#so we end up repressing every emotion to survive the day. because if we allow ourselves to feel

[solittles]

thinks about dave k's bad take on hickey n his potential personality disorder. gets upset again .

[paragon-arthur]

The weirdly appropriate thing about Ruby’s breakdown isn’t necessarily that it was coming- it was, whether now or far later- but where it’s happened.

In Remnant, feeling too much negative emotions can end up endangering your life by drawing the Grimm to it. A settlement can be destroyed, or people scattered because one or two people felt too negative. To the Grimm, it draws them like a fish to bait.

This means that everyone in Remnant to some level- not just Ruby- have to practice emotional repression just to survive day to day. Sure, people express frustration, but they’re often in the form of quips or brief bursts of fury.

We did see what happens when it becomes too much though. The Fall of Beacon was as catastrophic as it was because, after witnessing Penny’s ‘death’, the crowd could not keep repressing their horror. It’s why so many Grimm, ahd the Wyvern, just kept coming and coming- there was so much for them to feed off.

Contrast that to the Ever After. The only remotely inherently antagonistic being is the Jabberwocker, and even then it was made by the Ever After to have a purpose, like other Afterans. Without Neo’s escalation, there would be and could only be one.

No Grimm at all. Not a single one.

Which means it’s the best place for Ruby’s feelings and everyone else’s to get out now. Because the Ever After doesn’t punish them for venting, or feeling bad or trying to figure themselves out. It allows them to vent, without having to fear about consequences to their life.

In that way, falling into the Ever After, perhaps, was the best thing for Ruby’s mental wellbeing. If she hadn’t, the dam would have burst sooner or later. And there was every chance it would have been destructive.

In short, too, the Ever After is the goddamn therapy arc. I can only wait to see how the last few episodes unfold.

[lunaprincipessa]

ENTRY 141

Currently at work, trying to make it through a slow day.

Days like this, I sign into Tubi and watch Gordon Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares.

Not gonna lie, I watch mostly for Gordon's professionalism and hardcore insults. lol He doesn't hold back and certainly doesn't sugarcoat anything! Makes for good TV.

This episode that I'm watching today is bothering me though.

We see the man who owns the restaurant, who has been working there seven days a week for the past year. Despite having workers, he does it all. He's the owner yet he shops, cooks, cleans, serves, does maintenance, and handles the books too.

Then we see his wife...

This woman comes into the restaurant part-time hours three days a week, if that, literally doing nothing but nagging and complaining. She openly admits she doesn't like to work and she's described by all her daughters as a miserable control freak.

As if that isn't bad enough, she says she's unhappy with her husband. She claims he's a bad provider and threatened to move back to her country if he doesn't step it up, insulting every bit of his efforts.

Just... WOW.

When I watch stuff like this, all I can think about is all the domestic violence I survived. Domestic violence, verbal attacks, and emotional abuse. There was even a person I ended up hurting and pushing away because I was dealing with repressed trauma, costing myself so much after everything my abusive exes and toxic family cost me. It hasn't been easy.

I would give anything for a man that works hard like that. Not that I would let him take on that workload alone, but just the fact that he's willing to because he cares. To have someone that would work beside me instead of against me or in spite... Only in dreams but I do think this woman needs to be more appreciative. I think all women who have good men do.

Ladies, if you're with a good man, a hard-working man that treats you like a queen, don't allow yourselves to get comfortable to a point where you start neglecting or losing sight of how fortunate you are. Nowadays, it's a privilege to have a healthy relationship. Be grateful and stop looking for excuses to nag and complain! If you feel he can't get to something fast enough, get up and help him! If you see him breaking down, tend to him. NONE of us should expect what we aren't willing to give.

More thoughts later.

[karasbroken]

Because of who I am as a person, I absolutely adore this episode. I can watch her walk away, refusing to even see him, let alone talk, every day for a year and not get tired of it. The way she is barely holding herself together, the absolute wall she is screaming inside of.... She can't allow any crack in the facade lest her grief tear her completely apart. She's sealed up and under so much pressure that any opening risks explosive decompression. Aeryn feels actively dangerous, she is so wound tight.

This is an Aeryn we never saw before, except in glimpses, but I think it's familiar to her. Before Moya, before John, this is who Aeryn was, not infrequently. Sure she had times that she was more relaxed, more comfortable and able to have fun, to joke with friends, find amusement. There were also lots of times where this is the affect she gave.

This is how she got through losing friends, getting reassigned, surviving failed missions, betraying lovers or being betrayed by them. Shut down, give no other sign of her inner emotion, and do what needed to be done. Devote herself purely to duty, purpose, the next task or repair, and try not to think of anything else.

Among the Peacekeepers, this is how she beat out people who were bigger and stronger than her: by sheer will and being terrifyingly potent in her focus. By being so fiercely repressed that no one wanted to find out what was powering that, they just got out of the way.

John is struggling so hard. And he's suffered so much, that he ends up reacting by mirroring her. He hits his head repeatedly against her wall, but by the end, he has locked it all away too. It's trauma. It's beautiful.

Look at that last gif, their expressions are identical. (Oh and that little flick of his eyes away from her as she turns, because he can't risk looking right at her for too long, he might break and she might go away, unable or unwilling to deal with his emotions when she's so terrified by her own!) They're both nearly suicidal with rage and grief and hopelessness, and there's nothing to do with all of that but throw themselves into battle.

I'm still writing Season 1 and there they are so full of fire, sparking off each other and bickering and constantly in friction and confusion. But they know each other by the end of Season 3. They both understand basically exactly what the other is feeling despite the masks that let them survive this moment. Aeryn is as braced as she can be for John's attempts to break through to her. John doesn't need his clone to tell him not to push her (though the reminder is helpful because his instinct is still to push until she lets him in even though he knows by now that never works). All that fire, the love, the need, has been compressed until they turn into ice. I live for it.

(Needless to say, but it's the power of these actors that they can bring so much depth and so many emotions into scene after scene where they barely interact and hardly even change expression. Their energy and connection just carry the scenes without direct dialogue, It's amazing.)

“Ok. I’m gonna piss you off now man. Be smart. Don’t push her. She takes time.”

3x18 - Fractures

Farscape + painful episodes

[a-room-of-my-own]

Giulia Boukhobza | As a Jewish, female refugee from Libya, I know all too well the consequences for women and girls in a society that takes religious dogma to the nth degree. Shame on us.

I am so angry that I want to scream. I am so scared that I want to cry. I am so disgusted that I want to go into the trenches. But all I can usefully do now, during sleepless nights, is write.

Since the American “exit” from Afghanistan, I feel, by osmosis, that I can relate to every Afghan woman and girl who is stuck now in what can be only described as a hellish nightmare. I understand them, and I cry for them. Because until the age of 16, I lived their life. Well, more or less, but enough to grasp their deepest emotions and fear.

I was born in Tripoli, the capital of Libya, in 1951. I am the second oldest of six sisters and two brothers. Even though Libya was in some ways more cosmopolitan than Afghanistan — we had movie theaters and concerts, an American airbase, and Italian schools where I had my education — Muslim women still had to wear a burqa in the streets, covering the entire body except for a mesh screen to see out of, and did not work outside the house.

We, as non-Muslim (Jewish) females, were allowed to wear Western clothes. Yet, I knew from a very young age that I belonged to the worst group of all: Being both a female and an “infidel.” You can argue which was worse. In my view, it was being a female.

Wearing Western dress made me a perpetual target. Or, to paraphrase the countless men and boys who tried to pinch me, touch my breasts, and expose themselves to me (and my sisters and female friends), I was a “whore,” a “sinner,” a “prostitute,” and a “dog.”

They would attempt to “bump” into me while walking, or, if I was in the water, come from underneath to try to remove my bathing suit. I could feel their repressed lust coupled with unbridled hatred. My fear was indescribable. I became so traumatized that, to this day, decades later, I am still reluctant to enter the water and can barely swim.

Surely, their hatred was a function of religious indoctrination, coupled with the frustration of desiring women but being taught that their own women had to be essentially hidden from sight and “pure”.

Yet strangely, because I did not know any better, because I had never seen the world outside Libya, I somehow adjusted to this life. I instinctively understood the tactics for survival – try to stay quiet, keep my head down, cross the street if a male approaches. And, yes, confide in my girlfriends in a similar position for the sake of my own mental health, but never with my parents or brothers in order to protect them from their own sense of helpless rage.

After all, we were a tiny minority within a larger minority of non-Muslims in an overwhelmingly Muslim-majority society. And we felt it. We girls more than others.

I remember vividly an episode that encapsulates so much for me.

A new girl from Greece arrived in our school. She and I become fast friends. Earlier, she had lived in Italy, and I thought she was sophisticated, elegant, and beautiful. One afternoon, she and I were walking in the center of Tripoli and some men started groping us. She immediately began screaming at them. I saw danger. I took her hand and started running with her, entering the first store I saw.

Breathless, I told her she cannot yell like that. We could have ended up being punched, killed, or imprisoned on some trumped-up charge. I’ll never forget her reaction. She looked at me as if I were crazy and said: “No, they can’t do that to me. I have my Greek embassy here to protect me.”

I came home and broke my own rule by telling that story to my mother. Her reaction was that from now on I could only meet my new friend at my place or hers, but not outside because if something happened, I did not have any “embassy” to help me.

And then in 1967, after a hatefest that saw some Jewish families slaughtered and my family almost burned alive by a mob, we were allowed to leave Libya with one bag each and the equivalent of thirty dollars per person. I was never to return.

Italy offered us refuge. The ten of us arrived on July 14th, crammed into one room in a hostel, and four days later two sisters and I started working to help our family survive. At the time, we were 17, 16 and 15 years old.

Life was not easy and we were as poor as church mice, but I still remember that period in Rome as one of the happiest times of my life. It took me a while to understand exactly why. And then one day it came to me. It was the discovery of freedom. Freedom to be me. Freedom to be a female. Freedom to walk and not be scared of being harassed. Freedom to appreciate that when young Italian boys would flirt with me, they knew they had no right to touch me or call me a “whore” just because I didn’t wear a burqa.

Now at the age of 70, I cannot even begin to fathom living without that freedom, or, even worse, that my granddaughters would have it denied to them.

And this brings me back to Afghanistan.

Those women and girls for the last 20 years had the freedom to study and work. And now, like a bad dream, they are all again forced to become invisible and hide in the shadows. The older ones know what their future is likely to be because they saw this movie before when the Taliban ruled Afghanistan from 1996 to 2001.

What would I do if this happened to me? How could I give up my freedom once I tasted it? Were Afghan women better off never having experienced freedom rather than losing it after beginning to savor it? Will they summon the indescribable courage needed to fight back?

And that brings me again to my anger.

Where is the #MeToo movement? Why are they not marching again? It might not do much good on the ground, but at least the women of Afghanistan would feel less isolated and abandoned. After all, is there a female population in the world today more in need of solidarity and support than the women of Afghanistan?

Where is the Hollywood crowd? Usually, they all love to make grand, virtue-signaling gestures. Did any of them launch a hunger strike, organize a protest, or offer one of their private jets to try to rescue some women and children? It may or may not have made an actual difference, but at least it would have shown some much-needed compassion and empathy.

Where are Rashida Tlaib, Linda Sarsour, and Ilhan Omar, who profess such concern for human rights in the region? Will they speak up for fellow Muslim women and “sisters” who face Taliban suppression? Why aren’t they screaming from the rooftops? Do they care? It seems not.

This is why I can’t sleep – and don’t want others to sleep, either.

I can see in the Afghan girls myself as a girl, when my mother told me that, unlike my Greek friend, I had “no embassy” that would come and rescue me.

Shame on our silence.

Shame on our hypocrisy.

Shame on our willingness to consign 20 million women to suppression and suffocation.

Shame on our blatant ignorance about the truth and misplaced, condescending theories about cultural relativism.

Shame on all those naive Western women who said that defending the veil was defending “freedom of choice” and also never understanding the philosophy behind the veil: that the only people enjoying freedom were the men who imposed the idea of the veil.

Shame on all the talking heads who’ve never had the humility to admit they couldn’t understand the real meaning of dogmatic religion taken to the nth degree and its dire consequences.

History will not be kind when this chapter is written. Nor should it.

[obaewankenobis]

for forever — obi-wan kenobi

pairing(s)  :  obi-wan kenobi x reader ( mostly focused on obi-wan’s character, not the relationship because i am a hoe for this man )

summary  :  after the fall of the jedi order, you can finally be together. alternatively, obi-wan needs therapy/deserves happiness.

word count  :  2.1k

warning(s)  :  character death, a bit of angst i guess but it’s mostly fluff.

notes   :  roughly edited so i apologize if things don’t make sense, i honestly came up with this on a whim and have No Idea what was going through my head when i wrote this. the povs also switch a lot but enjoy </3.

       The sand bit at his fair skin, the grainy winds of Tatooine ruffled through his auburn locks, peppered with strands of grey, as Obi-Wan Kenobi stood, rigid and grief stricken. Kind wrinkles framed his eyes, eyes weighed down by exhaustion and desolation, the memory of a thousand wars flickering in the brilliant blue reflection. Without speaking, the woman looking at him from afar knew he had suffered a lifetime of hardship and grief, his aching heart not given a moment to mourn the loss of those closest to him. The mahogany cloak billowed around his body, covering the burnt, tattered tan robes he wore, as the wind picked up, signaling there would be little time before the twin suns set and it was much too dangerous to be outside. Snuggled between the lone man’s arms, swathed in soft cream blankets to shelter him from the cruel and unforgiving weather, was a baby. With sea blue eyes and the sparse tufts of pale blonde hair, the newborn was the mirror image of his father — that in itself was bittersweet.

       Fire. That was all Obi-Wan could remember, the smoldering lava confining him and his enemy — once his friend, his brother — inside a tight circle of flashing blue and blazing rage. Now, things were blissfully quiet, as if the universe was trying to give him peace of mind after what it had taken from him. With heavy shoulders and hollow eyes, Obi-Wan was a shell of who he used to be: a great warrior and an excellent negotiator, all gone. His last mission was here, on Tatooine, to deliver the baby to his aunt and uncle: Owen and Beru Lars. Then, he would spend the rest of his years wasting away in a sandy prison, languishing in his defeat.

       “Is it true?” The woman from afar, who had taken to staring at him from a distance, finally approached him, awaiting his answer with bated breath — Beru. Is it true? The words reverberated in his head, as the reality came crashing down upon him. The woman in front of him needed certainty, she needed answers, answers Obi-Wan could not give her.

       “Yes,” came the final reply. Who knew a single word could hold such heavy meaning? Yes. An entire government who’s history spanned hundreds of years prior collapsed within a single day? Yes, that had happened. His religion, who he had devoted his entire life to and poured his soul into, gone? Yes, decimated without a sliver of mercy. The baby’s father, the hero of the galaxy, the crown jewel of the Jedi Order, killed? Yes, murdered in cold blood.

       Beru finally brought her attention to the boy nestled within the robes of the man. “Is he . . . ” She seemed to only speak in half questions, as if finishing the sentence would make it a harsh reality, and leaving the query to hang heavy in the air would somehow leave her life in a fairytale.

       “Yes,” he replied again, nearly choking on his words as the boy let out a tiny coo, as if he sensed they were discussing him.

       “Oh.” There was a pause, a flicker of hesitation, before the woman decided to continue her pattern of half inquiries to form her own story. “May I?” With shaking arms, Beruu reached forward to take the boy from Obi-Wan’s grasp and welcome the baby into her own warm embrace. Part of him didn’t want to let the child go, for once he did he would have no real connection to his past life. Letting go of the boy meant letting go of everything, from his first steps in the Temple, to his meeting with his apprentice on Naboo, to the countless, sleepless nights in a war torn galaxy, it would all be gone. The woman’s tender smile and patient gaze was nearly patronizing, she was trying to sympathize with something she couldn’t possibly understand. No one could. A wave of fury washed over him, trapping him in a cage of his own emotions. Obi-Wan had never felt such an intensity roll over his body, preferring to keep his temperament a tranquil, emotionless pit. But this raw, uncontrollable fury was soon washed out with an even more overpowering bout of sorrow, shaking him with such force it made his knees wobble and threaten to give way. For over thirty years he was taught emotions were the enemy, by being detached and aloof he would survive, and look where that had gotten him.  

      Another soft cry from the baby jerked Obi-Wan back into the present moment, as his tiny arms reached for the woman, drawn to her sunny kindness and comforting aura; he realized a place to call home or a comforting shoulder to cry on was never something he could offer as the baby grew older. The woman made a small clicking sound with her tongue, looking up at Obi-Wan with an expectant gaze, and yet his grip on the baby remained the same. Although his mind seemed desperate to listen to logic, to reason, his body remained motionless, following the dull ache and painful longing in his heart. The battle between his mind and emotions lasted a fraction of a second, and at last, as it had time and time again, his mind won.

       Like he had done all his life, selflessly sacrificing himself for thee good of the galaxy, he let go.

     The woman took the baby in her arms, and began her journey back to her homestead, pausing just slightly to exchange one last parting smile and a word of comfort. “I think someone wants to see you, Master Kenobi.” With that, Beru began walking, a happy baby in her arms, to her husband, just as the sky merged from clear blue to salmon pink and hazy orange, the twin suns beginning to disappear over the horizon rapidly. As the light dimmed and dusk settled in, the man could make out the shadowy figures of Beru and Owen Lars, holding Luke Skywalker in unmoving content.

       Here to see me? Obi-Wan frowned, reflecting on the woman’s words. This was not his home, his very identity was supposed to remain a secret, who could possibly want to see him? Unless . . .

       No, that was impossible. He had mourned your death just as he had mourned every other Jedi’s death the moment their own clones turned against them, and he would not allow even a tiny sliver of hope to crawl its way back into his heart. Because in the end, he could only cling to the belief that things would get better, and false hope in such a desperate time would be his undoing.

—

       You wondered how long you could stand in the shadows before he noticed you, standing awkwardly by his dewback as he delivered Padmé and Anakin's son to his new family. Like Obi-Wan, you had suffered the loss of everything and everyone you knew, your entire life destroyed in the span of a second, and all you could do was stand there, watching everything burn. The Jedi robes you once wore with pride, robes that were once a symbol of humility and hope across the galaxy, now put a priceless bounty on the head of anyone who wore them.

       “Obi-Wan?” The name was dry in your throat, mouth parched and lips cracked due to the harsh Tatooine heat.

       Though he was always subtle, you could see his entire demeanor change, the way his shoulders became straighter, the way his hands, once balled up into fists of worry, were now relaxed and laying loosely at his side. In a moment, he had turned around and closed the distance between the two of you, caramel boots growing dull and scuffed as he stepped through the unforgiving desert surface beneath him. “You’re alive,” his voice came out in a hushed, cautious tone, disbelief still tainting the edges. “I thought — Yoda and I — the only ones left — ” his words grew more jumbled with each passing phrase that left his lips.

       “But I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,” you cut him off, the calm gentleness of your tone making him stop in his tracks. Slowly, each movement pained and deliberate, you stepped closer, inching your way forward until he was right in front of you. Neither of you could look away; with the Jedi Order dead, there was no reason to hide in secrecy now.

—

       To realize he was not alone was comforting, but to know it was you he could seek company in was freeing. In that moment, with the distance so close between your bodies, Obi-Wan dared not breathe, his eyes fluttering shut as he let out the smallest of breaths — this was all he had ever wanted, and still, despite everything, it was something he believed he could never have.

       He wouldn’t allow himself to believe it. Not after he spent all those years repressing the desire that burned so deeply within him it began to rot within his heart, trapped with no release in sight. At one point, he had every reason to deny the yearning stirring within him, but now? Now there was no war, no Council, no code, no nothing to stop himself from unleashing decades of pent up turmoil within him.

       And stars, it was suffocating.

       He couldn’t do this.

       “You know you don’t have to push me away any more.” A suggestion more than a factual statement; voice thick and barely audible.

       Was this a dream, a fantasy meant to be chased after in his sleep? Or some sick, twisted premonition the Force was trying to convey to him? So many nights he had spent languishing in his loneliness, dazed in a delusion that remained but a figment of his imagination.

       “I know.”

       “What?”

       “The Jedi are no more. We . . . We don’t have to pretend we don’t have  — ” The words were bittersweet on his tongue; even with no one there to watch and scold him, he could not betray his way of life so easily. That everyone I have ever loved, I have watched die in my arms? And throughout all of that, I have never been tempted by the dark side, but if I lost you, I would be afraid of my own morality? Those were not easy thoughts to formulate into a coherent sentence — there were no words Obi-Wan could say that would even begin to describe how he felt.

       Instead, in a tender gesture of vulnerability, he reached out through the Force, and all at once it came crashing down on him.

       This feeling . . . it was all consuming, and he was drowning, struggling to keep his head above water and not surrender to its frosty depths. He was submerged in an endless stretch of icy ocean water so frigid and numbing, that he felt nothing and everything all at once. It was terrifying to think — and let you know — you held so much power over him, but in the same instance, he felt at peace, like a weight he had dragged around for decades was finally lifted off his shoulders. I love you, rang as bright as the city lights on Coruscant and as clear as a Nabooian waterfall. I love you.

       “I love you, too.” He heard your voice in a soft whisper, swelled up with emotion as you took in everything. Chills erupted down his spine; he couldn't quite tell if it was from the inky blanket being tugged across the sky as dusk descended into nightfall, or if it was the four word phrase that left your lips.

—

       “I cannot live without you,” Obi-Wan let out a shaky exhale, breath fanning across your face just slightly, your foreheads making contact in the lightest movements. You felt dizzy, in a dreamlike trance, for you had never been this close to him. You could see every horror he had survived in his glassy blue eyes, notice every perfect imperfection that blemished his skin and made him all the more real. In a moment, his face had become blurred as he closed the distance and finally, finally, his lips were on yours, and you connected in a long awaited, eternally sought after kiss. You could feel his hands, calloused but gentle, cupping your face, as your own fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, the kiss grew more fervent and needy, every rule you had ever lived by crumbling as you melted deeper into his touch.

       After a long moment, you broke away, breathless, your face still tantalizingly close to his.

       “I will never leave you, Obi-Wan,” your lips parted in a determined vow, a promise you would keep to your dying breath. The Jedi were dead, and yet you never felt more alive.

[wherethingscomebackx]

Top 25 Larry fics of 2019

It’s that time again!

You may be familiar with these lists:

Top 25 Larry fics of 2016

Top 25 Larry fics of 2017

Top 25 Larry fics of 2018

As always, I read a lot of fic and the majority of it is Larry. I like making lists and I like Larry so I thought I’d do some minimal research of the top 25 larry fics published/completed in 2019 in order of least to most kudos (with links). All of these fics are top notch so you should all check them out! 

25.) Foolishy Laying Our Hearts on the Table by @runaway-train-works (11k)

“You think Harry wants that?”

“Dunno. Maybe. Wanna make him happy.” Harry takes advantage of the red light he’s pulled up to turn and look properly at Louis’ face. He’s not even looking in Harry’s direction though, focused instead on something out of his side window, head drooped, mindlessly playing with the string of his hoodie between his fingers, lost in his own world somewhere. For some reason, it makes Harry’s spine straighten.

“Because he’s your best mate?” Harry questions carefully.

“He’s my boyfriend.”

He couldn’t have heard him right. “What?”

Louis releases a deep breath, still not turning around. Harry wonders who he thinks he’s talking to right now. “He’s so pretty. Want to kiss him all day long. And buy him a big house and give him presents and marry him.”

Or

The one where Harry is in love with his best friend Louis but doesn't think he stands a chance until some wisdom teeth and a rather unusual confession might just change his mind.

24.) Tainted Saints And Velvet Vices by @toomanydreamers (126k)

A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they're forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.

23.) all we can do is keep breathing by @avocadolouie (310k)

“Harry, I-I’m so sorry…” Louis stutters out, trying to keep his voice level and even, to portray a depiction of strength, but with the way Harry is looking at him, staring at him like he has a personal passage way straight to Louis’ soul, it’s so hard, nearly impossible.

That simple opening phrase, that short introductory acknowledgement that is often rushed out so easily, painlessly, at a safe distance. Giving a doctor the ability to portray empathy without true emotion, without feeling the full brunt and sheer force of the underlying pain itself.

But Louis feels it, he feels the crushing agony laced behind the phrase, he feels the weight of the painful words slipping from his lips, the cause and effect that the three-word expression holds. The distantly empty “I’m so sorry” that doctors throw out in self-preservation, isn’t at all empty for him. Louis recognizes it, he understands it, he feels it.

--

a fated story of two broken and battered boys who barely survived the unimaginable and how the love of one little brave girl defies all the odds and somehow puts them back together.

22.) Raise a Glass to the Four of Us by @2tiedships2 (25k)

Louis stared at his luggage.

Well. Apparently not his luggage, because the clothing he was looking at currently was a: worth more than everything he currently possessed, b: not his size at all, and c: more suited for a fancy ass lawyer than a holiday in NYC with his best mates.

“Ooh, nice loafers,” Niall said as he pulled one out of the suitcase. “I love the rainbows.”

“Okay,” Liam began. “What do you want to do first? Eat, shop for new clothes, or spend hours on the phone with the airline?”

Louis continued to stare at the luggage.

21.) You Have to Retreat to Advance by @2tiedships2 (18k)

“What am I going to do, Perrie? I can’t go on this retreat by myself. My boss literally said he wants to meet my omega.” Harry paused. “Okay, not literally but he definitely expects me to be bringing him.”

“Don’t people go on these things by themselves?” Perrie asked.

Harry shrugged. “Of course but that’s not the point.”

“What’s the point?”

“My boss is expecting to meet my omega! I don’t have an omega!”

“Is this a paying gig?” Perrie asked.

“You mean paying an omega to spend the weekend with me? I’m sure the resort has nice amenities. Does that count?”

“I take that as a no,” Perrie said with an eye roll. “It’s okay, Louis might be willing to do it for free.”

“Who’s Louis?”

Or the one where Harry is expected to bring his longterm omega to the company's mountain retreat. Since he hadn't told anyone that they'd broken up months ago, he now has to find someone willing to play the part.

20.) A Darker Shade of Love by LittleSpoonStyles94 (750k)

Louis is a 30 year old multi-billionaire with a very dark past. He is violent and is a sadist with a taste for pain. Harry Styles is a 19 year old student who sets out to London after being kicked out by his homophobic father to follow his dreams. He wants to go to the best University to study but he needs a lot of money so he starts to work as a part time stripper at a gay club to support his studies and his life. The club he works at, Garland's, is part owned by Louis Tomlinson. When they meet, its life changing for the both of them.

19.) You Still Make Sense to Me by @amories (37k)

Harry, Louis, and their family navigate life together through the years.

18.) Like Water Over Fire (Like Water On Fire) by @mcssymon (119k)

“I’m sorry your highness, I think I misheard you, did you really say that you are hoping to meet your husband?” Oh god, Louis panicked. Was Prince Harry gay? Was he even allowed to be gay? Surely he wouldn’t be allowed to have a selection from a group of men, right?

Prince Harry looked partly like he wanted to laugh, but also very, very nervous about what he had just admitted, “Yes, sir, you heard correctly”

Or Prince Harry has 46 men and 13 weeks to find the husband of his dreams, Louis has a limited amount to time to live out a royal fantasy. They might just be exactly what the other needs.

17.) waiting for the tides to meet by @nauticalleeds (59k)

Louis lets out a deep breath, thinking about Harry’s soulmate. Thinking about how Harry’s soulmate is probably as beautiful as Harry, some person that Louis cannot compare to, and how the universe has chosen them to be Harry’s. Fuck the universe. “Fuck you,” he calls out to the universe. He’s aware of how crazy he sounds.

Maybe he is crazy, with how he’s falling for Harry. And fuck that, too.

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart.

Featuring a lovely cup of OT5, a road trip down the coast, and a scene where Harry eats a whole head of lettuce. Don't ask why.

16.) Call Answered by @vondrostes (249k)

The day after his 27th birthday, Harry Styles attempts suicide. Louis is flown to his bedside to unravel the mystery of why he did it after a flash drive is found with a note attached, addressed to Louis. On it are a collection of 78 songs, all written for different dates from their past.

15.) Counterbalance by @louandhazaf (44k)

Harry Styles loves two things: teaching ballet and racing motorcycles. Those two worlds collide when his greatest rival on the track, Louis “Tommo” Tomlinson brings his tiny siblings to Harry’s class.

14.) Everywhere and Nowhere by @2tiedships2 (16k)

Niall took a seat and said, "Apparently Louis' downstairs neighbor is a fan of giving Louis creepy gifts. Maybe I should go introduce myself and tell him that Louis actually prefers food."

"What has he given you?" Liam asked.

Louis shrugged as it were no big deal. "There was a rabbit's foot keychain on the door a little after he left from introducing himself and there was a small teddy bear sitting by my door tonight. Obviously I can't prove it's from him, but they seem to have his scent. I could be wrong though."

"Wow," Liam said, looking deep in thought. "That's old school."

"What's old school?" Niall asked. "Giving creepy gifts?"

"I've never known an alpha to do it, to be honest, but he's courting you."

Louis couldn't contain his look of disbelief directed at Liam. "He's courting me. Like some sort of romantic shit they'd do in the 1800s or something?"

13.) Swallow The Knife by whoknows (76k)

“You came,” Louis says, still breathless, clinging to Harry, uncaring that his sweat is getting all over Harry’s presumably clean dad shirt, or that he’s making Harry hold up all of his weight.

“Of course I came,” Harry says. He shifts, one arm curled underneath Louis’ arse, the other spreading wide in the middle of Louis’ back. “If I ignored you every time you pissed me off we would have stopped being friends a long time ago.”

Louis already knows that, of course. It doesn’t do anything to stop the pleased squirm in his belly every time Harry proves it, though. They fight like nobody’s business, both of them too stubborn to pull their punches when they’re arguing, and it used to get them in trouble, but they always make up.

Adrenaline makes Louis loose-lipped, and they both know it. He tightens his arms around Harry’s neck, buries his face in his hair. “I missed you,” he confesses, quiet. “Doesn’t feel the same up there by myself.”

12.) and oh, all of your saturdays could end up in woe by ihavetoomuchfreetime (70k)

a fic in which louis' in a long-term relationship with an abusive asshole, niall, zayn and liam are so far but not really, and harry is that all too friendly guy who works in sainsbury's.

11.) thinking about the t-shirt you slept in by @absoloutenonsense (52k)

Harry's alpha fraternity donates to a local thrift shop (because of Liam's latent crush on a cute beta in his lecture). Louis' financial situation (and confusing omega instincts) lead him to make some interesting fashion purchases. Lots of pizza, feelings, and not-really-lying.

10.) Consequences by @allwaswell16 (78k)

Two years ago Harry let his powerful family come between him and the love of his life, something he deeply regrets. Louis has tried to move on from their devastating break up. Sometimes, he even thinks he has. It only takes one moment to freeze them back in time.

An amnesia au

9.) Strawberries & Cigarettes by @dimpled-halo (76k)

Harry looks up and immediately freezes. Next to Ms. Archie stands the boy from just the other day. The boy with the leather jacket and chipped black nails, that might or might not be sketched in the very book Harry has just placed on the table in front of him. The leather jacket is missing today, probably because they aren’t allowed as part of their required uniform attire, but Harry can still see the fading black nail polish on his nails, and eyeliner around his eyes. Harry’s mouth goes a little dry. This boy is so intriguing to him.

“Ye-yes, Ms. Archie?” Harry tries to play it cool, but he’s almost positive that his cheeks are burning red, and he’s relieved neither of them can tell how fast his heart is beating in his chest.

The boy seems to also recognize Harry, because his lips curve into a knowing smirk.

“Harry is at the top of his class. He’s your best bet at getting familiar with things around here.” She explains.

Louis nods, his smirk still very prominent on his face. “Thank you Ms. Archie. I’ll be sure to take advantage of young Harold here.”

*

Summary: Two stories, eleven years, and the two boys that never stopped loving each other.

8.) Pain makes people change by Deidei (113k)

An organization called Canis Lupus existed solely for changing humans imprisoned in their wolf form back to their human form. Some people after experiencing some traumatic event can only ‘’protect’’ themselves from the pain by forgetting everything. To do that, to feel safe, they shift into their wolf form.

Which they'll be stuck in forever should no one intervene.

Louis Tomlison went through a traumatic experience at the age of twelve in which he lost his mother, to make the pain go away he shifted into a wolf and fled. He survived in the wild as a wolf for five years until Canis Lupis caught him... Though he wasn't alone, he had a pup at his side.

7.) Pretty Please (With Sugar On Top) by @angelichl (113k)

Harry is a sugar baby omega who cons rich alphas for a living. Louis is a rich alpha with too much self-control.

6.) Enemies with benefits by ssii8 (267k)

Where Harry is captain of basketball team and Louis is captain of football team and they hate each other. But somehow this doesn't stop them from having sex.

And everything is perfect until they start to feel something more.

5.) Ready To Fall by whoknows (21k)

“Ninety and rising,” Nick says triumphantly, as though making Harry’s heartbeat pick up by thrusting an obscenely attractive person in front of his face is any kind of success. “Louis Tomlinson has just walked into our control room and suddenly our dear Harry Styles has lost all ability to speak. Could this be some kind of strange coincidence?”

“I hate you,” Harry hisses, forcing his eyes back into Nick’s direction, uncaring that the mic must have picked it up. “I thought we agreed that you were going to play fair.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nick denies, except he’s holding up a picture of Louis’ face now, sharp cheekbones prominent, soft lashes nearly sweeping against his cheeks as he looks down, and his fucking mouth –

“A hundred and two!” Nick crows, all but clapping his hands together in glee. “The highest it’s ever been!”

“To be fair, I did bend over the desk on purpose,” Louis’ voice comes crackling in the headphones. Harry practically breaks his neck whipping his head around at the sound of it, gaping at him through the glass panel. “You can’t really blame him for getting a little excited about that, can you?”

4.) Close to Nowhere by @angelichl (34k)

“I will kill you in your sleep,” Louis threatened as he quickly stepped out of his jeans.

“I don’t think that would work very well baby, seeing as you talk to dead people all the time.”

“I’ll kill you in your sleep and ignore your ghost. And don’t call me that.”

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

3.) Play Pretend, Find a Friend? by @angelichl (40k)

They had to pull back for air. Louis surveyed the guy’s face, in awe of his blown pupils and sharp jawline, the way their shared spit glistened on his lips.

“Hi,” he breathed. He blinked, and came back to himself a little bit, blushing at his own boldness. “Sorry. Is this okay?”

The stranger removed his right hand from the curve of Louis’ waist in order to cup his jaw, tilting it up to the angle he desired. He pressed their lips together, murmuring, “Definitely.” And then he kissed harder.

When Louis sees his ex-boyfriend kissing a random girl at a party, he acts out of blind jealousy. He kisses the first guy he can find. It turns into a thing.

INSPIRED BY CLOUDS.

2.) Let Me Feel Your Heartbeat by @angelichl (34k)

Harry is 98% sure Louis hates him. So he feels like his bewilderment is justified when the omega offers to help him through his rut.

1.) All My Colours by IceQueenRia (267k)

Green… yellow… red. Red! RED!!!

Some people were born Dominant and others submissive. Sixteen year old Louis Tomlinson was a submissive and was proud to be so… until he was forced to his knees for the first time. The man before him was every subs nightmare, an abusive Dom, the kind who didn’t believe in the colour ‘red’ unless it was in the form of blood.

There were others, but Louis was the ‘favourite’ and he was the one the Dom liked to ‘play with’ the most. In fact, when the rescue team arrived, Louis was the one currently providing ‘service’ to the Dom.

Or

Louis, Zayn and Niall are abused subs. Liam Payne is their devoted new Guidance Counsellor who just wants to make Niall smile and hear Zayn speak. As for Louis, he knows his guidance won’t be enough to help the boy heal. No, Louis Tomlinson needs something very special and very specific. He needs Harry Styles.

[dirty-holy-things]

The Space Between (your heart & mine)

Chapter 17 has been posted to Ao3, and below to Tumblr.

Catch up on chapters 1-16 on Ao3.

Notes: This fic is 18+ and explicit. Chapter contains canon-typical violence and descriptions of injuries. Reference to past abuse. Please exercise caution if this is a sensitive subject for you. Also - I promise there's a happy ending, but it might take a bit of angst to get there. For those who have kept up with this fic, sorry for the delay in updating - grad school has kept me busy, but regular updates should resume.

Words: 5.1k update, 80.9k total.

There had been changes within yourself as well, even though you struggled to admit it after having spent so much of your life suppressing that which was now showing itself within you. Your safety had always depended on your ability to mask your powers, or at least conveniently use them, and now they were unexpectedly breaking through your barriers. Through observation and meditation, you had started to put together that your abilities and powers swelled whenever your emotions did, just as they had when you were younger. When Din was once running behind schedule for a bounty, your nerves and fear alone were able to entirely warp the canteen you had purchased for yourself, crushing it to the point that it was unusable junk. And when Din finally returned home to you, bruised and battered, and yet focused only on touching and kissing every inch of you — you found that his cuts and bruises began to disappear from underneath your fingertips without any direct focus or attention. There was an undercurrent of power that was growing within you and Grogu, and it was beginning to breach the walls that you had put in place to hold it back; and you had no way of predicting when that wall may cave in.

These ever-increasing powers and revelations were both fascinating and terrifying. You did not know what would happen from here if you and Grogu continued down this unmapped path. You could understand that power without training could be exceptionally dangerous, but how would you even go about learning how to control it all? You had once been able to suppress your connection to the Force, but you never actually learned how to master this connection; repression is not true mastery or control, as it only delays the chaos.

But who was there to learn from? The Jedi Order was no more, the grasp of the Sith had receded with the rise of the New Republic, and the civilizations that connected with the Force as a form of magic were incredibly closed-off and tight-lipped. You had been extraordinarily lucky to stumble unto the teachings of Ixxith as you had, but now that the seal had been broken, now that Pandora’s box had been opened, you were faced with an impossible question — where do you go from here?

Image credit to my love @knivesareout as she makes beautiful things and supports my writing.

An eternal thank you to @soyelfuegoquearde for beta'ing my baby and giving me constructive feedback.

And love to @bdavishiddlesbatch and @louderrthanthunderr for all of their love and support.

"We fall in love because we long to escape from ourselves with someone ideal as we area corrupt. But what if such a being were one day to turn around and love us back? We can only be shocked. How could they be divine as we had hoped when they have the bad taste to approve of someone like us? If in order to love, we must believe that the beloved surpasses us in some way, does not a cruel paradox emerge when we witness this love returned? If they are really so wonderful, how could they love someone like me?" - Alain de Botton

The universe felt brighter as you traveled through it now, suspended in space and time within the secure confines of your roaming home. You continued to watch the stars streak past you on every journey, still feeling just as entranced by them as you had on the first flight from Chandrila — but it was even more of a beautiful and brilliant thing, as you now had the incomparable comfort of being known, and being loved. For a brief moment, you had worried that your admission of love would make things complicated, awkward, unbalanced; but your fears had been completely dismissed and rendered unnecessary, as it had brought you and Din closer than you could have imagined.

It was the little gestures and moments throughout the day that allowed those fears to be quieted. His hands would brush along your body in passing; he brought you a blanket to the cockpit after seeing you wrapped tightly around yourself to fight off the chill; he would gently tuck away the stray pieces of hair that fell across your face. And you became less reserved in showing your affections as well; you would often drape yourself across the back of the pilot’s seat and over his expansive shoulders as he navigated the Razor Crest through the atmospheres of new planets and hyperspace. You would bring him food and water, reminding him to take care of himself in ways that he often forgot to. And the two of you spent more time encased in the security of darkness, to the point where you joked that you might develop night vision. Very few things can grow in the absence of light, and yet here you were, your love thriving in this unexpected place.

You found that you didn’t necessarily feel as though you were missing anything, by not being able to see his face. Your love felt whole, comprehensive, and possibly even more valuable as it was so unconditional in its nature; you would love him endlessly, and you didn’t need a face to assign that love to, as he was so much more than the anatomical structure that existed behind the helmet. Somehow, the darkness felt more freeing than the light. The comfort and security of the darkness offered you both the opportunity to be completely and entirely exposed; no helmet, no clothing, no beskar, no self-doubt. It was infinite in its nature, and allowed for infinite possibilities.

How beautiful, these little infinities you had created together.

And while you never held any regrets for the life you shared with Din, you understood that some things were not worth repeating. You didn’t offer to help with a job again after Corellia, and it was a decision that you had come to by yourself. Again, you held no regrets for what had transpired on the industrial planet as it had been the catalyst that had brought the truth to the surface, the truth about your love, but it had left some wreckage in the process. Your sense of self-preservation and fear had been reignited when the Twi’lek had made unwanted physical advances, and although you knew you were safe now, it was challenging to quiet that instinctual part of yourself that had risen up, desperately seeking to sustain your hard-won survival.

Following the events of Corellia, you started to have the occasional nightmare, your mind resurfacing old wounds and memories that you had worked to let go of and leave on Chandrila. You would have dreams of the torrential thunderstorms of Eadu, threatening to drown you as your family watched, making no effort to help you stay afloat. You would feel the radiating pain of Orron’s blows throughout your body, every old wound somehow reemerging and aching anew. Sometimes the terror and pain of the nightmare was quick to pass upon waking, but there were some occasions in which you woke up crying and thrashing, a scream trapped in your constricted throat. Sometimes, you would wake up shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm, chest heaving as the tears flowed; upon waking, you were always disoriented and scared for a moment, until you realized you were still at home and you were still wrapped securely in Din’s arms. You knew Din hated seeing you like that, tearful and distressed, and you didn’t want to cause any further hurt to yourself or to him. So you made the decision to no longer act as bait.

There was no sense in reopening old wounds, and creating new ones in the process. If you were to live with these pains, you could at least avoid inflicting them onto others.

Din had been supportive of your choice to no longer participate in bounties. He had reassured you that he still believed in your capabilities and value as a companion, but agreed that the reduction in stress would be worth the reduction in payouts. It had been tough to find a way to keep yourself occupied and still feel like a valuable, contributing asset; you knew you would never be content to simply exist here, offering nothing to Din except your body. While your originally agreed-upon partnership ended up not lending itself to you becoming a bounty hunter, you were not about to become a deadbeat, indolent passenger either.

The first few weeks after Corellia were alright, as you found odd jobs around the ship that you could tend to; repairing sagging panels, cleaning away the cobwebs, reorganizing equipment. These were tasks that you could manage, even with your limited mechanical and engineering knowledge. But eventually, as time wore on and your journeys carried you further along, you started to run out of tasks that could be done on the ship. Needing something to do, you then turned to managing additional business responsibilities, hoping to relieve Din of some of the stress that he carried on those broad shoulders. You kept a more organized, detailed record of his jobs and finances, and made sure there was an appropriate stock of supplies to support the Razor Crest’s three travelers.

And then there was the kid — you quite often found yourself managing him.

Following your journey to Bardotta, something had awoken in both you and Grogu; it was as if a creature that had laid dormant for many years had been awoken from its hibernation, and had returned with renewed strength. While you felt this change deeply within yourself, it presented itself most visibly in Grogu and his increasing abilities. You frequently had to search for him within the ship, as he had been working on learning how to cloak himself as you once had, adding this to his other skills. He was not able to fully vanish into his surroundings as you were, but he was decent enough at camouflaging himself to the point where you once had a panic attack that he had managed to escaped the ship into the wild forests of Dantooine while under your supervision. He was also experimenting with bringing larger and larger objects to his small green grasp, most noticeably larger and larger portions of food, or other comfort items like blankets. His growing curiosity and expansion of power hadn’t been allthat concerning until a particularly rough tantrum, during which he pushed both you and Din a good three feet back from him, without ever laying a hand on you. The changes occurring could no longer be denied or ignored, and you understood you would have to confront them at some point.

There had been changes within yourself as well, even though you struggled to admit it after having spent so much of your life suppressing that which was now showing itself within you. Your safety had always depended on your ability to mask your powers, or at least conveniently use them, and now they were unexpectedly breaking through your barriers. Through observation and meditation, you had started to put together that your abilities and powers swelled whenever your emotions did, just as they had when you were younger. When Din was once running behind schedule for a bounty, your nerves and fear alone were able to entirely warp the canteen you had purchased for yourself, crushing it to the point that it was unusable junk. And when Din finally returned home to you, bruised and battered, and yet focused only on touching and kissing every inch of you — you found that his cuts and bruises began to disappear from underneath your fingertips without any direct focus or attention. There was an undercurrent of power that was growing within you and Grogu, and it was beginning to breach the walls that you had put in place to hold it back; and you had no way of predicting when that wall may cave in.

These ever-increasing powers and revelations were both fascinating and terrifying. You did not know what would happen from here if you and Grogu continued down this unmapped path. You could understand that power without training could be exceptionally dangerous, but how would you even go about learning how to control it all? You had once been able to suppress your connection to the Force, but you never actually learned how to master this connection; repression is not true mastery or control, as it only delays the chaos.

But who was there to learn from? The Jedi Order was no more, the grasp of the Sith had receded with the rise of the New Republic, and the civilizations that connected with the Force as a form of magic were incredibly closed-off and tight-lipped. You had been extraordinarily lucky to stumble unto the teachings of Ixxith as you had, but now that the seal had been broken, now that Pandora’s box had been opened, you were faced with an impossible question — where do you go from here?

Your best attempt at navigating this next step was to seek out knowledge in a different format; as Din’s travels occasionally brought you to larger cities, you would spend a portion of the layover browsing the city’s libraries and book stores, if they existed, poring over the texts to see if there was any history, legends, instructions, or insights that could be obtained. You had very little success at finding anything that taught you about Force powers and how to use them, however you had managed to find several interesting texts that chronicled the historical power struggle between the Jedi and the Sith. You had heard whispered stories and legends as a child, tales of heroes and villains who carried out the unending battle of good versus evil.

And as you read of these wars and conflicts, you came to an interesting conclusion — depending on the perspective of the available source material, both Jedi and Sith could be considered good, or evil.

Thinking back to Ixxith’s teachings about the importance of balance, you could understand how these two diametrically opposed sides were continually fighting against the scale of the universe that sought balance. From your wide assortment of readings, you understood that the universe itself truly held no favor for good or evil, Jedi or Sith, and it only ever sought an equilibrium — and yet the universe’s occupants insisted on living within one extreme or the other, the scale never allowed to settle at a place of peace and balance.

You enjoyed studying the texts that you had managed to acquire, and learning more about the history of those with abilities like you, even though it may not have been the specific knowledge you had set out to find. Occasionally, you would talk with Din about the things that you discovered in these books, which prompted him to share more about the history of Mandalore and their role in the galaxy’s history and development. This newfound, strengthening point of connection between you was beautiful and valuable in its own right, even though it may not have offered much help for corralling yourself and the kid’s behaviors.

Reading had given you something to do during the down time while Din was working, and while the kid was self-contained or safely entertained. You had never had much time to dedicate to your own hobbies and interests before, and it was refreshing to be able to have your own passions that you could pursue as you desired.

Having few travel expenses of your own, you were still living quite comfortably off of the bounties you had profited from, and you were able to purchase the things that caught your eye or interest. This led to a steadily-expanding corner of the cabin that became yours as it was occupied with stacks of books, piles of blankets, an assortment of snacks, and a respectable wardrobe. The fresher also now showed evidence of your residency, as some of your specialty products had found their way to the shelves and the shower; silky lotions, a nice brush, hygiene products that didn’t exist in the shape of a bar. The Razor Crest was gradually becoming a shared space, a shared home, and were someone to step foot onto the ship, they would be able to determine that the fearsome Mandalorian was no longer maintaining a solitary existence.

This change in Din’s lifestyle was becoming more and more clear to outsiders as you now frequently accompanied him to his negotiations and trade-offs with Karga when on Nevarro. The older man had been excited by your reoccurring presence, and while he had teased Din for it in the beginning, he had since relaxed and always welcomed the two or three of you with a genuine smile. And with each visit to the volcanic planet, Din grew more comfortable with claiming your relationship openly; he almost always kept a hand on you, tracing pressured circles into your skin, or if you were seated with some degree of privacy, gently stroking the inside of your thigh from underneath the table as a tease for what was to come. There were rarely moments in which you were left alone, and you found you preferred it this way. While Orron had once insisted upon keeping you within arms reach, out of his own need for power and control, you understood Din’s motives to be different. He wanted to protect you, wanted to show you off, just genuinely wanted to be with you because he loved being with you. And you also knew that he would never deny you an opportunity to venture off on your own, to explore the town or take Grogu to play with the local children.

Today had been no exception to that truth; as Din and Karga haggled over upcoming bounties, you grew bored and restless, and decided you would prefer to stretch your legs with a walk around town, and feel some sunlight on your skin as it was a fairly nice day. You squeezed his knee gently, getting his attention before nodding your head to the door of the cantina, where the three of you had gathered for this business dealing. Din nodded wordlessly, trusting you to keep yourself safe and return to him when you were ready. This unconditional sense of trust was new to you, but you loved every moment of it, and loved Din for offering it so readily to you.

You excused yourself from the table and strolled out of the bar, knowing that Din’s eyes had followed your entire journey through the tables and patrons until you exited into the bustling town center. The sunlight felt nice on your skin, and the slight breeze kept the air from feeling heavy and stagnant around you; you stretched your limbs and you felt the cracking and popping of your joints. You needed breaks like this, to be able to physically stretch your body and keep it limber and in shape.

And yet, despite the small space of the Razor Crest, you had still found ways to keep your body moving; Din had certainly made physical exercise more enjoyable. You thought back to all of the nights that had now been spent on the floor of the Razor Crest, as your exhausted bodies had collapsed into one another; you loved every minute of the physical exertion the two of you created, but your body needed more. It needed to run, jump, stretch, bend, without the constraints of the small cabin space. But Maker, did making love with Din feel like the most glorious and exhilarating use of your body; you marveled at every moment of passion the two of you shared, holding nothing back in the pursuit of giving the other what they desired.

You were brought back to the moment by an oddly dressed man bumping into you; you turned to apologize, as you had been the one to have stopped in the middle of the street, but they had already run off by the time you looked for them. Shrugging, you carried on with your afternoon expedition. You had intentionally chosen comfortable and lightweight clothing today, knowing it would offer a nice opportunity to stretch your legs. As you strolled through town, you felt yourself start to pick up your pace gradually until you were jogging along at a decent speed, leaving the town behind you as you ascended the black volcanic hills that surrounded the area that had since become familiar to you. From atop the hills, you could see the cantina, the school, the marketplace, and off in the distance you could see the Razor Crest as it was undergoing refueling and maintenance.

Continuing to run for a while, just along the outskirts of the city, you relished the feeling of the breeze against your skin; while Nevarro was hot and the air somewhat sulfurous due to the volcanoes, it was still a nice change from the recycled air of the ship, and was certainly better than some of the atmospheres of other planets you had journeyed to. You could feel the lava rocks and ash shifting beneath your feet as you ran, offering just enough resistance to make your heart race and your lungs expand with forceful, concentrated inhalations.

Having now circled about half of the city, watching the landscape change from your position above it, you settled down onto a spot that offered some dry grass to sit comfortably on. You waited for your heart rate to slow back to a resting pace, and stretched your limbs out around you, loving the bit of soreness that came along as your muscles stretched and contracted. You allowed yourself to rest here for a while, clearing your mind as you worked to let the Force flow through you, just as Ixxith had taught you. You could feel the Force moving through you gently, almost like a breeze passing through an open window. You settled into this feeling, into the peace that it offered, as silence and tranquility had become rare within the steel confines of your home. Relaxing, you only barely noticed the breeze that seemed to push and pull the air through your lungs, as you sank into the comfortable silence for a while.

Sensing a growing chill in the air, your eyes opened to scene around you. The sun had begun its descent behind the volcanic hilltops and you knew it was time to be on your way, to return to Din and Grogu, to your home and to your bed. Pushing yourself up from the ground, you brushed off the dust and debris that had pressed into your body and clothing, before starting a comfortable pace down the hillside and back into the city.

As you passed some of the houses that made up the outskirts of the city, you could sense that something, or someone, was watching you; turning to look all around, you didn’t see anything unusual. You tried to shake off the feeling as you navigated yourself down a familiar city path, shifting your focus towards your upcoming reunion with Din; thinking of the way he had pinched the inside of your thigh earlier shot your heart rate right back up to its previously racing pace.

And yet there was a persistently odd feeling around you though, one that you couldn’t seem to shake, even with the thought of Din. Deciding to trust your gut, you stepped down what seemed to be a quiet alleyway to take better stock of the situation around you and determine what was causing this unsettling feeling of observation. No, observation wasn’t the right word. The word that came to mind was stalked. Like something was hiding in the shadows and corner of your vision, keeping in step with you but never being revealed. You scanned the street you had just been walking through, trying to find whatever was causing this unease, this growing sense of danger —

And then you felt a large hand grasping your forearm like a steel trap, crushing your wrist as whoever this was pulled you further into the alley and into the seclusion that it offered.

Whirling around as your free hand having found its way into a fist, you intended to punch this unexpected attacker in the face; but before you could complete your movement, a grey and leathery hand grabbed your entire fist and wrenched it away, but maintaining a tight hold on your hand to restrain you. Looking up, you saw a terrifyingly familiar humanoid face.

Maxir Bragant had been a close companion and business partner of Orron Jakar, and you had spent more time around this Delphidian man than you ever cared to recall. He had been a frequent visitor to your shop, and the individuals who he dumped onto your cot for healing rarely survived due to his brutal and unyielding attacks. Being quite fond of cleaving into others with his axe, there was generally very little you could do to improve his victim’s odds of survival; you were no miracle worker, and you recalled how you had been beaten mercilessly for your failures. As you looked down to see that very same black axe strapped to his belt, you felt bile and fear rise up in your throat, not confident that you would be able to escape the crushing grasp of this towering man who now had both of your arms restrained.

His voice hissed out coldly, as his pitch-black eyes stared into yours with the same kind of fury and hatred that you had often seen echoed in Orron’s icy blue ones. “What a surprise to find you here,” he laughed, and the sound turned the very blood pumping through your veins to acid, to ice. He sneered at you, lips curling back to reveal the same ugly grin that showed up in your nightmares. “Figured you’d know better than to show up in a town like this. But, you were never a very bright one, were you?”

You bit your tongue, trying not to snap at that bait that he had flung out to you; you knew he wanted you to respond, wanted you to get mouthy, so he would have an excuse to discipline you, just as Orron once had. He wanted an interesting fight — you knew that he thrived on crushing the life out of a terrified and desperate soul, and you were not going to give that to him. You needed to ignore his jabs, verbal and physical, and focus on how to get yourself out of this situation, how to alert Din, or the Marshal, or any bystander who could offer you some sort of reinforcement against what was surely about to be a horribly painful and ugly fight.

Bragant used his leverage to pull you in closely to him, and you could smell the putrid odor of sweat and blood that radiated from him. It was nauseating and made your head feel dizzy, but you couldn’t let this get to you, couldn’t let this throw you off. From this positioning, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to use your upper body to fight him off as he had your arms secured; making a quickly-calculated decision, you brought your knee up forcefully into his groin, and as he bent over in pain with a groan, he released one of your hands. Gods, was it satisfying to see this motherfucker writhing. Having some more leverage and momentum now, you kicked into his sternum forcefully, his massive body flying backwards into the stone wall behind him. You turned to run, willing your feet to move faster than the stars you had watched in hyperspace — but he recovered faster than you expected; you had only made it about four or five steps away when he wrapped his rough, scarred arm around your neck and brought your writhing, desperately fighting body up and into his, pressing his back into the wall to keep you out of sight.

“Stupid bitch,” he spit at you, and you could see the flecks of blood and saliva that landed in the dust around you, standing out in stark contrast to the dark volcanic ash. “Did you really think you’d get away with it, killing him?” You felt the cold and rough-hewn blade of his axe pressing into your chest, a jagged corner digging in just enough to make you gasp as it pierced your skin; the blade was pressed dangerously close to your heart, and you had seen the force with which he could swing his weapon.

“Still curious how the fuck you got out of there like you did, vanishing like that; but we’ll have plenty of time to ask questions when I bring you back home. There are a lot of people that have been missing you.”

You could sense the sick and cruel smile on his face as he pictured what would surely be a gruesome, horrific, and torturous death.

No. No, you were not going to go out that way. Not on his terms, not on Orron’s. Not like this.

You thought about the horrors that would await you if Bragant was able to bring you back to the cartel. You thought about the sickening fear and sadness that Din and Grogu would feel at your unplanned and unexplained departure. Thought about how Din would cut his way through each and every formidable cartel member trying to bring you back to him, to bring you back to safety, to bring you back home. Thought about how one man wouldn’t be enough to fight off an army, thought about how Din would die trying to bring you back, just as you had nearly died bringing him back on Bardotta.

Thought about how the love between the two of you would threaten to shatter the galaxy.

You thought about how Bragant had called the cartel home, and the anger that coursed through you felt as though it was moving through your very bloodstream, each desperate beat of your heart pushing that anger further and further into your body, fueling your muscles and your strength until it was threatening to burst forward from you like a seismic charge.

“Home?” You screeched, the words tearing their way through your throat with vitriol.

“Home?! You keep that word out of your goddamn fucking mouth!” You screamed forcefully, your voice echoing against the stone and clay walls; you heard a loud crack, and the wall that Bragant’s body was resting against collapsed in on itself.

This disruption and destruction caught Bragant by surprise, and he fell backwards into the pile of rubble that your anger alone had created, releasing you from his grasp in the process. Your chest was heaving as you inhaled deep lungfuls of air, feeling the oxygen feed more and more power to your body — you felt invincible, impossibly strong and powerful — and vengeful. Every violent revenge fantasy you had ever had came rushing back to you, as you saw the tidal wave of your abuser’s blood overtake the world around you.

Here was a man who had contributed to your pain and destruction, who had killed countless people with no mercy — and now, you didn’t have a single ounce of mercy to extend to him. And you were at peace with that.

A blinding hot, red wave of fury overtook your body, crashing around you and drowning out the fragile sense of humanity that was desperately clambering to stay afloat. It was as if you were possessed, as you watched your arm extend before you, muscles twitching beneath skin as your fingers pointed in Bragant’s direction, before your hand found itself curled into a tight fist. Your nails dug into the palm of your hand, and you could see redness dripping forth from it — and you saw Bragant’s writhing form being lifted from amongst the stones, until he was levitating in midair. His hands clawed desperately at his throat, and the sight of his now-bulging eyes filling with terror felt beautiful.

With a final, overwhelming rush of immense power, your wrist pulled your hand inwards to your body and you heard a nauseatingly satisfying crack reverberate through the alleyway as Bragant’s eyes went dark and his body went limp, collapsing onto the pile of rocks and clay beneath him with a dull thump.

Your head began to spin as the energy that had previously flowed through you was suddenly ripped away, and you felt as though every cell of your body was now collapsing in on itself in slow motion; the sky above you and the ground below you tumbled throughout your field of vision, spinning both together and apart as your body connected with the dusty floor of the alleyway.

You could vaguely see a blood red stain spreading in your field of vision. Whose blood was it?

Throughout all of the endless spinning and disorientation, your eyes eventually came to rest on one comforting and familiar sight — a tall figure clad in beskar rushed to your side, but you couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t feel the hands that you knew were on your body, couldn’t feel the shift in your form as you were hauled into his arms. Couldn’t feel the heavy breaths and terrified words that spilled around you, as your head lolled to the side in his arms. It felt as though the link between your mind and body had been snapped, like a harp string tuned too tightly, and as the universe continued to tumble through your field of vision, you closed your eyes tightly and prayed for it all to stop.

Stop. Stop.

Stop.

[setoangel01-fanfiction]

Alleviate

Homecoming - Chapter 1

Rated: T

Alleviate

Story Summary: Sequel to Reunion (READ HERE). After bring ripped apart by Shinra and circumstances beyond their control, Zack and Aerith are finally reunited, and this time, no one is taking their happiness away from them. Along with Cloud, they are determined to make up for their lost five years.

Chapter Summary: After the long awaited reunion, Aerith takes Zack and Cloud home with her much to the behest of Elmyra.

..........

A03

Fanfiction.net

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"Here we are. I think these should fit him but I'm going to need to look for something in the attic for his friend. Poor boy is so thin so I'm sure one of your old pairs of pajamas would work," Elmyra's slightly frustrated tone was one Aerith had been all too familiar with from five years ago.

The slightly tense posture she'd accumulate whenever Zack had visited their home in the past was back; to Aerith, it made it easier to believe that this wasn't all just a lucid dream. It warmed Aerith's heart to realize that while her mother wasn't always Zack's biggest fan, she was at least accepting of his return and allowed him and Cloud to stay.

Sure, she hadn't been completely appeased by the five minute rushed explanation Zack gave, the ex-SOLDIER standing at parade attention at the front door (much to her giddiness), before Elmyra told him to shower and put his unconscious friend to bed in the guest room, but she accepted them inside their home regardless.

It wasn't perfect, but it was a start - baby steps would have to be enough.

All of it seemed so unreal still because merely an hour ago, Zack had been missing for five whole years and she had been questioning the possibility of him still even being alive when he came bursting through her church doors.

The reunion itself felt like a blur of emotions Aerith still had yet to process.

So many burning questions about his absence still bothered her but she forcefully pushed them to the back of her mind. Even the walk back to her house felt like it was happening outside of her body. Zack and herself quietly walking with Cloud's arm slung over both their shoulders, his steps clunky and slow while she ignored the blatant stares and questioning looks they garnered as they made their way through Sector 5.

Aerith focused on the path in front of them, one she walked countless times before, while she couldn't help but recall the brokenness in Zack's perfect blue eyes that wasn't there before. There was so much emotional baggage they both needed to unpack but that could wait. Now, all she wanted to do was take away that pain that was so embedded in his eyes; to hear him laugh and see that smile that was like the sun and have it warm her face again.

Yet the biggest part of it could still scarcely believe that this was reality.

That Zack was truly alive.

Five years of waiting and wondering and praying for him just to be alive. The fragile hope fading and her house of cards crumbling day by day. It had gotten to the point where she had almost lost all hope that she would ever see him again…and now, he was truly back…

Her long-lost SOLDIER had finally returned like he promised so many years ago…

Aerith tightly squeezed the skin of her forearm again just to feel that painful sensation in an effort to make sure she wasn't dreaming. The pinch was sudden and sharp with the blunt edge of her nail turning her skin white than red with the sting of pain that had Aerith breathing out a deep sigh of relief.

"Aerith…" Elmyra sudden voice broke her out of her reverie.

Aerith covered the red crescent moon with a trembling hand. "I-I'm sorry, what was that?"

Her adopted mother looked at her strangely but there was a somber warmth in her eyes that hadn't been there a few moments prior. Elmyra reached out a hand and Aerith remained still as the older woman gently brushed her cheek.

The familiar touch of those gentle fingers had Aerith finally feel the clinging wetness that she didn't realize was trickling in warm tracks from her eyes. The sudden realization that she was indeed crying was all it took for a explosive sob to rise in her throat; lower lip wobbling tumultuously even as she tried to control the abrupt and painfully sharp spike of grief that fell over her like an unexpected shower of cold rain.

Five whole years…

All the debilitating fear caused by years of haunting nightmares, visions of rain, cliffs, blood and bullets and the endless sky that took Zack away felt so real. Waking up only to face a possible future where she'd never see him again. Those years passing by and slowly but surely forgetting his handsome face, soothing voice and a blinding smile that put the sun to shame was finally over because Zack came back to her…

A choppy cry of emotion laced with grief, pain and the sweetest relief finally broke free from her lips - she'd never fallen apart in front of Elmyra until right now.

"...Oh my flower," her mother mused gently before wrapping her in a tight hug with the bundle of clothes for Zack resting between them.

A steadying breath had Aerith muttering out a broken, "I'm okay," the phrase automatic. A lie she'd perfected these last five years falling easily from her mouth even as her cheeks swam with tears and her throat grew tight with repressed sobs. But now those words were far more truthful than they'd ever been before…

Zack was here…he was finally home.

Heart near to bursting with the emotion of that internal statement, a sob was finally released from her mouth as Aerith buried her tear-stained face in her mother's comforting shoulder and cried and cried and cried.

Five years of holding every pain and doubt to herself while presenting the world with faked happiness, the dam finally broke wide open and Elmyra's arms were the only thing holding her together.

Elmyra didn't comment, merely wrapped her arms tighter around her trembling daughter. She'd stopped questioning a long time ago, knowing Aerith would never fully admit the anxiety and grief she lived with since Zack disappeared on his mission all those years ago. She merely got used to seeing all the fake smiles and broken grins while her adopted daughter's beautiful emerald eyes showcased nothing but agony, anxiety, and unshed tears.

The pain of those years was sadly all too familiar for Elmyra; her own husband's death still a dull ache beneath her ribs that never fully went away.

If she was honest with herself, it was the sole reason for her brushing aside and forced dislike of Zack. While he possessed a wonderfully kind soul, open smile and gentle heart and obviously cared for Aerith very much, he was SOLDIER. Military. Shinra... it was all the same. Whoever tethered themselves to one who was employed at such a profession, it always ended in heartbreak. So, when Zack left and never came back even years later, the look on Aerith's face slowly began matching her own in the mirror from her own years of waiting patiently for her husband to return home.

…He never did…

All Shinra caused was agony, nothing but pain for those left behind and she never wanted Aerith (who was the only reason she survived her own grief over the loss of her husband) to experience it but she ended up falling for the First Class SOLDIER anyway.

Elmyra held her tongue for a long time. Her rare terse comments about moving on and even planting doubts in her daughter's mind about Zack's true whereabouts were only placed with the intentions that possible scenario would hopefully numb the pain. Because even Elmyra knew Zack would never do that to her daughter but yet she continued sowing doubt because even the idea of Aerith losing Zack to another woman would hurt much less than the truth of him most likely being dead and Shinra covering it up per usual…

All Elmyra wanted was to protect her...

For so long, she tried fruitlessly to convince Aerith to let Zack go; to accept he wasn't coming back from the mission and move on with her life and even perhaps to find someone new. Whether it was because of his death or he just found someone else to be with, it didn't matter, she just hated to see that profound emptiness in her daughter's eyes.

Yet even after five years, Aerith refused to let go.

Writing letters, selling flowers with a broken smile while still tying her fading and worn pink ribbon on the top of her braid every single day. Aerith clinging to her first (and only) love with an iron fist, her steadfast will was a testament to her unbreakable stubbornness and faith that Zack would return one day and when he did, she would still be waiting for him…

…and Aerith was right…

It was an absolute shock to the system to see Aerith arrive with her long-lost boyfriend looking severely out of place in poor fitting clothes and a blonde friend who's eyes were open yet unseeing. The sheepish smile Zack flashed her as Aerith talked a mile-a-minute but it was Zack's eyes that hit Elmyra hardest.

Even as he gave a quick explanation with obvious holes in the story that edited horrific things Elmyra couldn't possibly begin to fathom, it was the look in his eyes that said it all. There was a pained broken spirit now inhabiting the once happy-go-lucky teenager her daughter introduced as her boyfriend all those years ago.

There was a story, a horrible one he had yet to fully tell, and Elmyra was scared.

The fear of him and his friend being on the run from the most powerful company on the planet was at the forefront of her mind, but seeing her daughter's hopeful face, Zack's forced smile and the blonde boy who's blank expression terrified her, Elmyra's walls she built crashed to the ground. Face still stern to hide the grief and guilt she felt, Elmyra let them in.

Despite her misgivings, Zackary returned; he'd come back for Aerith like he promised he would, and that would have to be enough for her.

While she wasn't crazy about Zack and Aerith's relationship in the past (mostly because of Zackary's previous womanizing ways), all it gave her now was guilt. It weighed heavily on her shoulders and eyes burning from unshed tears at the grief her daughter had been hoarding in her heart all this time. So, Elmyra pulled her adopted daughter closer to her chest and held on as tight as she could. All she could do move forward, be better toward the man her daughter chose to love and help them all heal. All she knew was that she refused to let Aerith hold all this grief alone anymore so she rubbed soothing hands over her daughter's back until Aerith finally got her shuddering breaths under control and ignored the cooling wetness of tears in the fabric on her shoulder.

After Aerith seemingly calmed, Elmyra pulled away slowly. A bit of sadness aching in her heart to watch Aerith scrubbing away tears from rosy cheeks with her hands that still contained soil under her short fingernails. Yet she didn't comment when Aerith finally looked at her with those doe-like green eyes, merely placed the bundle of clothes for Zackary in Aerith's trembling arms.

In that moment, there was so much she wanted to say her to daughter but the words that left were, "Alright. Enough dawdling, now go upstairs and give Zack those clothes and I'll be in the attic to find others that will hopefully fit his friend."

Aerith let out in the softest breath and gave her the most genuine smile. "...Thanks, mom," she whispered before she perked up and ran up the creaky wooden staircase with a spring in her step that Elmyra hadn't seen from Aerith in years.

It was the minutest smile, a spark that returned to Aerith's eyes that made the older woman who lost her husband to war so long ago, to finally smile as well.

[clintbartonswife]

'cause you make me ache, you bastard

Pairings: Geralt of Rivia x Jaskier Summary: The White Wolf had always walked alone, until Jaskier came along and changed it all. He refused to let the bastard die. Notes: aftermath of torture, descriptions of injury and blood, magic and bonds and destiny, oh my! masterlist  ||  part one  ||  part three

The three of them had been travelling towards Kaer Morhen when he felt it, the chill travelling up his spine with such ferocity that it made him halt in his tracks.

“Geralt?”

Ciri was sat upon Roach, the mare coming to a stop beside her owner, nudging the Witcher in the chest gently with her head. Ignoring the child for now, he tried to grab onto the feeling, not understanding the sudden sensation.

“Yen” he grunted, turning to face the sorceress, “Do you feel it too?”

The sorceress nodded, lips pinched together in concentration, “It’s someone calling for help, they sending it out so desperately I doubt they’ve done it on purpose” she said eventually, “But who-”

“Jaskier”

A few days after the mountain and Geralt had found himself stuck in a Cintran cell, the bland walls giving him plenty of time to replay the past week over and over in his head.

Yennefer leaving, hurt blinding him as he lashed out at Jaskier. Walking down the mountain alone. The silence, encompassing him on his travels, and yet it was somehow more deafening than anything the bard could’ve played.

Regret was quick to surface as the anger retreated.

Regret for tying Yen’s fate to his. Regret for the way he treated Jaskier, on that mountain and in general over the last 22 years.

Cintra fell and he found his child surprise, the two of them reconnecting with Yennefer weeks later.

Apologies swapped between the two built a timid foundation of a new friendship, their sole focus being protecting his their child surprise from the Nilfgaardians that were sweeping across the continent.

Despite both of his bonds being fulfilled, Geralt still felt a sense of emptiness at the back of his mind, eyes still searching for someone on the distance horizon - he wrote it off as paranoia, his body being on guard as they fleed the Nilfgaardian forces.

But.

There was always a but, a doubt at the back of his mind, eating away at his sanity. Another thread of destiny, pulled taught, in danger of snapping.

Of course Geralt should’ve guessed it was Jaskier.

Panic bubbled at the base of his throat as he watched Yen start the tracking spell, the small group moved to a temporary camp just off the road.

“Who’s Jaskier?” Ciri asked, voice hesistant.

“Bard”

The short response was obviously not enough for the princess, the girl moving closer to Geralt, “I recognise the name” she commented absently, “I think he performed for me once”

Gerlat hummed absentmindedly, mind too focused on every possible disaster his - no - the bard might have managed to get caught up in.

“I have a trace” Yen announced, Geralt standing up immediately, “He’s in Neunreuth“

Horror swept over Geralt, “That’s a Nilfgaardian controlled city”

Ciri gasped in despair.

“I have to go and get him -”

“Geralt we have no idea what kind of defences they have, let alone what condition Jaskier will be in when we get there. Ciri is our main priority and we need to get her to Kaer Morhen before they catch up with us”

“We cant just leave him!”

Yennefer sighed, the exhaustion creeping in with her annoyance, “And I’m not suggesting that we do! What I’m saying is that we can storm into there with nothing more than good will and hope”

Ciri slowly got to her feet, “I could help. I haven't got much control of it yet... but if I scream-?”

Warmth spread through Geralt’s chest at her offer of help, a small smile lifting at the corners of his lips. Yennefer cut him off before he could speak.

“I’m sure Jaskier would love to hear that you wanted to help, but your safety comes first. It’s simply too dangerous to bring you with us”

“So what? He gets left behind because of me?” she asked, tears beginning to build up in her eyes.

“No” 

Ciri turned to face Geralt, who’s face was set in a determined expression.

“I’m not leaving him behind”

“Will you stop making me out to be the bad guy for one second and listen to me!” Yen huffed, running her hands through her hair, “I’ll contact Triss. Hopefully she can look after Ciri for a few days while we go and get the bard. Then we can continue our trip to the Keep”

With a definitive nod, Yen turned back to her pack, reaching for her xenovox. 

Ciri murmured nervously, hands fiddling with the end of her cloak, “You will come back for me, right?”

Geralt grunted affirmatively, opening his arms for the young girl. Once she was encompassed in his arms, he placed a light kiss to the top of her hair, “We’re your family now” Geralt said lowly, drawing on his experience with the bard for some comfort to give the girl, “We’ll always come back to you”

Once he was sure that she was settled, Geralt turned away from Ciri and back outside to where Yen was waiting, steel sword in hand.

“I don't know what we’re going to find” Yennefer said bluntly, “I need to know that you’re not going to lose your shit if something goes wrong”

Geralt just nodded, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword impatiently.

Triss stood off to the side, still healing from the battle of Sodden, offering wishes of good luck. The mage walked up to Yen, pressing their foreheads together briefly, “Don't do anything dumb”

“No promises”

Geralt adverted his eyes from the intimate scene, feeling oddly like he was intruding on a private moment - over the months since the dragon hunt he had obviously missed a large change in Yennefer’s life.

He was happy for her, truly he was. The emotion confused him, so he repressed it for now, frowning intensely at the floor until Yen let out a cough.

“Let’s go”

The rushing sound of the portal brought Geralt back to the present, striding forward and through with murderous intent, coming out in the middle of the forest surrounding a large manor house.

Yennefer stepped out behind him and the portal closed with a definitive clunk, “He’s in there” she said, checking the charm, “Basement. Left side” 

Geralt just nodded, “Can you portal us into his room?”

“I could try, but it might be too risky. They could easily follow us if they hire a mage to trace the remnants. It could lead them back to Ciri”

The Witcher shook his head, “We fight our way in then”

The stench of death swept across the manor, the sounds of clashing swords and yells echoing through the empty halls.

Geralt strode through the bodies like a man on a mission, faltering for no one, mind solely focused on finding his bard alive. Men dropped around him like flies, his arm moving subconsciously, muscle memory allowing him to make quick work of the guards as he worked on finding Jaskier’s scent.

The second the Witcher caught a waft of the familiar honey and wildflowers he let out a feral growl, increasing his pace to a sprint, rushing towards the source. As he neared the bard, the scent of copper grew overwhelming, only serving to increase his rage and brutality of his sword strikes.

“Jaskier” he growled, pushing open the door of a cell to see his bard tied to a chair, head hanging limply down.

Ignoring the noise of Yennefer fighting the final few enemies, Geralt fell to his knees in front of the chair, desperately searching for a heartbeat. His breath caught on a sob as he heard the weak fluttering of his heart, hands immediately scrambling to untie the ropes that kept him tied down.

Geralt distantly registered the halls falling silent, Yennefer’s heeled shoes becoming the only sound left as he eased Jaskier’s unconscious form into his arms.

“We should get him back to Triss” Yen said, her voice coming from the doorway, “He should survive the journey. It’s too risky to start healing him here”

Geralt nodded silently, his eyes not straying from Jaskier's bruised face. He adjusted the bard once more in his arms, his hand cupping his limp head as gently as possible, before following Yen through the halls of dead bodies, all the while never looking away from his face.

“Wait” 

Yen paused, turning back to face Geralt, “What now. We have him, we should get going before they send people to look”

“His lute” Geralt said, “He wouldn't leave without his lute”

The sorceress sighed, rubbing her temples, “Just - get him out of here. I’ll meet you in the forest”

As the portal re opened, lute hanging on Yennefer’s back, Geralt took one last look at the manor and resisted the urge to set it ablaze with a passionate blaze of igni, instead walking through and back to the cottage, calling for Triss as he went.

“Place him on the bed, second room on the left” Triss called, looking behind Geralt for Yennefer before following him, pushing the sleeves of her dress up to her elbows with a determined look on her face.

“Is he okay?” Ciri asked, vocalising the choked up words stuck in Geralt’s throat as he lay the bard down.

“He will be if we work fast” she replied, gesturing Yennefer to her side, “Ciri I need you to get me some tepid water. Geralt I need clean strips of cloth”

Geralt nodded, grateful for a job to do, taking one last look at the bard’s pale form before striding out to look for supplies.

He would be okay.

He had to be.

________________________________________________________________

@kittynannygaming  @fillingless-piee  @nanazlovese​  

[cosmicclownboy]

Me finishing something I struggled to write....wow it was actually likely :)

When his father is alive the idea of going to therapy is suffocating. It continues to be throughout his years in the air force until the day it's mandated because by that point everything was suffocating. Waking up. Doing his physio. Simple tasks.Hard tasks. He had survived against all the odds but a part of him felt dead. So a part of him was in this limbo where he always felt like he was dying. The first session he stares at the clock inching the minutes until the clock hand rests on the hour change. The second he stares at the glass of water. By the third session he's exhausted he hasn't slept he still hears the screams and the blast in his mind so he slowly lets the man in not to everything. Not to his dad but to the blast. He was diagnosed with Complex PTSD and he was offered many ways to help with it. He goes to his sessions. He does his physio. Alex slowly builds himself up then he goes back to work.

It goes well for the most part until someone slams a door shut and he has to spend an hour in the bathroom trying to eradicate the weight on his chest and how to stop feeling cold. His therapist offers anti-anxiety medication and whilst he nods his head eyes cloudy he hears his father's words.

"Manes men don't cry it's a sign of weakness. We are soldiers, not Sally's"

He tries different antidepressants settling on one that helps his thoughts slower and that helps him sleep. None of his friends knows it when he heads back to Roswell except Kyle after he's let in on the alien secret and he makes him his doctor in case of shenanigans.

His father dies and he thinks maybe things can be different better in a way he never thought possible. The statue gets put up and he has a panic attack so bad he spends the next two days in bed. It takes him two weeks to think about it really think about it. To face the battle he has to jump right in and the idea of therapy doesn't seem so suffocating any more he's no longer afraid just determined to make strides. With Kyle's help, he finds one that specialises in childhood domestic abuse as well as having experience with veterans. She helps him in ways he didn't think was possible and maybe a year ago the idea of the traffic light method would have had him rolling his eyes or silently repressing whatever emotions he had. But maybe this could be a good thing.

Michael is the first to notice they are on a recon mission together and he's passing across the really good coffee from Bean me up he raises his eyebrows at the sight of an orange bracelet.

"Didn't think you liked orange? expanding the airforce's colour scheme?"

He huffs at that. Who said he didn't like orange?

"My therapist said because of my upbringing and complex PTSD I have a hard time vocalising or communicating my feelings so she suggested a traffic light method. Green is a good day when my emotions are in check. Orange is okay I can manage the day. Red is when-

"everything too much"

"Yeah. On red days I write down everything as to why it's red including my triggers and talk them over with her. It also helps people around me recognise when I'm in that headspace"

Michael shuts his door purses his lips and blows into his own coffee cup.

"I'm glad you're talking to someone"

"Me too. Now, are we gonna recreate a buddy cop movie extraterrestrial style or what? Come on, Guerin don't tell me you don't want to unleash your nerd. This is a safe place"

Michael takes a swig of his own coffee shaking his head before chuckling and taking the wheel. Maybe they share a lot more longing looks then friends would normally. They've just always had a connection under the surface beating and bubbling all on its own.Unspoken and beautiful.

More often then not he wears the orange one. The first time the green bracelet graces his wrist is the day the homeless dog he found slowly offers her belly to be rubbed. Yeah, that day was worthy of a green one. The day Nova finds him and the days that follow which end in his house having a dog bed in pretty much every corner. He might end up replacing his leather couch but who cares it's just a couch. It has nothing on her.

It's only when the days veer closer to the fourth anniversary of that day he truly struggles. Phantom pain comes in waves and he grips every surface he comes in contact with. The days slowly blur together it's a cocktail of depression, sleep deprivation and nightmares that has him on the Tuesday reach for the red bracelet. He finds the Crashdown is a minute from where he is and he's in desperate need for coffee.

Communicating hasn't always been easy for him and Michael especially their fight and flight being fight or fuck over the past decade but they've been trying their hardest to strive to be better to build a foundation. The bracelets were always something Michael immediately sought out every time they were in each other's vicinity. He saunters into the Crashdown buckle first and smooshes himself into the booth without a second thought grabbing one of the menus and seeing what new alien pun food Isobel helped conjure. It isn't until he finishes his order smiling at Liz that he finally looks up to Alex who's completely dissociated. His eyes are dark and sunken his milkshake untouched and he just looks lost. Michael's eyes drift to Alex's fingers noting the tremors before his eyes peer up further and he sees the red bracelet. Michael has a choice at this moment he could leave Alex to it but something in his heart tells him that the days of leaving are behind them. So he slowly reaches for the right hand that tremors and lightly laces the fingers between them. By the time he's halfway through his fries, Alex is more self-aware. He looks to their joined fingers and Michael's mouth completely stuffed with fries and looks softly at him. He doesn't unlace them.

"Want to get out of here?"

They end up in their spot the desert vast and unnerving.

"Did I do the right thing driving us here does it bring up anything we can go back if you want? You never really told any of us what to do on a code red day".

He's right he didn't say to any of them what to do. Truth is anytime Alex usually has one of these days he locks himself in a room and allows every ugly emotion to override him until his body tells him otherwise. Today was a new one in that he wanted connection. He wanted to be with Michael and despite the fear of the unknown he confesses this to Michael.

"It'll be four years Sunday"

"Since your leg?"

Alex nods he doesn't really know how to delve into it the only people who know what happened are the people at the airforce. People don't ask they don't want to know and the people who do aren't worthy of the conversation. Not to mention a lot of his job is classified he can only offer what he can.

"It was meant to be a simple job. Twenty of us in and out.Forty minutes on the dot. I was meant to hack a server. We got to the room we swept the entire place we didn't realise there was a pressure-sensitive bomb until Avril took his foot off. He was the youngest".

Recalling it makes his body shiver his hands shake but he needs to do this.

"Only eight of us made it out. Everyone else had spouses and kids. I had a dad who when I woke up from a two-week coma said I couldn't get blown up right. I didn't understand it. I'm good at compartmentalising stuff it's what he taught me to do my whole life but that day...I felt everything then nothing."

They lay there for a while staring at the stars tracing them with their fingers with one hand lacing the other. There's a light breeze softly swaying in the air Alex softly turns his body to Michael's until they are laying on the side facing one another. 

"I get that feeling"

The confession Michael makes his heart ache and tighten he ushers the cowboy closer his fingers searching for his curls to slowly run his fingers through. Michael ends up the little spoon and judging by the little hum he makes he thinks he doesn't mind a little bit. Michael had the essence of a cat it's one of the many reasons he loves him.

"I know you do"

He pulls Michael tighter resting his head on his curls lightly pecking the crevice of his head.

"I think it's probably why we push each other away so much. I don't want the painful stuff I've been through to trigger or touch your stuff and neither do you so we pick a reason to walk away thinking the other one will be better off. I haven't been better off have you?"

Michael removes himself from his hold much to his disappointment and sitting up because he needs this conversation to be that of what it is a conversation.

"There hasn't been a day you've been gone where I thought that Alex. I'm just sorry for so many things"

"me too"

By the time he makes it to his house Alex is wiped he needs to feed Nova before she barks the house down. He also should really clean his prosthetic liner doesn't want to wind up getting sick. Not to mention taking his pain meds. Trust Michael to recognise all of this and tells him he'll feed her. He wants to argue but his eyes are drifting.

When he wakes up there's a glass of water his pain and anxiety meds on the bedside table and he's trying to remember how the hell he made it to his bed. Last time he checked he KO'd on the sofa as Nova was yipping at Michael's feet.

Michael.

Alex fumbles for his crutch and heads for the living room maybe he shouldn't make a presumption but he's pretty sure he knows his alien from the back of his hand and sure enough, he comes across to Michael and his Nova sharing the couch or Nova dominating both these things as if they are her own. It's the first time in a long time he's slept and he's hoping it's the first of many times he wakes up to Michael in his house. By the time he makes it back to the bedroom, he's staring at the red bracelet on his wrist and the notebook Michael also placed by the pill bottles sticky note on the top with a drawing of a lopsided penny. He spends twenty minutes writing it all down his triggers that day the way he felt all to make sure for his next session he can talk about it continue to make progress. By the time he's put the pen down and taken his anti-anxiety pill, he's greeted by his girl in the zoomies frame of mind.

"Hey, girl. Do you want to play? Give me a minute to put the leg on sweetie and I'll take you to the garden"

He stares at the three bracelets all meaning different things. Today isn't a red bracelet day so he turns to the orange one. It makes the most sense, doesn't it? Today he can manage yet there's something calling him to the green one. Can he go from red to green from a couple of hours? He'll make sure to ask in his next sessions but Nova excitedly barking wanting to play is reason enough for him to tie the green braids to his wrist.

"Do you always feel the need to dramatically lean against doorways".

His Michael senses are tingling he can't decide if it's a loving Michael thing or maybe the whole cosmic alien soulmate thing.

"You're wearing green today".

"Observant too"

He takes the coffee on offer delighting in the way the black bitterness soothes his soul.

"I think today could be a good day. Nova's happy. Plus you and I had an actual conversation which didn't end in tears, fucking or brokeback mountain angst"

Michael's not wearing his hat or his belt he's just leaning against the door frame with bedhead of the ages curls veering in every destination. He wants to run his hands through them and hold him. Fuck it who says he can't. He curls his head into his shoulder much to his surprise and tucks his arm to hold his waist. He feels the chuckle rumble against his ears

"We've had what ten years of it angst is overrated. You know what's underrated?"

"What?"

"Having breakfast. Holding hands. Watching a movie. Being boyfriends"

Alex feels a kiss against his head and peaks up to Michael softly cupping his cheeks he makes sure Alex's eyes are on his not looking away.

"I love you. If you aren't there yet that's okay. I don't want to mess with your recovery. If you don't want to be with me after everything that's okay too. I just want you to know I'm here and I'm not going anywhere"

Alex puts the cup of coffee down and brings his head up so their foreheads touch.

"I love you too".

Alex knows love won't cure everything and being with Michael doesn't mean it's automatically going to be green bracelets all the time. The red bracelet won't cease to exist. He still gets red days. But he does know this. Whatever the day and whatever colour he wears Michael will rub circles into his hand and hold it just the same. Some days he has a depressive episode or an anxiety attack and between his therapist and the people he loves they help him recognise it's okay. It's okay to be loved. It's okay to need and want people. His father's words can stay in the ground with him. Alex is finally content.

[southeastasianists]

Editor’s note: The following is a guest piece authored by LGBT+ advocacy group Heckin Unicorn on so-called conversion therapy in Singapore. It was not produced by Coconuts Singapore.

Sam embarked on a journey of self-discovery in his 20s. He had been through many abusive relationships, and for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp, he’d always felt that something was missing in his life. Sam wanted to get in tune with his emotions. He wanted to heal.

At 26, Sam flew to Japan to attend a spiritual workshop. The workshop’s exercise was simple, but intense: attendees were paired up, and for 3 hours, each pair had to stare meditatively into each other’s eyes. The poetic beauty in this exercise wasn’t lost to him: staring into the windows of another’s soul would help him get in touch with his own.

Yet for hours, nothing happened.

Then his sensei came over and gently touched his chest, or what spiritual practitioners called the “heart space”. And in a single stroke, Sam’s inner soul broke loose with an explosive force. He started shrieking — so uncontrollably, in fact, that he had to be restrained by several workshop attendees. Anguish, anger, and confusion raced through his mind. It was an excruciating 30 minutes of raw physical reaction, as if years of emotions ripped through his body. Yet it was nothing compared to what was about to hit him in the months to come.

Because in that moment, something clicked into place. Sam suddenly recalled that he was a victim of “conversion therapy” over a decade ago. He finally understood why he’d always felt that something was missing, and why he felt so strongly that he had to heal himself. Deeply repressed and harrowing memories came rushing back like an avalanche.

Sam fought to stay alive over the next 3 months. He suffered from hallucinations, and would cry inconsolably for days on end. He would vomit uncontrollably. His body burned in pain. He wanted to end the suffering. He wanted to end his life. But in between the painful outbreaks, Sam found the strength to fight for his survival. He knew that to live, he had to find out more about what had happened to him. He began researching extensively about “conversion therapy”, and the more he researched, the more he recalled the lost years of his adolescence.

Slowly, his memories fell into place.

Sam went through a lot at a young age. He learnt that he was gay while going through puberty. And through interactions with his closest family members, he learned that it was something he needed to get rid of.

When he came out to his mum at 13, she told him that she expects a grand funeral when she dies. It was her cold, indirect way of telling him that she expects him to bear children and grandchildren for her. When Sam turned to his aunt, she called him derogatory names and told him that people will not accept him if he continues to be gay. The message from his family was clear: turn straight, or else.

So at 15, Sam scoured the internet for answers about his sexuality. In the age of dial-up internet, genuine LGBTQ+ content was hard to come by. The information that he found about STDs scared him — HIV was still called the “gay virus” back then. Sam started getting desperate. He needed to find a way to turn straight.

And then he found a solution — or so he thought.

Sam began attending a “conversion therapy” programme offered by a local church when he was 15. It marketed itself as a counselling service that could help people who were “struggling with unwanted same-sex attraction”, and sounded exactly like what Sam was looking for. Even though he only signed up for their counselling services, he felt compelled to attend their church services as the years went by. His family never knew that he was participating in “conversion therapy” sessions; they were more concerned that he was converting from Taoism to Christianity.

Perhaps the scariest part about the “conversion therapy” programme was how, to 15-year-old Sam, it just felt right. Sam’s 1-on-1 sessions with his counsellor felt like normal counselling sessions. Sure, scripture was quoted a lot in their hour-long sessions, but to Sam — and anyone who desperately wanted to turn straight, for that matter — everything seemed to make sense. Because in a world full of rejection, the programme claimed to provide all the answers.

Sam’s memories about his counselling sessions are hazy, but their core message remains clear in his mind: you’ll go to hell if you’re gay. It was a powerful and terrifying message, and it fueled Sam’s desire to continue with the programme. He didn’t know back then that his sexual desires were innate and perfectly normal, so he confided his feelings with his counsellor and followed everything he was instructed to do. For a long time, everything he heard in his counselling sessions made him feel like turning straight was a real possibility.

Celibacy was a strong mandate of the “conversion therapy” programme. Sam’s counsellor told him many times that he would go to hell unless he stopped masturbating. He told Sam that it was wrong and sinful to have sexual desires. And as an impressionable teenager going through the peak of puberty, Sam absorbed and believed everything his counsellor told him.

Throughout his 4 years in the programme, Sam suppressed his desires and took things to the extreme. He would hold tightly onto his bed frame every night before going to bed to prevent himself from touching his body. It was a physically and mentally exhausting exercise, but Sam managed to push through every night for 6 consecutive months before he succumbed to his desires. He wouldn’t know this until years later, but this extreme psychological conditioning left him with a debilitating inability to touch himself.

In one church session, the pastor discouraged churchgoers from listening to secular music. Only Christian music should be allowed in their lives, the pastor declared. The next week, Sam brought his entire music CD collection to church, and watched it being burnt and destroyed. Sam was so enthralled by the programme’s promises that no physical coercion was required to get him to engage in such extreme activities. To him, listening to everything they say was the only way to not end up in hell.

There were a few reasons that ultimately made Sam leave the programme after 4 years. First of all, nothing worked. Sam knew that he was still gay, and that all he managed to do was to suppress his innate desires and convince himself that he isn’t worthy of love. He was also harassed by a cell group leader, but nothing seemed to be done about it after he raised this up to the church leadership. And in an attempt to negotiate some joy back into his life, Sam asked a church friend if God would accept him if he were to be in a loving gay relationship, but abstained from sex for life. The answer: an unequivocal no.

When Sam left the programme at 19, he wasn’t a changed man — he was broken. He left not because he realised that their teachings harmed his mental health, but because after 4 years of trying, he has resigned to his fate of going to hell.

Sam turns 38 this year. And in the last decade or so, he’s been to hell and back.

After spending thousands of dollars in medical scans, Sam was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. In simple terms, he experiences chronic physical pain induced by his extreme psychological trauma (side note: psychological trauma isn’t the only factor that could induce symptoms of fibromyalgia). These painful outbreaks aren’t just unpredictable, but also incurable. His chest would tighten and he would gasp for air; his face would twitch suddenly and uncontrollably; he would suffer from the inability to speak; he is often fatigued and would suffer from migraines.

Sam also faced considerable financial challenges over the last couple of decades. There were months when Sam was unable to get out of bed. His inner demons would take control, and he would find himself once again fighting for his life. Because of this, Sam had been in and out of jobs. This, coupled with his expensive medical treatment and therapies, set his finances back considerably.

It would be nice if we could end Sam’s story on a positive note. But the truth is that even though Sam is a fierce survivor, his experience with “conversion therapy” still affects him decades after the sessions have ended. Sam isn’t ready to date yet, because he thinks that he carries too much emotional baggage for any relationship to work. He continues to face difficulties fully accepting his sexuality, even though he understands that there’s nothing wrong with being gay. And he continues to sleep with his arms wide apart, because physical contact still makes his body burn in pain.

Let this be clear: “conversion therapy” practices exist in Singapore. Many of these programmes continue to showcase “success” cases without acknowledging, or perhaps understanding, how “conversion therapy” can irreparably damage a person’s psychological and physical wellbeing.

According to the United Nations, any attempt to change or suppress someone’s sexual orientation or gender identity is a form of “conversion therapy”. Many international psychiatric organisations have condemned “conversion therapy” practices because the medical consensus agrees that they not only don’t work, but could cause mental harm to participants (page 115). Taiwan has fully banned “conversion therapy” practices, while Germany has done so for minors. Other countries such as Canada, Israel, New Zealand, and the UK are considering legislation that would make them illegal.

Yet “conversion therapy” remains legal in Singapore. Many teenagers like Sam will continue to enrol in programmes that psychologically condition them to suppress their innate sexuality. Most of them would emerge from the programmes with their sexuality unchanged, but mental health deeply affected. Some of them will kill themselves.

[a-room-of-my-own]

Giulia Boukhobza | As a Jewish, female refugee from Libya, I know all too well the consequences for women and girls in a society that takes religious dogma to the nth degree. Shame on us.

I am so angry that I want to scream. I am so scared that I want to cry. I am so disgusted that I want to go into the trenches. But all I can usefully do now, during sleepless nights, is write.

Since the American “exit” from Afghanistan, I feel, by osmosis, that I can relate to every Afghan woman and girl who is stuck now in what can be only described as a hellish nightmare. I understand them, and I cry for them. Because until the age of 16, I lived their life. Well, more or less, but enough to grasp their deepest emotions and fear.

I was born in Tripoli, the capital of Libya, in 1951. I am the second oldest of six sisters and two brothers. Even though Libya was in some ways more cosmopolitan than Afghanistan — we had movie theaters and concerts, an American airbase, and Italian schools where I had my education — Muslim women still had to wear a burqa in the streets, covering the entire body except for a mesh screen to see out of, and did not work outside the house.

We, as non-Muslim (Jewish) females, were allowed to wear Western clothes. Yet, I knew from a very young age that I belonged to the worst group of all: Being both a female and an “infidel.” You can argue which was worse. In my view, it was being a female.

Wearing Western dress made me a perpetual target. Or, to paraphrase the countless men and boys who tried to pinch me, touch my breasts, and expose themselves to me (and my sisters and female friends), I was a “whore,” a “sinner,” a “prostitute,” and a “dog.”

They would attempt to “bump” into me while walking, or, if I was in the water, come from underneath to try to remove my bathing suit. I could feel their repressed lust coupled with unbridled hatred. My fear was indescribable. I became so traumatized that, to this day, decades later, I am still reluctant to enter the water and can barely swim.

Surely, their hatred was a function of religious indoctrination, coupled with the frustration of desiring women but being taught that their own women had to be essentially hidden from sight and “pure”.

Yet strangely, because I did not know any better, because I had never seen the world outside Libya, I somehow adjusted to this life. I instinctively understood the tactics for survival – try to stay quiet, keep my head down, cross the street if a male approaches. And, yes, confide in my girlfriends in a similar position for the sake of my own mental health, but never with my parents or brothers in order to protect them from their own sense of helpless rage.

After all, we were a tiny minority within a larger minority of non-Muslims in an overwhelmingly Muslim-majority society. And we felt it. We girls more than others.

I remember vividly an episode that encapsulates so much for me.

A new girl from Greece arrived in our school. She and I become fast friends. Earlier, she had lived in Italy, and I thought she was sophisticated, elegant, and beautiful. One afternoon, she and I were walking in the center of Tripoli and some men started groping us. She immediately began screaming at them. I saw danger. I took her hand and started running with her, entering the first store I saw.

Breathless, I told her she cannot yell like that. We could have ended up being punched, killed, or imprisoned on some trumped-up charge. I’ll never forget her reaction. She looked at me as if I were crazy and said: “No, they can’t do that to me. I have my Greek embassy here to protect me.”

I came home and broke my own rule by telling that story to my mother. Her reaction was that from now on I could only meet my new friend at my place or hers, but not outside because if something happened, I did not have any “embassy” to help me.

And then in 1967, after a hatefest that saw some Jewish families slaughtered and my family almost burned alive by a mob, we were allowed to leave Libya with one bag each and the equivalent of thirty dollars per person. I was never to return.

Italy offered us refuge. The ten of us arrived on July 14th, crammed into one room in a hostel, and four days later two sisters and I started working to help our family survive. At the time, we were 17, 16 and 15 years old.

Life was not easy and we were as poor as church mice, but I still remember that period in Rome as one of the happiest times of my life. It took me a while to understand exactly why. And then one day it came to me. It was the discovery of freedom. Freedom to be me. Freedom to be a female. Freedom to walk and not be scared of being harassed. Freedom to appreciate that when young Italian boys would flirt with me, they knew they had no right to touch me or call me a “whore” just because I didn’t wear a burqa.

Now at the age of 70, I cannot even begin to fathom living without that freedom, or, even worse, that my granddaughters would have it denied to them.

And this brings me back to Afghanistan.

Those women and girls for the last 20 years had the freedom to study and work. And now, like a bad dream, they are all again forced to become invisible and hide in the shadows. The older ones know what their future is likely to be because they saw this movie before when the Taliban ruled Afghanistan from 1996 to 2001.

What would I do if this happened to me? How could I give up my freedom once I tasted it? Were Afghan women better off never having experienced freedom rather than losing it after beginning to savor it? Will they summon the indescribable courage needed to fight back?

And that brings me again to my anger.

Where is the #MeToo movement? Why are they not marching again? It might not do much good on the ground, but at least the women of Afghanistan would feel less isolated and abandoned. After all, is there a female population in the world today more in need of solidarity and support than the women of Afghanistan?

Where is the Hollywood crowd? Usually, they all love to make grand, virtue-signaling gestures. Did any of them launch a hunger strike, organize a protest, or offer one of their private jets to try to rescue some women and children? It may or may not have made an actual difference, but at least it would have shown some much-needed compassion and empathy.

Where are Rashida Tlaib, Linda Sarsour, and Ilhan Omar, who profess such concern for human rights in the region? Will they speak up for fellow Muslim women and “sisters” who face Taliban suppression? Why aren’t they screaming from the rooftops? Do they care? It seems not.

This is why I can’t sleep – and don’t want others to sleep, either.

I can see in the Afghan girls myself as a girl, when my mother told me that, unlike my Greek friend, I had “no embassy” that would come and rescue me.

Shame on our silence.

Shame on our hypocrisy.

Shame on our willingness to consign 20 million women to suppression and suffocation.

Shame on our blatant ignorance about the truth and misplaced, condescending theories about cultural relativism.

Shame on all those naive Western women who said that defending the veil was defending “freedom of choice” and also never understanding the philosophy behind the veil: that the only people enjoying freedom were the men who imposed the idea of the veil.

Shame on all the talking heads who’ve never had the humility to admit they couldn’t understand the real meaning of dogmatic religion taken to the nth degree and its dire consequences.

History will not be kind when this chapter is written. Nor should it.

[everlarkficexchange]

Everlark Fic Exchange: Masterlist

 Springtime Edition (2020).

The King's Mistress by @eiramrelyat

Prompt 9: Katniss is a commoner and peeta is a cruel king. He wants katniss to be his mistress. How will they fall in love is up to you. [submitted by anonymous] 

Stay with Me Just for Now by @booksrockmyface

Prompt 10: katniss and peeta are best friends who were in a friends w benefits arrangement in the past. now the hunger for each other is coming back. [submitted by anonymous] 

A Quiet Announcement by @albinokittens300​

Prompt 11: in panem au where everlark isn’t reaped and peeta knocks up katniss. [submitted by @sunflowerslyf] 

Prompt #12: by @endlessnightlock

Prompt 12: katniss walks out of the fitting room wearing only a bikini to ask her friend if it suits her but it isnt her friend at the other side of the door but peeta. [submitted by anonymous] 

When You Were Mine by @pitualba2015

Prompt 20: Peeta is the CEO and katniss is his secretary. They have an affair and katniss gets pregnant but when she tells peeta he doesn’t believe her and accuse her of trying to trap him. What will he do when he realize his mistake and how will he win katniss back. [submitted by anonymous] 

Two Households by @everlarkandhistory

Prompt 22: Set in early 20th century. Katniss and Peeta are from two rival families who have been enemies since forever. They have a chance meeting which led to them falling in love. They are completely unaware of their identity. Will their love survive or will their relationship crumble. [submitted by @mysteriouslycraftyreview]

Operation: BREAD (Bring Revenge on Everdeen to Avenge Dad) by @alliswell21

Prompt 23: Rumor: MrEverdeen crossed fence dividing Town and Seam, kidnapped Mrs Everdeen making her his commonlaw wife. Years later, Mellark sons plan to avenge their father by raiding Seam and kidnapping one of Everdeens daughters for one of them to take as a wife! Does Katniss “volunteer,” does she escape, how do the 3 brothers decide what to do with her since they didn’t plan it all out well? [submitted by @567inpanem] 

lying in the bed we made (if it wasn't us) by @archersandsunsets

Prompt 26: the night before the Quarter Quell, in the sleepless dark, Katniss and Peeta allow themselves to indulge in the bittersweet dream of a future they’ll never have together (“if it wasn’t us, what would you do?” “I’d want to marry you” “tell me”) [submitted by @rosegardeninwinter]

The Proper Response by @madetofly

Prompt 29: Post-MJ, Growing Together. Peeta is finally showing his affection and love for Katniss as they heal and reconnect. Katniss, being Katniss, seems to act like she doesn’t appreciate this, and is less than enthused. Peeta, taking this like an adult, stops showing her with the affection and tries to show her his love in other ways. Katniss, however, does not appreciate him stopping those things and set out to try and get him to continue it again because she misses it. [submitted by @albinokittens300] 

All the World's a Stage by @katnissdoesnotfollowback

Prompt 31: “We never see you two so much as kiss in public but last night we all heard you having sex.” Submitted by Buttercupbadass

Misconceptions by @awkwardeverlark

Prompt 35: No reaping AU. At 19, Katniss considers marrying Gale for practical reasons; the fact she just heard the baker’s son toasted and was assigned a house at the edge of town has nothing to do with it... maybe. What happens next? (was Peeta really married or was it his brother? Does she marry Gale? Does Everlark ever talk? Will Peeta cheat if he’s actually married? Can Katniss admit she loves the Boy with the Bread? Is this forbidden love?) is up to you. [submitted by anonymous] 

No One's Gonna Need You More by @ambpersand 

Prompt 36: Frustrated and stressed out Single dad!Peeta needs a fuck desperately. His best friend, Katniss, unwittingly offers to help him out. Things get murky with repressed feelings, but one thing’s certain, Peeta can’t keep his hands to himself anymore and Katniss is all too willing to oblige at the drop of a hat, regardless of place, time and her own emotions, as long as he keeps whispering all his sexy, filthy thoughts into her ear. [submitted by anonymous] 

Vidua by @darkhorse-javert

Prompt 44: Believing that taking a new young bride every 5 years will keep him youthful, Snow arranges to marry wife #12 from D12. In the hours between the ceremony and the wedding night, he drops dead. 16-yr-old Katniss returns to 12 but now she’s “Widow Snow.” Can she ever be Katniss, district huntress again? With all that $, wedding gifts, etc that were sent on the train with her? [submitted by @567inpanem] 

Fortune Favors the Brave by @ambpersand

Prompt 46: Pacific Rim inspired AU with drift compatible Everlark (or not if you’re inspired by angst). I really just want to see more of that aspect of Pacific Rim explored than what they did in the movie and what better way to do it than with Everlark! [submitted by @katnissdoesnotfollowback] 

Fate Takes a Break by @ally147writes

Prompt 50: everlark discovering on their date that they've missed each other their whole lives (living in the same city, went to the same high school, going to the same halloween and nye parties, were set up before by different friends but stood each other up, shopping at the same store, etc.) [submitted by @sunflowerslyf] 

I Choose You by @wendywobbles

Prompt 51: Katniss E, the Valedictorian of Panem High school, is perfect in all fields of life. And that is the crush of awkward, average in studies, not so popular, never had a girlfriend, often bullied Peeta M. Not only does she have a very popular friend circle but also a handsome, popular boyfriend Gale H. Will she even want to be his friend? Is his crush doomed to fail? Eventual Everlark. [submitted by @white-dandelion-seeds] 

The Change by @alliswell21

Prompt 59: Growing up Peeta started loving her. It was a gradual thing that happened throughout his childhood and into his teens. But something changes when he hits puberty. Her scent has heightened, he can spot her from miles away. He gets a bit possessive. But the biggest thing is when his body starts to heat up and even just the thought of you gets him hard for days. He finds out the family secret of his werewolf genes, something his parents thought passed him. How can he go by with his day and be with her without scaring her away by humping her because of his heat. [submitted by @animekpopxx]

By The Moonlight Side by @endlessnightlock

Chapter 2

Prompt 61: Peeta knew better, but he did stupid things when he got drunk. Now he’s caged at the animal shelter in his wolf form. And, omg, Katniss Everdeen let her little sister drag her in to see the dogs?! He knows he shouldn’t, but teen hormones. He just wants to lick her hand. Get a tummy rub. Hump her leg. Sleep on her bed. Omg, they take him home!!!! He needs to let his dad know where he is. Omg. He needs to figure out his bakery shift. “God, don’t let Katniss catch me licking my balls.” [submitted by @567inpanem]

Maybe Tomorrow by @katnissdoesnotfollowback​

Prompt 62: one night stand!everlark sleeping together the same night a terrible snowstorm hits the city and everything gets shut down with no way to get home. perhaps a two night stand? [submitted by anonymous] 

Genesis  by @rosegardeninwinter

Prompt 66: Everlark post apocalypse, katniss and peeta are neighbors and the only two that make it to katniss's father's bunker in time. Over the course of several years the two have grown quite close having no one else, but now provisions are running low. Do they face the unknown outside or stay put, knowing they only have food to last another week? [sent by anonymous]

Sunset on Grass by @alliswell21

Prompt 67: Her parents said that it was just a childhood crush and that she will outgrow it. But why does her heart flutters. When she’s finally old enough to get a job, she immediately gets a part time job to be close to him. Will is pursue her love against people’s negative views because he’s so much older than her. Or go for it and make him fall in love with her. Age Gap Older!Peeta. [submitted by @animekpopxx] 

A Taste of Rebellion by @acpoe82

Prompt 68: Dark Coffee Shop AU - Capitol Peeta runs a Coffee/Pastry shop in the poshest part of the Capitol. Near by President Snow’s Mansion. Capitol!Katniss is a frequent customer. Things in the Capitol begin to deteriorate as the rebellion drags on. Are they sympathetic to the rebel cause? [submitted by @oakfarmer12] 

You're Not Alone by @sunsetsrmydreams

Prompt 70: Peeta picks up a hitchhiker in the mountains one night, only to find it's his childhood best friend and now escaped convict Katniss Everdeen. In a panic he calls police but after hearing her side of the story comes to believe she didn't actually murder anyone. Everlark on the run. [submitted by anonymous]

Forever and a day... by @thegirlfromoverthepond

Prompt 73: I am a simple woman: I just want Katniss Everdeen content and loved and washed in moonlight I don’t care how you do it. [submitted by @rosegardeninwinter] 

The Most Unlikely Serendipity by @albinokittens300

PART 2, PART 3, PART 4

Prompt 75: An in-Panem arranged marriage a/u where Katniss is slightly older than Peeta. [submitted by @endlessnightlock] 

Shots Make Me Sing by @sunsetsrmydreams

Prompt 81: Katniss finds her soulmate at her bachelorette party (aka Peeta)(Happy ending please) [submitted by anonymous] 

when we’re underneath the lights my heart’s no longer broken by @omercilessmoon

Prompt 92: High school musical au: katniss and peeta as troy and Gabriella. [submitted by anonymous] 

December nights in June by @viloula

Prompt 110: AU. Everlark live across from each other in fancy New York (or the like) penthouses. With all those large windows, they see each other daily and know the other's routine and all he/she does, but they've never met. A chance meeting occurs. What will happen? The circumstances of their living arrangements/any backstory and what happens between them is up to you. [submitted by @acpoe82]

High Heels at Midnight by @hutchhitched

Prompt 134: Visual Prompt. To see it go HERE [submitted by @javistg] 

must work hard, tolerate cats by @mendontprotectyou

Prompt 140: In Panem AU where Peeta is a Mail Order Husband. As the youngest son of a merchant class Capitol family, he has accepted he will never inherit the family bakery. But when his family contract him to an arranged marriage to further the business he will never own, he escapes by signing up to a programme to relocate and marry a district woman. Why Katniss needs a husband, is up to the author. Everlark endgame :) [submitted by @louezem]

Notes: 

Fics organized by prompt number. 

Masterlist compiled on May 11, 2020. Subject to change. New works will be added as they’re posted to the @everlarkficexchange. 

Looking for updated versions of the multi-chapter fics? Try our AO3 Collection 

[physioblr]

How to get a 4.0 with ADHD-C and Dyscalculia

(Or, how to survive Uni as a disabled student)

Disclaimer: 

This is what has worked for me. I don’t claim that this will work for everyone. Not every ADHD brain is the same. Also other axis of privilege, time of diagnosis, and support are different between people. I have severe ADHD-C and was diagnosed as a young adult and had little support to help me deal with my symptoms until I met my partner. Psychiatrists aren’t trained to help you deal with the range of issues you will face. 

Do keep in mind as well that some professors are just ablest assholes. The idea that someone is kind, empathetic, or will always follow federal law just because they are in a profession that gives them a power differential is ridiculous. You may also run into professors that also take pride in their exam distributions looking like a statistician’s nightmare. Keep an eye out for the obvious dog whistles, and do research before registration when possible. If you end up in these situations, drop the class during the add/drop period if you can. If not, be prepared for your GPA to take a hit. 

I’m writing this from an American perspective, if you are in the UK/Europe I lived in Scotland for 5 years and would be happy to help if you have questions regarding the Equality Act 2010 and the UN convention of disability rights.

A. Lifestyle:

1. Sleep hygiene. Sleep = study retention.

I had trouble sleeping for most of my life. I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep or stay asleep at the appropriate times. A lot of people deal with this by being “night owls” — i.e. just accepting that our clocks are set later than neurotypicals’. Other people deal with this by sleeping on a biphasic or polyphasic sleep schedule. 

There is another option though. You can train yourself to go to sleep at the same time every night and wake up at the same time every morning. This might take a couple of weeks for your body to adjust. Here is how I did it:

Take your morning dose of medication about 30-40 minutes before you actually need to wake up. This allows medication to kick in. It’s similar to the trick of drinking a cup of coffee before taking a power nap. I have two alarms. One to take my medication, and the other to actually wake up. My medication alarms have a particular tone so that I don’t take my medication twice.

Wake up at the same time every day, including weekends. You can’t oversleep or your body won’t adjust. Do not press the snooze button. Get up right away to start your morning routine. The 5-10 minutes that your snooze gives you isn’t going to make you feel less tired. It will make your feel groggy, which is something called sleep inertia. Your body doesn’t get to complete a full sleep cycle, and it will donk you up.

Add going outside to your morning routine. Even if it’s the winter, or mostly dark. I have an adorable greyhound, and he has to go potty as soon as I wake up. In the very least open your blinds/curtains and open your windows to get some fresh air and morning light. Studies show that light effects our circadian rhythm. I find that even when it’s dark out though, going outside helps due to the cool morning air.

Keep a consistent morning routine. Do everything in order like you are going down a checklist of tasks. Make your bed as your final task. Don’t get back in your bed. Your bed is for sleep or sex only.

Go to bed at the same time every night, no matter what. Medication has likely worn off by the time you go to sleep, and contradictory to neurotypical belief, when your brain wanders it can make it harder to fall asleep. So can hyperfocusing. I find that reading can keep me up as I will hyperfocus, but listening to audiobooks doesn’t cause those problems. I turn off the lights, put a seep mask on, and play an audiobook with wireless headphones to help me get to sleep. I recommend reading/listening to something light like fantasy or science fiction.  Save thrillers, horror, and mystery books to listen to during the day.

2. Exercise.

I recommend exercising in the morning everyday, cardio and strength training. Even if you just do some cardio 10-15 minutes, it is still beneficial. Most exercise physiologists would recommend a rest day, but I’ve found that lighter days work better than complete rest days. You will see a noticeable difference in your hyperactivity symptoms. It’s not simply that it gets the fidgets out of your system, it is good for a hyperactive mind and helps with emotional dysregulation as well. It will help you sleep at night too.

Always speak to your doctor before you begin any exercise regimen, especially if you are taking 60+ mg of ADHD medication and have not exercised regularly on your medication previously.

3. Eating.

Eat at the same time everyday. Your body will tell you you’re hungry at those times. It’s also helpful to schedule your food around medication so that you don’t repress your natural appetite. Also, not that it needs to be said, but the brain uses up a lot of calories. You need to eat to retain what you learn.

4. Emotional Regulation.

This is one of the hardest parts of ADHD that no one ever talks about. You may not even know what this is, or that emotional dysregulation is a symptom of ADHD. It’s never mentioned in the DSM or ICD because emotions are hard (and expensive) to quantify. A lot of medical professionals have never even heard of it. If you want to read up on it, I suggest reading work by Dr. Russell A. Barkley. To give you the basics though, ADHD brains fail to self regulate emotions. We have emotional impulsivity. When we take in sensory information for conscious appraisal the pathway goes like this: stimulus —> thalamus —> cortex —> amygdala. Our frontal cortex is not the greatest at giving us context, or telling us to chill out, so our amygdala can be in the driver’s seat often. This aspect can make us really fun people, because it can make us get excited easily and enjoy life to the fullest. It can also cause us problems. For example, expressing anger at your boss or teacher (even if you are rightfully angry) might not be the best—diplomacy may give a better outcome. Our amygdala doesn’t know what is best for our future selves.

So, how does one regulate emotion when you’re brain doesn’t function like you want it? Try practicing mindfulness. And no, I’m not taking about attending to everything coming into your working memory or weird granola hippy garbage. When you are having an emotional response, check in with yourself. Are you feeling overstimulated? Are you feeling understimulated? Are you hungry, are you thirsty? Are you tired? Is your medication wearing off? Notice patterns, notice what triggers the emotion, write it down. Develop a proverbial toolbox that can help you when you are not regulating your emotions well. This toolbox is individual to you, and it may take some trial and error.

Keep in mind that trauma is different than emotional dysregulation, although our emotional dysregulation doesn’t exactly help. A lot of us ADHD brains have experienced severe emotional trauma via ableism and abuse from the school system, from teachers, or from parents. It never gets talked about because it’s usually caused by someone in a position of authority, and we are hardly ever given a voice to talk about our own experiences. Find someone you can trust to talk to about it. Find ways to self sooth in a healthy way when re-experiencing that trauma. You may have complex PTSD. It’s difficult for us to get help for complex PTSD because society doesn’t recognize that disabled people experience trauma in a very unique way. Keep in mind PTSD wasn’t even considered a disability under the ADA until 2008, one couldn’t get social security for PTSD until 2017, and the ADA didn’t exist until 1990. If you do seek out help though, expect push back from some medical professionals, have someone that will support you through the process, and do so when you will not be experiencing new trauma. Also, remember, fellow ADHD brains are here and we all love and support you.

B. Disability Services:

I’m not going to sugar coat this. We are barely recognized as human beings, so our rights are always under fire. Being disabled in this world is like walking through a mine field. Not every university or work environment is going to follow the ADA. The ADA became law in 1990, and the abled have been dragging their feet ever since. It’s difficult to enforce, complaining to the government often leads to nothing, and getting a lawyer is expensive. It’s also hard to prove discrimination in court. The ADA leaves a lot of room for improvement. Ableism is a systemic problem pretty much worldwide. I’m not trying to upset anyone, but you need to be prepared for what you are up against.

1. Keep the nature of your disability private.

Never ever ever tell a professor or TA the nature of your disability. Tell them you have a disability recognized under the ADA which is federal law, do not tell them what disability you have. There are lots of tips on tumblr that will tell you to inform professors that you have x disability, and that they will be empathetic and blah blah blah. Those uninformed tips are putting your legal rights, and your grade, in danger. There are so many biases professors can and do have when it comes to ADHD and dyscalculia. You are just asking to experience ableism if you divulge. Some professors don’t believe that ADHD is a disability, or they believe that vaccines cause ADHD, or that you just magically grow out of ADHD when you turn 18 etc.  It isn’t your job to deal with their delusions, their biases, or their ableism — that’s their therapists’ or HRs’ problem. You do not have to tell anyone but your university disability services. Under the ADA you have a legal right to privacy, but if you divulge to a professor you are waiving that right.

I also wouldn’t recommend telling other students the nature of your disability. Unless you are pretty sure the other student also has your disability, but even then internalized ableism is a thing. You never know who they are going to tell, if they are ableist, or how they feel about your accommodations. You never want an abled student crying to a professor because they think your accommodations are “unfair”. If a student wants to know what disability you have, and you want to tell them something because you have become acquaintances/friends but don’t want to tell them exactly, say that you have a neurodevelopmental disability and/or a learning disability.

2. Advocate for your legal accommodations.

Disability services are not going to hold your hand. They are not going to simply offer you all the accommodations that you are legally allowed or would make you successful. They deal with hundreds of other students and likely have accommodations they offer everyone, regardless of the type of disability you have. Request accommodations that actually put you on the same playing field as everyone else. Read the ADA, and understand what reasonable accommodations are.

If you have ADHD, I would recommend requesting extended time on exams and assignments, a private room to take exams in that is free of distraction, handouts/materials and textbooks in text-to-speech capable formats, the ability to take breaks in-class or exams, reduced course load, and the ability to record lectures for note-taking. You may be able to request a memory aid for ADHD, as a lot of ADHD brains have very low working memory (also called short term memory) capacity. Part of our attention difficulties come from low working memory capacity as sensory input goes through working memory before it is stored in long term memory. Anything stored in long term memory must be pulled back into working memory to be used and manipulated. Get a psychologist that specializes in ADHD adults to test your working memory capacity if needed.

If you have dyscalculia, I would recommend requesting a memory aid (used for formulas, constants, equations etc), the use of calculator on exams and assignments, extended time on exams and assignments, reduced course load, and a private room for exams.

3. Get accommodations implemented.

This is a different process than getting accommodations approved. My uni makes me contact professors at the start of the quarter in an ‘engagement process’. Due to re-experiencing trauma, I avoid setting up a meeting with professors and just email. Emailing prevents professors form cornering you or badgering you to divulge your disability, or subtly threatening you about your registration or degree, and puts everything in writing so there is a legal paper trail. 

Professors may try to get out of their legal obligations. I have had this happen multiple times. I’ve even had professors tell me that accommodations aren’t helpful for disabled students, or that they are not fair to abled students — I responded with “well it’s not fair that I was born with a disability and that you’re gatekeeping disabled people from getting an education”… they didn’t take that well. Do not try to argue with a professor about your disability rights or accommodations, it will only make you upset and they will likely accuse you of being hysterical or unstable. I’ve even had a professor say that I “threatened” them when I simply reminded them of their legal obligations under federal law as they were trying to not implement accommodations. This is why email is the best choice — you have time to respond professionally and having the receipts is important to keep you legally safe. If a professor is being belligerent about implementing accommodations, tell disability services what is going on (forward your emails) and remind them that accommodations must be implemented in a timely manner under the ADA. If disability services tries to make you argue with your professor, say that you do not feel comfortable doing so. If they push further, tell them you would rather not without an attorney or other representative present — mention you would rather the university handle it internally as you are concerned bringing an attorney or representative into an argument would escalate the situation which isn’t ideal for anyone.

I have a standard email that I send professors during the ‘engagement process’ that I edit slightly to reflect the course. It is professional, polite, and reminds them of their legal obligations as well as university policy. In it I also outline what my approved accommodations are and suggest how they should be implemented. 

4. Any paperwork you have to turn in, make sure to do it early. 

Create reminders on your calendar, write the dates in your bujo future log, whatever you need to do to get that paperwork in on time. Read everything slowly. These are legal documents. If you have a support system… ASK FOR HELP. Seriously, don’t be afraid to ask your support system for help with legal documents.

C. Studying:

1. Choose two places to study.

I don’t like studying in the library or in cafes. I know it’s not as aesthetic to study at home, but it prevents me from people watching and getting distracted. I have two designated study areas. One is my desk, the other is a cozy couch. Choose locations based on stimulation and comfort. My desk is fairly understimulating, while the couch is a bit more stimulation.

2. Learn to use your hyperfocus.

Most reading this probably know what you need to get in the hyperfocus zone. If you don’t, then note any patterns/conditions when it happens so you will have an easier time using the only ADHD super power you’ve got. When you are hyperfocusing on studying, ride the wave for as long as you can. However, make sure to set alarms to eat, go to the bathroom, stretch etc. Don’t let your hyperfocus keep you from taking care of yourself.

3. Create a study routine.

I know I keep blathering on about routines, but it helps. Treat studying like you would training as a professional athlete. When you have a study routine, you never have to decide to study. That decision is already made for you. When studying for exams, make a checklist of everything you need to cover. Ask the professor in advance about what is going to be covered on exams so that you can make an exam study plan early. If your professor is a garbage person and won’t tell you use the syllabus, textbook readings, labs, lecture slides, and snoop on the internet for past exams. Last minute learning is never a good idea. The human brain simply can’t do it, and your working memory capacity is too low to cram.

4. Accept that everything will take you longer, and that it’s okay.

It sucks, it really does. Those neurotypicals don’t know how lucky they are. It’s going to take you longer to read, to learn material, and to do basically anything in life. That’s okay, you do you. Don’t compare yourself to others, it will only cause you to feel bad about yourself. Guess what though, you are already a statistical anomaly. Only 32% of ADHD children graduate high school. Only 22% of adults with ADHD get into university. Only 5% of ADHD adults graduate from university. You are already punching those statistics in the face by existing. Seriously, do what you need to do and fuck anyone that has a problem with it. You’ve got this! 

5. Create the environment you need for your brain.

Sometimes I’m feeling really over stimulated and I need complete silence. Sometimes I feel at a sort of stimulation equilibrium and I listen to lofi study beats playlists. Sometimes I feel understimulated or I’m doing something really tedious, and I need to put on a tv show or a movie in the background. I keep a list of TV shows and movies that I can put on in such cases. Pick things that you won’t really watch and that you are familiar with. It usually helps me transition so that I can start the studying task. Listen to your body and do what works for you.

6. Don’t use the pomodoro technique.

The pomodoro technique was made for neurotypicals. ADHD brains have difficulty transitioning between tasks. It’s better to study for as long as you can maintain focus or hyperfocus than rely on a set 25 minutes. Again, be sure to eat and use the bathroom! You don’t want to be taken off your meds due to weight loss, and you don’t want to get a UTI.

D. Tools of the Trade:

1. iPad Pro & Apple Pencil v.s. Echo Livescribe Smart Pen

I used to use the echo livescribe smart pen but now I use an iPad. It’s cheaper in the long run and I don’t have to worry about running out of paper. Apple has way better customer support as well as iCloud backups, plus they can find your device if lost. Now I only use the echo livescribe pen when taking exams. My university lets me use one from the disability office so that I can make verbal notes when doing long answer exam questions and to keep track of my thoughts if I want to skip over a question and come back to it. I requested it as an accommodation, it had to be approved by committee. They actually thanked me for being so creative and trained the person in charge of accessible technology so that it could be used with other students. It’s almost like asking disabled students about what helps us and our experiences is a good thing!

2. Notability

I use the app Notability for lectures as it can record the lecture and has great organizational capabilities. I usually copy/paste slides into my notes so that I can write on them as well. I also use Notability to read textbooks. It’s got fairly good text-to-speech compatibility, so you can move around if you need to. 

3. Goodnotes 5

I use the Goodnotes 5 app for a digital bujo as well as for making mind maps. It’s got some great shape recognition functions. Although Notability has improved their shape functionality, it’s still not as great as Goodnotes 5.

4. iWork 

I also use pages on my iPad to make condensed study guides / study notes. It’s also really great for writing essays or making tables. I used to hand-write study notes, but it takes way longer.

4. Omnifocus

Omnifocus is great for breaking down big projects into smaller tasks or making quick checklists. It’s a bit of a pain to learn how to use, but once you do it’s completely worth it.

5. Quizlet Plus

Quizlet Plus is completely worth it. I use it a lot for figures or structures I have to memorize, I draw figures in Notability and take a screen shot or grab it from my textbook. It’s a really amazing flashcard app. Also, if you have your textbook on your device, you can copy/paste definitions right into quizlet.

6. Studybreak

Studybreak is a great app for iphone. It tells you how long you have been studying, nags you if you’ve touched your phone to scroll social media, and can suggest that you take a break. You can program it to set how long you want to study for, how long you want to take a break for etc. You can also ignore the break suggestion which is nice when one is hyperfocusing. It also keeps statistics on how long you have been studying and for which subjects.

[sierraraeck]

Relapse

Spencer x OC Aundreya

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

(This is my gif so please give credit if used)

Summary: She suspects that Spencer is having some trouble in light of recent events and plans on confronting him about it, be he beats her to it. Story eight.

Category: Some angst. Some fluff. Some steam.

Warnings: Cussing. Mentions of drug abuse and PTSD.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: I have made a new category called “steam.” This is hotter than fluff but not as intense as smut. It’s basically super passionate/intimate kissing and touching. Nothing more. Nothing less.

I didn’t think it was a big deal at first. Things had calmed down since finding Morgan’s cousin and were pretty much back to normal. I was still dancing, but I couldn’t bring myself to do private showings. I tried, but everytime I walked into that room, my scar started burning and my head started spinning. I had to walk out. Once I did, I was fine. It pissed me off because privates made up half of my earnings, and I even made it through a whole private one time, but immediately after had a panic attack. I didn’t even know that was what was happening until JoJo told me that was most likely it. So I just decided to stay in the main room for a while until this phase or whatever wore off.

The other thing I noticed that wasn’t completely right either was Spencer. He was … different. I don’t exactly know. He was talking to me less, coming over to my apartment to read less, and was kinda drawing into himself more. He had moments throughout the day where he’d press his palm into his eye and had trouble focusing. I asked him about it, Derek asked him about it, everyone asked him about it, but all he kept saying was that he was fine. ‘I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.’ It was so frustrating. He was more irritable for a time, and then things changed.

Then, he actually seemed fine. He seemed better than fine. He still had headache-y moments, and was still more withdrawn, but he seemed … better? I don’t know. Spencer could usually keep his head on straight, but his emotions the past few months were very touchy. He had more pep in his step one moment, then the next he was the human equivalent of a snapping turtle. His mood swings were giving me whiplash.

I don’t know how I didn’t pick up on it sooner, probably because I was so worried about my minor strokes at the clubs, but he displayed all sorts of drug user signs. Withdrawing from people close to them, showing less interest in hobbies they enjoyed, having ‘less time’ for things, making weird calls, being moody, being late, headaches. It was all there. And since he refused to talk to us or tell us about it, I decided to follow him.

I know. I know. I was disrespecting his privacy and I shouldn’t have done it but I did. I was worried about him. Plus, the last private thing he told me about his life before all this weirdness popped up was that his mother was getting worse. That would definitely push someone over the edge.

So I followed him.

Come to find out the good doctor wasn’t as good as he claimed to be. When he got home from work, he just sat on the couch reading for a while. Then, he got in his car and drove a few blocks over to a payphone (I didn’t really know those still existed). He waited until exactly 9:15 to dial the number. He then hung up, and waited for a call to come in. When it did, he answered it so fast I’d have guessed his life depended on it. But that is how drug addicts act. I’d know. He stood there and talked for an hour, having to put four more quarters into the machine. That’s when I got confused. If it was a drug dealer, it’d make sense that he would call them from a payphone. But talk to them for an hour? Definitely not. However, his following actions still pointed to a drug dealer. When the call ended, he got into his car and drove to another street corner near a small apartment complex. He walked around to the back so I couldn’t see what he was doing. He got back into his car less than two minutes later, a reasonable time for an exchange, and drove home. It was about 10:30 when he got back home, and he closed the curtains and shut off the lights. Sure, he could have been going to bed, but considering he had some form of insomnia and people high on drugs don’t necessarily like bright lights or being peered in on… That’s all I was saying.

While I had a plausible working theory, I didn’t just want to come out and accuse him of being on drugs. I decided that I’d give it a few days and I would observe his every move. I also decided I’d continue my spying for those few days just to see if he would continue to call someone on a payphone and meet them behind an apartment complex.

Unfortunately, all of his actions within the remainder of the week just confirmed my theory. Dammit Reid. What have you gotten yourself into?

I decided I’d confront him about it in the morning. For the time being, I had more work to do. I went to the Camelot, avoided doing any private showings, and then returned home. I was caught completely off guard when I saw Spencer leaning up against my apartment door.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” I tried to sound as casual and cheery as possible.

“I could ask you the same.”

“I live here,” I pointed out.

“So why are you just now getting home? It’s 2 am,” he said.

“What are you getting at?” I asked. “We’ve known each other long enough to not have to tiptoe around each other.”

“Out for another walk?”

“Yep,” I said, not even trying to hide it anymore. It didn’t matter that I’d already changed back into normal clothes, he saw right through me. He had since the moment we had that case involving Morgan’s cousin.

“How did you really know Cindi?” he said in that eerily soft, but hella intense tone. Even though I had just told him to stop playing games and get to the point, he was trying to force this out of me. I didn’t want him to have the satisfaction.

“I told you. I recognized her picture.”

“See, that doesn’t make sense. You also said that you had previous dance experience from before prison, which I don’t doubt, but she seemed like she recognized you. She would have only been on the streets within the last few months. How could that be possible?” He was starting to get smug, but I was going to make him work for it.

“I don’t know. A lot of people on the streets recognize me.”

“No that wasn’t it. She knew you and Emily told me that the two girls at the club knew you, too. They even hugged you!”

“Oh, so now Emily’s involved?” He was infuriating and my tone told him so.

He sighed. “That’s not the point. The point is that you are struggling and aren’t asking for help.”

“We’ve been over this. I told Hotch all of this already and-”

“Just tell me why you’re doing it.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Please don’t lie to me,” he pleaded. His voice abruptly changed from confident to begging.

It was no use trying to get this around him, so I gave in. “Old habits die hard. And I need the money. They’re basically using me as a volunteer at the bureau and I’ve got to survive somehow.”

“Let me help you.”

“I’m okay,” I said, attempting to slip past him to my door. “Plus, you need to help yourself.”

He bypassed my last comment. “What about the drugs?”

I whipped my head to look at him. How did he know about that? I could see how he figured out the dancing, sure, but I knew how to hide a drug problem.

“What?” I asked, stunned.

“What about the drugs,” he repeated.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said. Before I could turn back to my door and fully get the key in the lock, he grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me to face him. His firm grip pushed me up against the door and held me there. Being so close to him made the four inches he had on me very evident.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, my voice stern. I was surprised by his actions, to say the least, but I wasn’t going to let myself be rendered useless.

“Tell me the truth,” he replied, his voice deeper than I’d ever heard it. I’d never seen him like this, and I hated to admit it, especially because that shouldn’t have been my focus, but I liked it. It was exciting. He leaned forward, staring intensely into my eyes, daring me to lie to him.

The attraction I’d felt for him had been growing since the day we met. The more I got to know him, the more the foreign feelings started to take over. I couldn’t stop myself as I closed the gap between us, electricity coursing through my body. I pressed my lips lightly against his, testing the waters. I don’t know if it was the shock or him melting into the kiss that lessened his grip on me. It didn’t matter. The moment he did, I moved my hands slowly up his arms, feeling each individual muscle move against my fingertips. I reached the top of his shoulders, then his upper back, and out of habit, I checked for twitching. There wasn’t any, which made me smile into him, but there was a different type of movement. His shoulder blades pinched, repositioning his hands to have one resting on my cheek and the other supporting the small of my back. My hands continued their path, tracing patterns on the back of his neck before reaching their final destination. The cold metal of the bracelets on my wrist sent a shudder down his spine before I wove my fingers through his hair, toying with the loose curls I found there. The hand on my cheek slid back into my own hair, pushing it behind my ear and simultaneously grabbing as much of it as possible. I had been repressing this desire for so long, it was nice to finally release it. I deepened the kiss, which his tongue happily allowed, and refused to come up for air. He didn’t, however, letting a slight gasp fall from his lips as he pulled away. I looked up into his eyes, feeling almost proud. I could tell he was fighting the urge to smile as he got right back to business, as if that didn’t just happen.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

I shook my head, breathless. “No. I didn’t.” I leaned toward him again, pulling him closer to me, my hands still entwined in his hair. I left an open-mouthed kiss on his earlobe before whispering, “But what about you? I know you haven’t exactly been the good doctor you usually are.”

He pulled back to look at me, our noses practically touching, confusion in his eyes. It took effort to let him respond and to not just interrupt him with another kiss.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your drugs.” I licked my lips. Just like that, he reverted right back to being confrontational, removing his hands from my body. I reluctantly let go of my grip on his hair.

Instead of trying to deny it, he asked, “How did you know that?”

His voice was a low growl, so I matched it when I responded, “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“So you followed me?”

“I was worried.”

“There are a lot better ways to show that.”

“Since when have ever I done a good job expressing my emotions?” I arched an eyebrow.

“Never.”

“Exactly. Plus, I don’t think you’re one to judge considering it definitely took an extra effort to put all the pieces together in my life and come present them to me at 2 am.”

“That’s true.” We stood there staring at each other for a while, both contemplating if we should just let our problems be implied, or if we should actually talk about them.

“Well, if you don’t plan on leaving or getting any sleep, would you like to come in?” I asked. He nodded. The key was still in the door from when I tried to open it earlier. I’m glad I didn’t succeed in that quest until now.

We entered my apartment and he took a seat on the couch. I was right behind him, pausing to take off the bracelets and rings and tuck them into the nearest drawer.

“Why are you taking those off?”

It was an unexpected question, and I was sort of surprised he noticed my quick movements. “Just not feeling them anymore.”

“But you are hiding them. You are putting them in the nearest drawer you can find, and based off of how silently you tried to walk, following me into your apartment, you want them off and fast. Why?”

Those metal chains had been a part of my identity for a long time. They were how people identified me, and at some points, even how I identified myself. That crazy, badass bitch who earned all of those and is somehow still alive to tell the tale. “I guess it’s because they are a part of a different me. They show who I used to be, and that’s never who I wanted to be around you guys. I didn’t want to end up being the street rat criminal you were all forced to work with. I wanted to be better than that this time around. On the other side of good and bad. Somehow, I feel like I can be more without them. You make me feel like I’m more.” It was the most honest thing I’d said or done all week.

“Me?”

“Yes. You.”

“You don’t have to change for me, for us. It’s okay if-” he started. It was a sweet sentiment, but not what I was trying to say.

“No, I know,” I cut him off, “I know I don’t have to, but I want to. You make me better. You guys make me want to be better. That’s sorta why I was hoping none of you would figure out what I’ve really been doing all these nights.”

“So you are still dancing,” he said it like it wasn’t a question. I guess it wasn’t.

“Yeah,” I confirmed.

“And you’re still on drugs.”

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“I know you. You’ve been acting differently ever since the Cindi case.”

I know you. I tried not to let it get to my head.

“Likewise. You’re on drugs, too.”

“Yeah. Your turn. How’d you know?”

“I saw you getting them from someone behind an old apartment complex. You seem pretty friendly,” I added.

“What makes you say that?”

“You talked to them on the phone for quite some time prior.”

His eyes went wide. “What are you talking about?”

“I thought we had just silently agreed to be honest. I saw you talking on that payphone for like an hour prior to meeting your dealer.” Unless that wasn’t your dealer on the phone. But who else could it be?

“Oh. That.”

“Why are you being weird about it?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are. Tell me why,” I demanded.

“It’s nothing. Just a problem with the meeting place,” he stated. I let it slide.

“What drug?”

“Dilaudid,” he tilted his head at me, his way of asking me the same.

“Coc and heroin.”

“Both?”

“Unfortunately,” I said and it was unfortunate. I’d been sober for so long, but I made an impulse decision to be helpful, which of course ended up being hurtful. But it’s me so of course there’s always a price to pay. When isn’t there?

“Is it because you took those when we were helping Morgan?” It’s like he could read my mind.

“Yeah. I mean, I had pre-existing problems, but that was the trigger this time,” I stated sadly.

“Pre-existing?”

“Yeah. Being young on the streets means people think you are vulnerable and super easy to manipulate. I wasn’t, which pissed a lot of people off but it was also why I was so good at what I did. Those who wanted to control me like the rest of the easily manipulated newbies took to drugging me. When I was in the gang, too, I had a lot of drugs shoved my way. For a period of time, I worked so hard to fight the effects. I tried to resist taking them and I did my best to stay clear headed, even when they continued upping the doses. That’s how I learned to resist them. Plus, after having doses that probably should have killed me, I built up quite the tolerance.”

“After that?”

“After that period of time, I gave up. I had fought it for nearly three years, every single day, and I got tired. I finally just let them drug me without resisting. They gave me so many different drugs, which is how I got good at identifying them. It turned into a mind game for me. In order to ignore everything that followed the drugging, I decided I’d pay attention to every detail of how the drug affected me. How my eyes felt, how my breathing felt, how my heart felt, even how my blood in my veins felt. And I kept note of which hallucinations came with which drug so I was better able to prepare myself and hopefully control myself during those that got really bad,” I said. It was yet another situation I detached myself from. “Why dilaudid?”

“I was forced on it when I first started working here,” he whispered. I could tell he wasn’t willing to elaborate, so I decided to ask a different question.

“And you’ve been dealing with this ever since?”

“No, no. I quit a while back, but when I heard that my mom was doing worse it caused me a lot of stress. I started getting these really intense headaches and no one can figure out what’s wrong with me. On one of the last cases, a little boy almost died because I couldn’t focus, so the next time I had a headache, I tried taking dilaudid. It was the only thing I could think to do, and it helped. It reduced the pain and gave me back some semblance of focus, so I stayed on it,” he said.

“Spencer, it’s not your fault that-”

“I know, and I know that he didn’t die, but if he had, it would have been my fault. I’m not willing to take that chance in the future. Other people shouldn’t have to suffer because I’m having problems.” I nodded, knowing that there was nothing I could say that would convince him otherwise. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” I answered.

“The hallucination you were having that day, you said you’d never had it before?”

“Nope. I guess it would have to be because I’ve never taken all of those at once before.”

“Yeah, but, what was it? All Morgan told me was that you were worried about me and when I came in, all I got from you was ‘tell me that’s not real’ followed by relief.” I found it amusing that he wanted to know more about the hallucination he obviously knew was about him. I blew air out my nose in a silent laugh before my mood shifted at the memory of what I saw.

“I saw you on the ground. You had several broken bones, limbs in directions they shouldn't've been. You were bleeding … everywhere. I tried to remind myself that it was all just in my head but my options were to let it continue and have it end up being real, or make a fool out of myself. I wasn’t going to take any chances,” I said.

We sat there looking at each other in silence for a while, before he decided to break it.

“How is it going back there?” Spencer asked.

“Back where?”

“To the Camelot. A lot happened there.”

“It’s fine,” I said, but even I could hear the lie in my voice.

“Wanna try that again?”

“No,” I sighed, “Don’t look at me like that.” He had those soft, puppy-dog eyes, which always compelled me to tell him things that I wouldn’t tell anyone else and he knew it. I could drown in his gaze and I would feel privileged.

“It sucks. I haven’t been able to do privates, I haven’t even been able to go into that room without my scar hurting and my head pounding. I tried it once, but immediately after, had a panic attack and threw up.”

“You’re experiencing PTSD,” he said. I looked at him, brows knit together.

“What?”

“It’s okay. It’s totally natural. You experienced something traumatic so it’d make sense that you are having trouble,” he said.

“That doesn’t make sense,” I replied, shaking my head.

“Yes it does. You-”

“No. It doesn’t make sense. I’ve been through plenty of things like that and worse and I didn’t even have a team of trained experts backing me up and I’m doing fine with those. What do you mean I have PTSD?” I sounded a bit bitchier than I would have liked.

“I don’t know why you haven’t struggled with other memories. You probably dumped them or just haven’t experienced anything after the fact that would trigger those feelings,” he replied. He was speaking in his ‘Doctor Genius voice’ as I called it, sounding like a professor.

I grunted. “Whatever the reason, it sucks and needs to get fixed fast because it’s messing with my income.”

That elicited a small laugh from him. “That’s not how it works.”

“I know. Too bad, though.”

“Too bad.”

I rolled my eyes and let out an annoyed laugh.

“What is it?”

“It’s just that my life is a disaster,” I answered, running my fingers through my hair.

“That’s not true-”

“Oh please. Your body’s in better shape than my life,” I gave him a sarcastic smile. I think we were both still a little high from the hours prior. I know I was.

He pressed his lips together, but I saw the corners tilt up just slightly. Once he could fully compose himself, he said. “That’s not funny.”

I pinched my fingers together and held them up to his face. I squinched up my nose. “Just a teeny bit?”

He quirked his mouth over to one side and squinted his eyes at me.

“No?” I asked. He shook his head. “You know it was only a joke.”

“I know,” he said with a small lip-smile

“I think you have a great body,” I said, still grinning.

“Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not! I mean it!” I lightly wacked his bicep. He gave me a knowing look on the verge of a smirk. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!” he defended.

“You thought it.” I argued.

“Oh so you can read minds now?”

“No, just your pretty face.”

He finally let that full smile breach the surface, a light pink color dusting his cheeks. “You really just complimented my scarecrow figure.”

“I did,” I confirmed unabashed, nodding my head profusely. We both suddenly burst into a laughing fit, one that could have easily been considered my ab workout for the day. By the end, I was clutching my stomach and wiping the tears streaming down my face. When we both reached planet Earth again, we just peered into each other's eyes.

I suddenly felt exposed, like he was analyzing the contents of my mind and soul. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said, breaking eye contact.

“No, seriously. What?” My voice was calm and inviting, a tone that seemed to be reserved only for him and any of the victims we talked to.

“Are we going to talk about what happened earlier?”

“You mean the kiss?” I felt delirious and just let the words roll off my tongue.

“Yeah.”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to talk,” he said, wetting his lips. His voice got deeper again and I was hoping that I was reading the signs correctly.

“You don’t?” I inquired.

“No, not really.”

I playfully inched forward on the couch and in a sultry tone asked, “Then what do you want to do?”

He placed his long fingers on my neck, brushing his thumbs over my jaw. “This.”

He feverishly pressed his lips to mine and I quickly moved from my crossed-leg position onto my knees. I put my one hand on his back and the other on his neck. He was still sitting, so I had the vantage point. I leaned over him, slightly tilting his head back so that we didn’t have to part. He extended his legs the length of the couch, sliding them in between my own, anticipating what was coming next. His hands still cupping my face, he slowly laid back, bringing me with him. My hair fell like a curtain around our faces, creating a sacred space just for us. His tongue asked permission to deepen the kiss, and I granted it without hesitation. I brought my one hand from his back into his hair, using my thumb to rub gentle circles into his temple while the other stayed firmly planted in its place at the back of his neck. I felt his muscles give out a little, and I smiled into our kiss knowing that he trusted me to support his head, and I did so like my life depended on it. This time, it was me who had to come up for air. His eyes fluttered open as I gently laid his head down on the cushion underneath it. I swung my leg over his body so I was no longer straddling him, and cozied up next to him.

He was studying my face. “What-”

“Shh,” I said, before he could get anything else out. I placed my thumb on his lips, tracing over them. “Let’s just get some sleep.”

He looked down at me as I rested my head on his chest. His look of slight confusion turned to one of adoration. I couldn’t remember the last time, the last person, who looked at me like that and it made me feel all warm. I curled into him, wrapping my arm around him. In turn, he brought his own arm around me, settling it on my waist. His breathing steadied and the next time I looked up at him, he was asleep. Spencer’s face looked peaceful, making him look more beautiful than ever. I smiled to myself, finding comfort in the constant rise and fall of his chest, sleep dragging me under to the soothing sound of his heartbeat.