se trata de ti! Mírate! Tú también eres como La Roca!Tu lograste soportar que te dijeran que tienes una condición que quizá nunca te abandone y victoriosamente no tratarse de terminar tu vida. Tu básicamente de cuidas cual bebé todo el dia, todos los días, esforzándote para darle a tu cuerpo lo que necesita y evitar lo que no necesita. Tu haces y harás los sacrificios necesarios para asegurarte que tu y los que amas están seguros, bajo cualquier circunstancia.

Nos levantamos cada mañana, en dolor agudo, tratando de aventar nuestros cuerpos fuera de la cama y cojear hasta el baño, ducharse, cambiarse de ropa, lavarse los dientes, encajar nuestros pies dolidos en un par de zapatillas y salir por esa puerta por que sabemos que perderíamos la cabeza si no luchamos esta condición todos los días. Sabemos claramente que si no nos tomáramos la molestia de hacer todo eso en la mañana y no le mostráramos a la artritis quien manda, nuestras mentes colapsaría y perderíamos la batalla.Así que sigue luchando.

Cosa Mala 2: Mi cuerpo es raro

No hace falta decir que el típico cuerpo humano usualmente no se destruye a sí mismo cada vez que tratas de subir las escaleras (recuerden amigos: el primer paso siempre es el más difícil). Tu cuerpo simplemente no está diseñado para funcionar de esa manera, biología básica. Ahora, eso no significa que tu cuerpo sea tan básico como el pan blanco, pero tampoco significa que tu cuerpo es una abominación como las que salen en las películas de horror- o los que a las re justas sobreviven la película.

Mi cuerpo no es raro. Punto. Ya hablé de las personas que siempre se encuentran tan sorprendidas que yo puedo funcionar como la mujer productiva que soy, y también de aquellos que me miran con desaprobación en público. Bueno, que pena Susan, estoy aquí y también lo está mi condición médica! No pude apretar el botón de apagado hoy, muchas gracias.

Tu cuerpo puede hacer tantas cosas maravillosas. Puede cuidarse y a otros. Puede lentamente dirigirse a los lugares en los que tu debes estar, o caminar hacia ellos en los días buenos, o correr incluso en los días súper buenos. Puede hacer tantas cosas maravillosas, pero tienes que dejar de nombrarte a ti mismo la oveja negra. Cualquiera con poco de inteligencia no le importará que tienes que tomar tus pastillas a esta hora exacta, o que tienes que sentarse un rato de descansar.

Ten a tus amigos cerca, pero a tu enemigos más cerca. No enemigos, pero extraños confundidos. Enséñales a cerca de tu condición, educa al público de qué es la artritis y cómo nos pueden ayudar en el dia a dia (o sea, este blog!).

Cosa Buena 2: Mi cuerpo es interesante

Quizá es porque estoy estudiando para un bachiller de ciencia, pero la curiosidad nunca es tan mala como algunos creen. Tu cuerpo es en realidad fascinante para varios doctores y expertos de la medicina! La manera en que se comporta y sus muchos misterios son como un elegante rompecabezas, un enigma para que ellos observen y resuelvan.

Ahora, no te vendas a la ciencia, a menos que en serio lo desees. Encuentra dinero en otro sitio.Siempre me cuestionaba por que mi cuerpo se comportaba de este modo hasta que me di cuenta que lo que sentía, cómo lo sentía y cuando tenía constancia, casi de reloj. La manera en que tu cuerpo se opera a sí mismo es altamente interesante, investigar en el asunto no reventara su cerebro, pero te puede llevar a preguntarte algo o más acerca de tu cuerpo y de porqué hace lo que hace.

Quizá googlear o leer unos cuantos artículos de esto te ayudará en tu viaje con los demás. Pronto les enseñaré las mejores técnicas para investigar tu condición en un nuevo post!

Solo cierra tus ojos por un momentos y enfócate en cada parte de tu cuerpo, una por una. Piensa en algo bueno que todos ellos hicieron hoy: tus pies de llevaron a tomar desayuno en la mañana, tu manos sostuvieron tu libro favorito, tus ojos miraron una buena película, tu boca te ayudo a comer tu almuerzo, etc.Cada acción que parezca insignificante es increíble y debería celebrarse. Quiérete por eso!

Cosa Mala 3: Mi cuerpo es feo

El patito feo nunca se sintió tan feo. Ahora no solo tenía que lidiar con sus piernas gruesas que no entraban en esos horribles pantalones entallados, o el pequeño bulto que sobresale de su estómago donde, sorpresa, hay órganos importantes ahí! De repente, su baja confianza en sí misma también tomó un giro de 360 grados, pues regreso al mismo lugar, solo que en una perspectiva distinta. Su cuerpo ahora tenía otras razones por las cuales no era lindo, como las articulaciones anormalmente inflamadas, los dedos atorados como garras, o la constante sube y baja de peso que pasó por la falta de ejercicio.

La artritis y otras condiciones reumáticas a veces te hacen sentir terrible a cerca de tu apariencia. Cuidarla a veces ya no es una prioridad, o incluso puede ser desafiante. Tienes que elegir atuendos, usar zapatos incómodos, o no tener suficiente espacio en tu bolso o bolsillos (lo dire: los bolsillos de mujer son horribles!) para cargar tu medicina alrededor. El maquillaje también puede ser dañino para tu piel enrojecida por la inflamación, o tu cabello se podría caer por la medicina que tomes.

Y no hablemos de la rasuradora. Evitemoslo por nuestro propio bien.

Pero todos merecemos sentirnos lindos, al menos de vez en cuando. Ahora no me importa que me digan: puedo parecer un desastre pero de todas maneras me sentiré hermosa, todos los días. Porque mi cuerpo es mi casa, me cuida y yo lo cuido. Merece consentimientos y los proveeré de vez en cuando.

Cosa Buena 3: Mi cuerpo es hermoso

Ahora repitamos el ejercicio que acabamos de hacer, ahora abre tus ojos. Mirate al espejo, observa todo lo que eres, cada curva y cada detalle y imperfección. Di una cosa buena acerca de cada cosa. Mira esos ojos! Mira este peinado! Qué estilo! Mira esos hombros! Que fuerte! Y sigue asi.

El cuerpo de nadie es perfecto, y tratar de lucir listo para la portada de una revista todos los días no vale la pena. Pero por favor ten la oportunidad de probar cosas nuevas (o usadas) que te hagan sentir bien, lindo y con confianza todo el dia!

Así que si ves un vestido lindo que te gusta y lo puedes pagar, hazlo! Serás despampanante a donde vayas. Viste una camisa que te gusta y está a la venta? Consíguela! Te verás genial, tan cool.Pista: habrá un nuevo post acerca de tips de cómo encontrar y usar ropa adecuada para personas con artritis. Luchando con ese cierre cada mañana es un problema mayor! Detente!

Cosa Mala 4: Mi cuerpo no se va a curar

Como ya lo discute, nadie sabe por qué la artritis existe, y debido a eso, nadie sabe cómo se va y porqué. Quizá tenga que ver con el estrés. Quizá tenga algo que ver con las condiciones medioambientales o el estilo de vida. Quien sabe.

Pero eso no significa que debes perder la esperanza tan fácilmente. Si, algunos de nosotros han tenido esta condición por cinco, diez, quizá hasta treinta años, y sigue ahí. Pero el lugar de la artritis en nuestros cuerpos no es permanente, lo juro por Yuval Harari (uno de mis autores favoritos de todos los tiempos).

Puedes apostar todo lo que quieras que cuando menos te des cuenta, esta conocida sin invitación se desvanecerá, y tu serás libre al fin. Solo asegúrate de hacer tu trabajo y ser amable contigo mismo, tomar tus medicinas, comer saludablemente (al menos trata), haz algo de ejercicio, educate y a otros, ayuda a los que lo necesitan, etc.

Cosa Buena 4: Mi cuerpo se va a mejorar

Lo hará y lo está haciendo. Yas.

Yo a veces me siento abrumada por el balance que debo poner en mis prioridades y asegurarse de no sobre trabajar cuando me estoy mejorando de una crisis. La ironía: a veces trabajamos demasiado en mejorarnos. Leemos demasiado, investigando sin fin. Tratamos tantas dietas diferentes y jugos detox, esperando que uno sea la llave maestra de la artritis. Vamos a tantas cursos de yoga, tratamientos naturistas y muchas otras cosas más.

Estar emocionado de estar saludable es importante, es un buen comienzo. Pero no te aloques tratando de encontrar una cura que quizá ni siquiera puedas comprar o poner en un jugo detox. En vez de eso, confía en tu cuerpo. Sabe lo que hace, la mayoría del tiempo. Se sanará a sí mismo de la única manera que sabe cómo: comiendo, durmiendo, tomando agua, descansando y pidiendo cosas. Muchas cosas. Ya viene el siguiente post de cómo alistar un kit anti-artritis.

Mejorarse a veces parece una montaña rusa: a veces subimos, a veces caemos en picada de 20 metros en el cielo hacia el duro suelo. La gravedad es dura.Pero sabes lo que trato de decir. Las cosas a veces no son fáciles, y a veces no podemos controlar todo o saber qué hacer en ciertas situaciones. Por eso debes pedir ayudar. De tus padres o cuidadores, de tu doctor y de tus amigos. Construye un círculo protector alrededor tuyo para que siempre tengas a alguien sosteniendo tu espalda- a veces literalmente.

La artritis no es una caminata en el parque, pero otras condiciones reumáticas tampoco lo son. Son trabajos de tiempo completo que debemos realizar, pero no somos malos. No estamos enfermos. No somos débiles, feos, raros. Y definitivamente no vamos a sentarnos y escucharte decirnos eso. Porque tenemos cosas más importantes que hacer, y no nos podría importar menos lo que otros tengan que decir al respecto, o que digan de nuestro progreso. Sabemos lo que valemos y celebramos nuestros cuerpos en la mejor manera posible: tratándolo bien, con respeto, dignidad, amor y coraje.

Ama para que puedas amar. Nos vemos!

También me encantaría compartir con ustedes este grupo de familias en Kampala con niños con discapacidades en Ndagire Ritah @ritandagire76 en Instagram. Por favor copien y peguen su username y digan hola! Donen si pueden! Es por una buena causa!

#lupus #lupuswarrior #systemic lupus erythematosus #inflammatory arthritis #juvenile idiopathic arthritis #fibromyalgia #fibrowarrior #spoonie #rheumatism #rheumatic #autoinmune #invisibledisabilities #chronic pain #chronically ill #chrons

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sage-nebula · 7 years ago

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It's making me really happy to see you posting about Animorphs... I love that series.

Well, I’m happy that you’re happy, because Animorphs is incredible and I feel that it’s terribly underrated! So many people dismiss it as a joke because of the covers, but honestly, re-reading the series as an adult (or at least as an older teenager; I remember picking up one of my books when I was fifteen and being amazed at the amount of violence and gore that I just did not notice as a child) is such an experience, because there is so much depth to it that a child-aged reader just might not pick up on. I could get into an entire essay about how deep and wonderful Animorphs is in the way that it forces its protagonists to constantly examine the choices and decisions they have to make in this war in terms of moral justification, and in fact I originally did have a really long essay typed up about it in this response before deleting it, but I’ll spare you. All I’ll say is, despite being a children’s sci-fi series from the late ‘90s - early ‘00s, it actually addresses the heavier, more gruesome aspects of war better than many of its modern day contemporaries, and it makes its protagonists acknowledge and own up to the fact that they come against moral lines (and sometimes cross them) without letting them off the hook for it. The Animorphs reach many points, over and over again, where they’re forced into morally gray (or even dark) territory. And each and every time this is acknowledged. Each and every time they actually discuss it, argue about it, fight about it, both with themselves and with each other. There are times when they’re called out by the enemy and allies alike. There are times when they have to acknowledge that though the Yeerk Empire itself is evil, there are individuals within the Empire who aren’t—and that even though they were led to believe that the andalites were the Big Good, in all actuality, the andalites are not nearly as pure as they were led to believe, even if there are (again) individual andalites who are on their side. Animorphs exists in a perpetual shade of grey, has social commentary all over its pages, and while it’s not perfect (because nothing is), it’s damn well excellent and I really wish that it wasn’t as underrated as it is. It deserves so much more.

So, that said! I’m happy that you’re happy that I’m posting about it. I’ve actually just started a re-read myself, and even though I’m just in the first book, I’m already enjoying it. I really recommend a re-read (and a first read to anyone who hasn’t read them), because they’re certainly worth it.

But with that said, to actually answer your question … actually, I have in a couple different ways.

The first type of crossover I imagined was a more direct sort of crossover. Something-something happens that results in the Animorphs being transported to the Castle of Lions at some point during VLD’s canon. This isn’t out of the question, to be honest; maybe the Ellimist sent them there (as he does), or maybe there was a sario rip (as happens), or maybe it was something else. This wouldn’t be the first time the Animorphs have been transported across space-time, and I’m sure it wouldn’t be the last. The main thought behind a scenario like this would be seeing how these two teams react to one another. On the one hand, I don’t think the Animorphs woudl be fazed very much at all; they’re well-versed in aliens by this point (particularly Ax, who is, you know, an andalite), and their main concern would be how they’re going to get back to Earth in order to continue fighting the yeerks, considering the fact that … well … the yeerks are taking over Earth. Marco might acknowledge that Allura is gorgeous (and would probably acknowledge the same about Keith and/or Shiro, tbh), but that would be one acknowledgment before he started working with the others to focus on a way to get home. Cassie and Jake would probably be open to hearing what’s going on, and I think that if there was any attempt to recruit the Animorphs into the war against the Galra Empire, Rachel would be super interested, particularly if it meant that she got to pilot a Lion (although, she might think it would have been cooler if the Lions were bears instead, and not just because a lion was David’s battle morph). Tobias would be interested in seeing the Castle and this new alien culture, although I think the lack of forestation would bug him (particularly since the hologram forests in some of the Castle’s rooms would be easy for him, as a hawk, to see through). Ax, too, would be disturbed at the lack of grass, though I could also see him regarding alteans as being just as primative as he views humans, both because we know that (canonically) the technology in the Castle of Lions is 10,000 years out of date, and because alteans walk around on just two legs, which we all know that andalites view as being very clumsy and silly.

Ax would say, looking at their clothing.

“Yeah, but that also means that they have mouths like we humans do,” Marco would point out. “Meaning that they can also sample the pleasures of the Cinnabon like we can.”

Ax would admit, with a pang of regret in his voice.

“Actually,” Hunk would say, “all we currently have in the Castle is food goo.”

“Food … goo?” Jake would ask, wrinkling his nose. Whether he wrinkled it in disgust or confusion wouldn’t be clear.

Ax would say,

So overall, I think that the Animorphs would be mostly focused on how to get back to Earth to continue fighting the yeerks, though they’d probably recognize that they need to help out with whatever situation sent them here to begin with before the Ellimist will send them back. (Conversely, if it was a sario rip, they might be more focused on recreating that so that they can get back home.)

On the other hand, I think that Team Voltron’s reactions would be quite different. Remember that the Animorphs are only thirteen when the series starts. We don’t know exactly how old Ax is, given that he’s an andalite, but we do know that he is about the same age as them, in andalite years. He’s young. They’re all young. They’re kids and this is routinely acknowledged in the books. Despite this, they’re fighting guerilla warfare against an alien invasion. They can’t trust anyone, because the yeerks have infested everyone from their family members to high-ranking politicians and police officers. They can morph into any animal they touch, but this just means that when they fight, they’re literally ripping out throats with their own teeth, clawing through bodies with their own claws, and they have been disembowled and eviscerated more times than any of them cares to remember. They’re kids and they’re already deeply traumatized by fighting a war up close and personal. Now, Pidge was fifteen when she joined up with Voltron. Lance, Hunk, and Keith were 17-18. Allura is somewhere between 17-19, and Shiro is in his mid-twenties. They’re not old, but they’re also not as young (as tiny) as the Animorphs. And moreover, they don’t have to fight as up close and personal as the Animorphs do. Yes, sometimes they do get into hand-to-hand, but they’re always wearing armor and wielding their bayards. They’ve never had to literally bite down on another living being’s arm and taste blood and flesh in their mouths. They’ve never had to slice through a stomach and see everything pour out. They’ve never had that happen to them. And none of them have had to experience the horrors of being an ant in an ant colony. There’s a reason why the Animorphs have sworn off ever morphing ant again. It was horrifying.

And I think that, knowing this—well, first of all, the human members of Team Voltron would be beyond horrified to learn that Earth is currently under invasion, not by the galra, but by the yeerks, which is … kind of worse? At least the galra are waging open warfare. The yeerks will do that later, when Visser Three (after being promoted to Visser One) gets his way, but at the moment they’re not. At the moment it’s a silent invasion, which means that the Animorphs—these children—are the only ones fighting against it, and they have to do so secretly, while also juggling middle school and other responsibilities. That’s bad enough, especially when they recognize what it could mean for their loved ones back home:

“Wait. Do you mean to say that—that my mom could be one of these … controllers?” Hunk asks.

“Yeah,” Marco says flatly. “Probably.”

Hunk goes pale.

But it’s even worse when they look at how young the kids are. Yeah, again, Team Voltron is nowhere near old. But Lance would suddenly feel a whole lot older when he looks at Marco, who’s about four or five years younger than him, who is tiny (because remember, Marco is canonically short), and who should be worrying about things like which girl to ask to the school dance or what video game to play rather than whether he’s going to make it home to his dad in one piece. Of course, god forbid Lance actually express this Marco, because Marco hates being pitied and would counter with something sarcastic (“Gee, why didn’t I ever think that it might be easier and more pleasant to not fight against the Yeerk Empire? If only I’d had the foresight!”), but nonetheless, that’s how he’d feel. I think that Team Voltron would want to immediately put a stop to what they’re currently doing to go help against the yeerks, which might cause some strife with the rest of the coalition (they can’t just abandon the war against the Galra Empire, but at the same time, they’re currently losing their home planet of Earth), but it would also raise an entirely new set of issues, such as … how can Voltron help against the yeerks, when the yeerks are currently waging a silent invasion? Do they get the Galaxy Garrison involved? And what are the odds that the Galaxy Garrison has already been infested—that someone like Iverson might already be a controller?

So that’s one idea I had, particularly with a few different comparisons in mind. (e.g. Marco is what you could imagine ending up with if you combined Lance and Pidge, and Keith and Tobias have so much in common: They’re both orphans, they both have one alien parent, they both feel ostracized from their respective teams in different ways, they both tend to be isolated whether by choice or by force, they both discover their destiny later on, they both have abandonment issues, they’re both regarded as “emo” by their respective fandoms even though they really aren’t, they’re both quite clever, they’re both … well, Tobias is an unwilling dropout due to being trapped in morph, and Keith was booted from the Garrison, et cetera …)

But I also have considered role swap crossovers, to imagine what that would be like as well.

For instance, perhaps the Animorphs (sans Ax this time—sorry, Ax, but the kids just can’t get you from the bottom of the ocean if they don’t have morphing ability) were the ones who, despite being thirteen-year-olds, found the Blue Lion and had it take them to space, and to the Castle of Lions, instead. So they’re the ones who awaken Allura and Coran from cryostasis, and they’re the ones that Allura tries to recruit into the war against the Galra Empire.

I don’t think it would go very well.

To begin with, Marco would be a hard no right away, for the exact same reason that he tried to give a hard no to fighting the yeerks. To quote from the first book:

Marco shook his head. In a quiet voice he said, “Look, I think these controllers are jerks. But if something happened to me … my dad. He wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

Two years ago, Marco’s mom died. She drowned. They never even found her body. Marco’s dad lost it big time. He totally fell apart. He quit his job as an industrial engineer because he couldn’t handle being around other people. Now he was working as a night janitor, making barely enough to support Marco. He spent his days sleeping or watching TV with the sound off.

“You can all think I’m a weasel if you want,” Marco said. “I don’t care. But if I get killed or something, my dad will flat-out die. He’s only hanging in there because of me.”

Marco, aged thirteen, would not be cool with staying in space to fight some evil alien empire. He flat out wouldn’t be. He would want to go home, to go back to his dad, because in all honesty he’d probably already be panicking about being way out in space (how much time has passed on Earth?), would already be flipping out at the possibility of his dad thinking he was dead and committing suicide as a result.

And in all honesty, I’m not sure the rest would be on board, either. I mean, Tobias would be. Tobias was the one most eager to fight the yeerks, the one who felt that he found something worth fighting for, as he tells to Marco early on in the first book. Rachel would be at first, particularly since (again) I think the Lions would excite her, but even she realizes after the police officer controller visits them at the barn that they’re just kids, that this is beyond them, that they should tell someone (even though there’s no one they can trust). She does side with Tobias quickly after that, but she has a moment of hesitation. Cassie would similarly feel hesitant, although at the same time hearing that the galra are oppressing entire civilizations would move her to want to take action. And Jake would be torn, because his family is back on Earth, and he sees both sides. In the books, his motivation for fighting the yeerks was to save Tom. Here, he doesn’t have that, so I’m inclined to think that he, too, would want to go home.

Which would, of course, impossibly frustrate Allura and Coran, but …

In any case, if they did end up staying, then I think the Lion distribution would be:

Black Lion: “The Black Lion forms the decisive head of Voltron. It will take a pilot who is a born leader and in control at all times—someone whose men will follow without question.”

Paladin: Jake Berenson.

Reasoning: I mean, obviously. Jake is the leader of the Animorphs. He was elected as leader with no contest outside of his own. All of the Animorphs have looked to him for leadership and guidance since day one, and even when he calls for votes (which is often), the final decision is still usually his. Ax recognizes him as Prince Jake (even though he’s not a prince) for a reason. So yeah, Jake would be the Black Paladin, for sure.

–

Red Lion: “The Red Lion is temperamental, and the most difficult to master. It’s faster and more agile than the others, but also more unstable. Its pilot needs to be someone who relies more on instincts than skill alone.”

Paladin: Tobias.

Reasoning: This one is difficult, because certain aspects of the Red Lion (temperamental, relies on instincts, difficult to master, unstable) sound like Rachel. Rachel would also really appreciate the Red Lion’s arsenal. She would like the fire power, as well as the sword. However, I’m not sure that Rachel is best suited for the finesse that it takes to fly Red. Rachel tends to barrel through her enemies, not weave and dodge around them like the swift and agile Red Lion requires. Additionally, Rachel is not a natural flier … but Tobias is. Tobias relies on instincts rather than skill alone, given all the time he spends as a hawk in his own series, and he’s definitely used to being swift and agile. Plus, it’s not like he doesn’t have experience with ihs own issues of being unstable, and it’s not as if he doesn’t know how to handle those that are temperamental. So ultimately, I think that the Red Lion would have to go to Tobias.

–

Green Lion: “The Green Lion has an inquisitive personality and requires a pilot of intellect and daring.”

Paladin: Marco.

Reasoning: Marco doesn’t do the best in school, but he’s incredibly intelligent, cunning, and resourceful. He’s the best at strategy, and later in his own series he hacks a CIA database because he’s bored. Now who does that sound like, hm?

–

Blue Lion: “The Blue Lion is the friendliest of the Lions and the most accepting of new pilots. It requires a pilot who (appears to have) confidence to spare, who is willing to keep going no matter the obstacles they face.”

Paladin: Rachel Berenson.

Reasoning: Again, this one was hard, because we don’t actually have criteria for the Blue Lion (thanks, Lance), so I’ve had to piece this together based on the website and what we see in the show. The Blue Lion, according to the website, accepts new pilots the easiest, and has confidence like Lance. But we know that Lance’s (and Allura’s, for that matter) confidence is mostly for show. They hide their insecurities and fears in order to appear strong for others. Rachel does this as well, particularly early on, as she herself thinks in book seventeen when she volunteers for the mole mission first despite being afraid. But the Blue Lion also appreciates that its Paladins ask it for help sometimes, that they keep trying even after they’ve failed, and Rachel is characterized as one who can fall off the balance beam eight teams and get up on it a ninth. So yes, I think she could work as the Blue Paladin, though again, this one can kind of lean toward Tobias as well.

–

Yellow Lion: “The Yellow Lion is caring and kind. Its pilot is one who puts the needs of others above their own. Their heart must be mighty.”

Paladin: Cassie.

Reasoning: I mean, obviously. Cassie is the heart of the Animorphs, and often acts as emotional support (or a morality checkpoint, even if she herself isn’t perfect). She’s pretty clearly a fit for Yellow Paladin.

–

So I think that, if the kids agreed to stay in space and fight this war, that’s how the Lion distribution would be. But I think it’d be hardpressed to keep them there, particularly with regards to Marco, who would be incredibly worried about his dad and wouldn’t want any part of this war that, in his mind, would have nothing to do with him (as he would tell Allura in no uncertain terms—straight up, “And that’s my problem because? Sorry, lady, but you have to sort this mess out for yourself”).

On the other hand, there’s also the other role swap scenario. One where the Voltron cast never ends up getting in the Blue Lion to go to space, but instead encounters a dying andalite, receives morphing power from him, and then watches as he is eaten alive by a morphed Visser Three.

I’ve imagined a lot of different aspects to this particular role swap AU. The one I struggle with the most is wondering whether Shiro is involved or not, since I’ve kind of already decided that high-ranking officials within the Galaxy Garrison (e.g. Iverson, Sam Holt) are most definitely controllers. Is Shiro also a controller? Was he sent off-planet because he was one, such as Sam Holt, and the Yeerk Empire wanted his yeerk doing things in space? Or was he spared that fate, thankfully, and is instead an Animorph?

Well, we know what the more pleasant scenario is. We’ll imagine that for now.

Just as the Animorphs are all thirteen when they’re sent to the Castle of Lions, our former Paladins are all the same ages they are in canon when they encounter Elfangor. I’m imagining that this would still take place around the Garrison; Shiro, if he wasn’t infested and sent off to space, is an instructor. If he’s still around (Kerberos never having happened), then Keith would still be a student, as would Lance and Hunk. We’ll say Pidge is one, too, because that makes things more convenient (and maybe she’s not concealing her gender this time—maybe she’s open about who she is from the start). Since the Garrison is already infested, the yeerks having hit it up first thing, I imagine that there would definitely be a push around the Garrison to get others infested as well. The Sharing is perhaps an organization already in a nearby town that claims to specialize in reaching out to those “at risk,” whether they’re at risk because they’re orphans (Keith) or because of the stress of academia. Infested Garrison instructors and officials really push others to go. It’s a fun group, they say. Everyone belongs there, they say. It’s good to take the stress off studies, they say. Iverson continuously badgers Keith into going, and Shiro (who in this scenario is not infested, remember, though he could be) says that maybe it’d be fine to attend once just to get Iverson off his back. So Keith does, and he finds it pointless and a little degrading (he doesn’t need pity or to be babied), and so he stops. He’s not much of a follower, he says. Iverson’s yeerk is pissed off by this and says that he’d do well to get in line, honestly, or else maybe his future at the Garrison will be cut short.

So anyway, that’s the set-up. At some point they encounter Elfangor. Instead of an abandoned construction site, maybe it’s just somewhere out in the desert. Who knows why they’re out there. Or maybe it still is a construction site, who knows. But they meet Elfangor, and he’s dying, and he gives them morphing power, and tells them about the yeerks, and then they see him get eaten alive by Visser Three. They hear his dying scream in their heads.

(And really, just think about that … aside from Shiro, who spent a year as a prisoner of war, Team Voltron’s introduction to the war against the Galra Empire was to meet a pretty princess in a pretty castle and be told about it. The Animorphs’ introduction to the war against the Yeerk Empire was to meet a gentle alien who was eaten alive not fifteen minutes later right in front of them. And the Animorphs were thirteen. Jesus Christ.)

Of course, they’re now faced with a decision. Shiro, perhaps, will want to tell those at the Garrison about what’s going on, and Lance and Hunk would be on his side, but both Keith and Pidge would be wary, because … how do they know that people at the Garrison aren’t infested? That’s a good point, Shiro concedes, and so they decide to wait it out and see. And lo and behold, they realize that the suspicion was warranted, because people at the Garrison are infested. High-ranking people are infested. They can’t go to the Garrison for help. They’re on their own with this one.

They learn that The Sharing is a front for the yeerks. They learn that Pidge’s brother, Matt (who is still around in this AU), is a controller. Pidge, who previously didn’t really want to fight in this war, is now gung-ho about fighting it to save her brother (and her father, who is a controller off-planet). Lance suggests just knocking Matt out and holding him for three days so that his yeerk dies, but Keith points out that’s not feasible because the yeerks would link it back to Pidge, and then to the rest of them. They’d be captured and infested. Their families would be captured and infested. They can’t do it.

It all hits Pidge even harder when she learns that the reason why Matt is a controller is because … well, he was taken involuntarily, but since then he has made a deal with the yeerks that they can have him so long as they leave her alone.

They all acquire different flying / battle morphs. So far I’ve thought:

Keith: Red-tailed hawk / black panther.

Shiro: Golden eagle / wolf.

Lance: Osprey / male lion.

Hunk: Black kite / rhino

Pidge: Peregrine falcon / king cobra

I feel like Pidge would really want an owl morph, but the problem is that owls are nocturnal. For the day she would need a diurnal bird, and so the peregrine falcon fits that. Additionally, I recognize that there is a risk at giving her a king cobra for a battle morph due to the fact that snakes can be, well, stepped on, but she might have a grizzly bear as backup. If nothing else, king cobras are extremely venomous; their venom is a neurotoxin and can kill in ten minutes if left untreated. So I mean, it’s not as if Pidge having a king cobra morph is entirely a bad choice, especially if the enemies they’re fighting are focused on the other, much larger, opponents.

I’ve thought of a few other things with this, too, like maybe the reason why Keith’s dad disappeared is because he was taken by the yeerks. Maybe he’s an involuntary host to a Visser by this point? The yeerks wanted to hunt down Keith after capturing his dad, because thanks to his dad’s memories they know that Keith is part-galra, but Keith was already put into foster care and hidden away by the time they could get to him. His dad stalled for that long, at least. So Keith doesn’t know his heritage, and doesn’t know that the yeerks have special interest in him, even if they haven’t put the pieces together yet.

So yeah, I’ve definitely thought of a few different crossover scenarios, and I kind of want to write them, haha. We’ll see what (if anything) comes of it.

Thanks for asking! :)

#pidge-eon #animorphs #voltron #animorphs voltron au #voltron animorphs au

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