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leapyearkisses · 6 years ago

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Long Ride Home

This is a commission for @vanillaslayer of her awesome twin OCs Edan and Eliott! I’m really very flattered that she asked me to write about them, omg. I had an awesome time! Please go read all her stuff about them, because it’s amazing!

~Please consider commissioning me! Commissions are OPEN~

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“You sure you don’t want to catch a later flight?” Edan looked up from his phone where he was answering a few business-related emails last-minute. “Because I think we can still push it back.” He looked over at Eliott, who was sitting across from him in the uncomfortable airport waiting room chairs, and frowned. Somehow, even with a sweater and a hoodie on, his brother still looked cold.

Eliott shook his head. “It’s okay. I mean, we’re already here. And Mom will worry.” He sank further down in his seat. Somewhere down the terminal, the gate attendants were making the final announcements for a flight to Detroit. Their flight home was supposed to start boarding in ten minutes. He pressed a sleeve-covered hand over his mouth and tried not to cough. It was only going to be a few hours in the air, and then he’d be free to crawl into bed and not come out until he felt better. He just had to hold it together until then. He’d flown with a cold before; it would be fine.

“I think she’s going to worry anyway. You look like shit.” Edan stowed his phone in his backpack. “And she’s going to give me flak for letting you travel like that.”

“Fuck off,” Eliott mumbled. “You’re not in charge of me. I’m not your responsibility.”

Edan pointed a finger at him. “You wouldn’t let me travel like that.”

“You’d be dying,” Eliott retorted. “I don’t even have a fever.” Well. He hadn’t this morning. He was feeling quite a bit worse now than he had then, but he’d told his brother he’d taken some medicine before they left for the airport. He hadn’t meant to lie about that… he’d just somehow misplaced the Dayquil, and the pills he’d tried to take instead had just made him gag them back into the sink. He rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted. “Sorry. I just want to get going so I can sleep.”

“Yeah, I know.” Edan checked his boarding pass. “I’ll let you have the window seat. But you’d better not snore.”

Eliott tried to sniff back some of the congestion in his head and closed his eyes. “No more than you do.”

---

They were seated back in economy class – the music money wasn’t rolling in in such great amounts that they could splurge on seats – and Eliott tried to suppress a shiver of distaste. He was so gross right now, and there were so many people. He had to climb over the lap of the woman who had the aisle seat in their row, and he just wanted to apologize for his whole being. He was sure she could see how red his nose was and hear the rattle in his breath. At least Edan was in the middle seat to act as a bit of a buffer, but Eliott tugged the hood of his sweatshirt close around his face anyway. He had tissues in his pocket, but he wanted to avoid using them as much as possible. If he could just fall asleep, then he felt he’d be all right.

Unfortunately, his insomnia had, predictably, kicked in when he started feeling under the weather, and he just couldn’t get comfortable. Edan rubbed his shoulder for a bit, but it didn’t help, and eventually he’d just pushed his brother away. He wound up slumped in his seat, staring at the dark screen on the back of the chair in front of him, feeling like he’d been hit by a truck. Then he felt his nose start to itch.

Nooo… He might have said it out loud, mumbling into the collar of his sweater. The last thing he needed was to start sneezing. It just wasn’t going to be pretty. Still, he could feel the slow shift of congestion in his right nostril, a drip getting ready to fall and stirring up dissent wherever it touched. He scrunched his nose and felt the spill of moisture down his lip. His face heated and he hurried to pull out a tissue. He blew his nose gently at first, trying to be quiet, but the soft passage of air bloomed a tickle deep in his nose, and he had to blow harder to try and stave it off. Despite his best effort, though, he felt his breath catch insistently, and he bent forward into his cupped hands. “Hh- hhdtzch’ue!” He caught most of the resulting wet in the tissue, but he could feel he wasn’t done. He pinched his nose. “Nndztxck!” Ow…

Edan slapped him on the shoulder. “Cut it out! That sounds gives me the creeps. Not to mention you’re going to explode your ears.” He watched Eliott pull out another tissue and try to blow again. He lowered his voice. “If you’re worried about her-” he jerked his head to the left toward their row mate “- Don’t. She’s listening to music so loudly I can tell who the cover artist is.”

Eliott crumpled the used tissues and shoved them into his front pocket, coughing into his sleeve. “It’s not just her,” he said. “Everyone on this plane is going to wonder if they’ll catch this cold.” He felt small and bothersome. And chilled. He thought he might have spiked a fever after all.

“Fuck ‘em,” Edan quipped. He reached under his seat and tugged up his airline-issued blanket. He slit open the plastic cover and then went about unfolding the blanket on top of Eliott. “You can’t help being sick.” Even though they were in their early twenties now, he still tucked the corners around Eliott’s shoulders like he’d used to do when they were kids. “We’ve got another few hours. You want to watch a movie?”

Eliott shook his head. “I’m just going to chill.” Normally, he would have loved to, but he didn’t want to put on headphones right now and risk letting his sneezes get too loud without him knowing. He crossed his arms under the blanket and leaned against the wall of the plane.

“If you say so.” Edan didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. He went back to his laptop, doing whatever it was he’d been involved in before. Probably composing, since he slipped his good headphones on a moment later. Eliott closed his eyes and tried to zone out, thinking about their next music video.

---

He must have actually fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes again, the plane was dark except for isolated pockets where people had their reading lights on. He didn’t know what time it was or how soon they’d be landing, but he hoped it wasn’t long. His head had started to ache dully, and he felt sweat pooling under his arms despite feeling frozen even in his layers. Great. Might not be just a cold after all, which was the last thing he needed. He didn’t want to have to spend his visit burritoed on the couch while Edan went out with their parents. He didn’t even want to stream when he felt like this, even if he could somehow mute every cough or sneeze.

Eliott tried to straighten up, wincing. Beside him, Edan had also passed out, head tilting and mouth open gently. Eliott reached over stiffly and closed his laptop. He thought about getting up and trying to find a flight attendant to get some tea, but he didn’t really want to talk to anyone… or move. And his nose had started to itch again. He pinched it with a quiet squelch and fumbled for his tissues again, but the first sneeze he ended up catching in his palm. “Hah- hdztsciueh!” It was horribly wet, and he felt himself flushing in miserable embarrassment. He crushed a wad of tissues against his nose for the next one. “Hh’huhdztschiu!”

Someone in a row behind him uttered a polite blessing, but he could feel he wasn’t done. The inside of his nostrils felt inflamed and thick, yet sensitive to every fluctuation in his breath. It was almost as bad as the fall when the ragweed was in full swing. Even rubbing his nose through the tissues offered little relief, and he moaned helplessly as another sneeze snuck up on him, too quick to try and stifle. “Huhdztschx! Ngktdzcht!” His head throbbed.

Beside him, Edan startled awake with a confused sound. “Huhn? El?” He rubbed an eye, then pawed around in his seat-back pocket for his own travel pack of tissues, which he dropped onto Eliott’s thigh. “Here. Bless you.” He yawned but tried to hold it back. “You okay?”

“I’m sick,” mumbled Eliott before blowing his nose. He didn’t even care about the sound anymore. He just wanted to be home.

“No kidding.” Edan sighed. “Well, can’t be too much longer now.” And, as he said it, the seatbelt sign popped on over their heads and the captain’s voice crackled through the cabin.

“Folks, we’re starting our approach now. It’s about 10:30 PM local time. We’ll be landing just ahead of schedule.”

“The captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign,” said a flight attendant, coming primly down the aisle. “Please return to your seats, buckle your seatbelts, and prepare for landing.”

Edan stuck his laptop back into its case in his bag and pushed it under the seat in front of him. “See?” he said, patting Eliott’s shoulder. “Almost there.”

---

Their parents were waiting for them at baggage claim, and Edan must have texted them while Eliott was in the bathroom, since they’d brought him a hot cup of tea from Starbucks. He sipped it gratefully and didn’t protest when his dad took his suitcase for him. He tried not to zone out on the way to the car. Still, faced now with the familiar sights and sounds of his hometown, he walked mechanically, following Edan without thinking about it. In the back seat of his dad’s car, he found himself blinking groggily at the surprise of a cool hand on his forehead.

“You’re burning up,” said his mother, sounding fretful. Her eyebrows were furrowed over gentle brown eyes that matched her sons’. “I’ll stop by the pharmacy after we get you home. Edan, you should have called.”

“He could have called,” Edan said, getting into the back seat beside his brother, but he sounded concerned, too. He reached over and made sure Eliott’s seatbelt was buckled. “He was more or less fine yesterday. Do you want me to go to the pharmacy instead? It’s late. I don’t mind driving.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ll do it. You’re visiting, too.” Mom got into the passenger seat. “I’m just not sure if we have something he can take.”

“I might have something in the car, here,” said his dad. “Could you look?” He pulled out of the parking garage. Edan started to rummage in the center console.

Eliott tuned them out. There was no denying he felt awful, but at least he was on the ground now, and he was with his family. He closed his eyes. Vaguely he could feel Edan poking him in the shoulder with a medicine bottle, but the sensation was fading away as he slipped back into sleep.

---

“Why?” Eliott said, waving his phone at Edan from the couch. The cold cloth on the back of his neck slipped down and he slapped at it. “Why would you do this to me?”

“What?” Edan chuckled. “It doesn’t show, like, snot or anything.” He flopped down in the armchair with a bowl of popcorn. “I had to let our fans know why I pushed back the video this week.”

“You could have just told them.” Eliott scowled at the photo Edan had posted to their blog of him, all curled up in bed with a hand over his face. “I’m going to get you back for this.”

“Relax,” said Edan through a mouthful of butter and salt. “Are you going to pick the movie, or can I? Because I’m not going to wait forever.”

“Jerk,” Eliott tossed his phone to the side and grabbed the remote.

He felt a deep satisfaction several months later when he uploaded the video of Edan’s nostril piercing.

#snz #lyk writes #lyk commissions #other people's ocs #vanillaslayer #OMG I seriously had such a blast writing this #thank you!!!

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starryknight09 · 6 years ago

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Whatever It Takes Ch. 4/?

Summary: Peter’s struggling to cope after the loss of Mr. Stark. Everyone keeps telling him it’ll get better and that he needs to move on, but Peter doesn’t want to. He can’t envision a life without his mentor. So when an idea comes to him, he doesn’t hesitate, no matter how crazy it is. He’s going to get Mr. Stark back.

“What exactly are we going to do?” Ned asked.

“Whatever it takes.” Peter answered.

Read on AO3

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“What do you want me to make for dinner?” May asked from the kitchen.

“I’m not hungry.” Peter answered in a monotone as he sat on the couch staring blankly at the television. It was on but he didn’t have the attention span or the energy to watch it. He had no idea what was even playing.

“You need to eat something.” May argued. “I know you didn’t eat lunch and all you ate for breakfast was that granola bar I had to force down your throat.”

“I’m not hungry.” He said again, more forcefully.

May sighed heavily and walked back into the living room. He didn’t turn away from the TV.

“Honey you need to eat.”

Peter kept staring straight ahead.

“Tony wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself.” May said. Why was everyone telling him that lately?

“It doesn’t matter what he’d want. He’s dead.” He said, voice emotionless. The words should’ve hurt to say but they didn’t. He was too numb. Everything felt completely numb.

“Honey.” May said sadly and sat down next to him. “Look at me please.”

Peter sighed but did as she asked and turned to look at her.

“I know you’re hurting but you still have to take care of yourself.” May said with sad eyes. “You need to eat.”

She cupped his cheek. “You’ve been losing weight baby.”

He knew that. He hadn’t weighed himself but he’d noticed his clothes had started fitting looser.

“I haven’t been hungry.” He argued weakly.

“I know honey and that’s what grief does, but you still have to eat. If not for yourself, then for me? Ok? Can you try?”

He nodded. He hated making her worry about him.

“Thank you.” May smiled. “Come here.”

She pulled him into a hug and he returned it without hesitation.

“I just miss him.” He whispered the confession into her hair.

“I know.” May whispered back.

She kissed the side of his cheek and said knowingly, “But it’ll get better. You know it will.”

He knew they were both thinking about Ben. About how hard it’d been after his death too. How neither of them had wanted to eat. How pretty much every day had been a struggle. How it had hurt so much it’d felt like slowly burning alive. But somehow they’d survived it. It had gotten better. Peter knew this hurt had to eventually get better too, but he couldn’t make himself believe it.

“Ok.” May said as she let go of him and sat back. “How about I make spaghetti for dinner? You like spaghetti.”

She looked so earnest, so hopeful he’d eat. He couldn’t disappoint her.

“Actually, can we order Thai?” He asked hesitantly. “It sounds…kind of good.”

May beamed. “Absolutely. Thai it is. You want your usual?”

He nodded. He figured he could choke down some Pad See Ew if it’d make her feel better.

She got up to grab her phone from the kitchen counter and he called softly after her, “Thanks May.”

“No problem sweetie.” She said back.

He and May had started eating Thai after Ben had died. It’d been one of the only foods his uncle hated, so they’d never really eaten it. It’d been safe from triggering memories. He was pretty sure it was all they’d been able to stomach for weeks after his death. And then, over time, it’d become his and May’s thing. Eating Thai. He’d almost forgotten that’s how it had started. It was the same reason he and May never ate fried chicken anymore. Because it’d been Ben’s favorite. They never talked about. They just never ate it again. He wondered if there were any foods he wouldn’t be able to eat now because they’d remind him too much of Tony. As soon as he thought it, the answer immediately came to mind. Shawarma.

He didn’t know how people reasonably expected him to move on when reminders of what he’d lost kept popping up everywhere. He ached constantly with a phantom pain, like he’d had a limb cut off and forgot he’d lost it until he went to use it again and it was gone.

Something funny would happen at school that he knew Mr. Stark would enjoy and he’d think he needed to tell him about it, but then he’d remember he couldn’t. He’d never get a chance to tell the man funny stories or hear him laugh again.

After school, he’d walk down the steps and reflexively look for Happy’s car because for a split second he’d forget there’d never be any more workshop evenings or weekends hanging out with Mr. Stark.

He’d pull out his phone on the subway on the way to school in the morning and click on Tony’s name, ready to send him a morning message like he always did, before he’d remember. No matter how many messages he sent Mr. Stark, he’d never get a reply. So he’d put his phone away and spend the rest of the ride struggling to hold back tears.

He wondered if Tony had gone through something similar when he’d been gone, but he didn’t have the heart to ask anyone about it. Knowing wouldn’t help anyway, it’d probably only make it hurt worse.

Months passed.

It didn’t get better.

He barely ate except for when someone forced him to. Food turned to ash in his mouth. Nothing tasted good. His appetite remained non-existent. He spent more days than not dizzy and not quite with it. He knew he was still losing weight. His clothes had gone from a little loose to borderline falling off of him. He knew he couldn’t keep going on like this. But he also didn’t care.

The suffocating loss and memories hounded him all day and the nightmares and insomnia haunted him all night. He went through the motions at school, somehow keeping his grades up amidst his fog. It was probably the main reason no one had staged an actual intervention yet. They probably figured if he could still do well in school, he must not be as bad as he seemed. He was falling apart, but somehow still keeping it together.

He spent more and more time out as Spiderman. He figured if he wasn’t going to sleep, like he hadn’t been able to tonight, he might as well do something useful. He liked to think it’s what Mr. Stark would’ve wanted. For him to keep fighting the fight. To keep helping people. When the man couldn’t be there to do it himself. Or maybe that was just Peter’s wishful thinking to alleviate the guilt he felt whenever he donned the suit Mr. Stark had made for him.

“Peter it is now three hours past the curfew Mr. Stark set for you.” Karen reminded him cheerfully, interrupting his morose thoughts as he sat on the roof ledge of one of the taller buildings in Midtown. He’d been patrolling all over the city lately instead of exclusively in Queens because he’d been going out as Spiderman more and wanted to help as many people as possible. It wasn’t at all because he felt an odd magnetic pull toward Mr. Stark’s old Tower.

“I know Karen.” Peter rolled his eyes. “It’s not like it matters. There’s no one you can tattletale to anymore.”

Silence in response.

“Sorry.” He mumbled.

“I recommend you return home to sleep. Due to your fatigue, your reaction times have been 0.2 seconds slower tonight than usual. I have noted a gradual progressive increase in this delay over the past week.” Karen told him.

Sounded about right. He wasn’t surprised. It’d been a long night. A long week really. He’d barely been sleeping and it was currently three in the morning.

When he didn’t respond, Karen added, “I am concerned for your wellbeing Peter.”

“Yeah well join the club.” He muttered. It’s all he heard from everyone lately. They were worried. They wanted to talk. They wanted to help. And now apparently even the AI in his suit was in on it.

“Your safety is my primary objective.” Karen continued. “It has not escaped my notice that lately your behavior has become increasingly erratic and you have been taking more unacceptable risks.”

Peter snorted.

“I’m fine Karen.” He lied.

She didn’t give him any sort of rebuttal even though she had to know he was lying. He didn’t know if that was better or worse.

He sighed and conceded, “All right. Fine. I’m going home. Happy?”

“Very.” Karen said as he stood.

Could AI’s be ‘very’ happy? Could they even be happy at all? Karen sure seemed like she had emotions, but it was probably all just a trick of programming. Mr. Stark’s genius incarnated.

He took a breath and jumped. He webbed from building to building mindlessly. Because of the height of the buildings in Midtown, he was so high up it almost felt like flying. He should like it. He should feel something. But he didn’t. Why couldn’t he feel anything? He just wanted to feel something. Anything besides this accursed numbness.

He released his web but instead of shooting off the next one to attach to the subsequent building, he held off. And let himself fall.

“Peter is there something wrong with your webshooter?” Karen asked after only a second of freefall.

He didn’t respond. He closed his eyes as his body sliced soundlessly through the air. He still felt nothing. No thrill of excitement or enjoyment. Only the familiar all encompassing numbness.

The ground grew closer. It happened slowly but fast at the same time.

“Peter.” Karen warned.

Still nothing. No jolt of fear.

His viewscreen started flashing warnings. About terminal velocity and how fatal collision was imminent.

“Peter you must deploy your webshooter.” Karen ordered, practically yelling. He didn’t even know she could do that.

He supposed he should. He straightened his arm out in front of him. And hesitated. He didn’t actually have to. He could just…not.

He could be done. Just give up. He could see Mr. Stark again.

But May would be sad. And if he did see Mr. Stark, how could he ever explain himself? Heroes didn’t kill themselves. Unless they needed to do it in order to save the world. And then they called it sacrifice.

“Peter!” Karen yelled in warning.

He gasped. He didn’t actually want to die. He didn’t. He fumbled jerkily with his webshooter and managed to shoot it in time to catch onto a nearby building. As it tightened, the force yanked his shoulder painfully.

He let out a small cry. But the web held and he swung through the trough of the arc. As he started swinging back up again, he realized how dangerously close he was to the ground. There weren’t a lot of options for where to attach another web. He shot one out frantically at a nearby building but in the next second he saw the trajectory would bring him through an alley to smash straight into a brick wall at the end of it.

There was only one thing he could do.

He was moving too fast and only a few feet off the ground as he released his web. He landed on the asphalt and rolled almost the entire distance of the alleyway before he slammed into a dumpster near the end and came to an abrupt stop.

Ouch. He groaned. Everything hurt. But he wasn’t dead. His chest heaved in huge gulps of air. He turned his head and saw he’d left a huge dent in the dumpster, nearly crushing it in half. Sorry New York waste management.

He stayed on his back, gasping, trying to catch his breath like a fish out of water as he stared up at the black night sky. Karen remained conspicuously silent. She was probably mad at him. Her only communication with him was an injury report that flashed across the screen. He glanced at it briefly and dismissed it. Nothing life threatening. His momentary lapse wasn’t going to end up killing him after all.

Adrenaline fled his body, leaving him shaky, as the reality of what had almost just happened hit him. He’d almost died. He’d really almost just killed himself. Holy shit. His entire body started vibrating with fine tremors as a delayed fear response washed over him.

A hysterical laugh bubbled up past his lips. He’d almost just died, but he finally felt something for the first time in forever. Even if that something was terror. Once the laughter started, he couldn’t seem to get it to stop. Was this what a mental breakdown felt like?

As he giggled nonsensically at the sky, he realized some part of him was still waiting for Mr. Stark’s fear filled angry phone call. Waiting for the man to tell him he was on his way because he’d gotten hurt. Waiting for him to tell him off because he’d done something stupid. Again. But Mr. Stark wasn’t coming. Because Mr. Stark was gone.

And it’d been almost six months now since Mr. Stark’s death. Rationally he knew the man was gone. He knew it. He did. The moments of forgetting were getting fewer and farther between. But for some reason it didn’t seem to solidly hit him until now. Until this moment.

Mr. Stark didn’t know what he’d almost just done and that he was lying here bleeding in an alley. No one knew. No one was coming to help him. Spiderman was all alone.

The crazed laughing caught in his throat and the next second he was crying. Deep, gut wrenching sobs. He rolled over onto his side and curled into a ball even though it aggravated his injuries. He cried and cried and cried.

It’d been almost six months, and Peter Parker knew that Tony Stark was gone but this was the moment Spiderman truly realized it as well.

It felt like losing Mr. Stark all over again.

The next night, Peter laid in bed, wide awake. He’d gone to his room two hours earlier but sleep had evaded him. He couldn’t patrol because his entire body was still one giant bruise and he was pretty sure he still had a few broken bones and a concussion after his crash into the alley the night before.

He’d thought about going out anyway but after his brush with death yesterday, going out this injured seemed too close to trying to repeat the same scenario in a different way. He stared tiredly at the ceiling. He’d been a zombie all day, unable to focus. Had he really tried to kill himself last night? Or had it been a mistake? A brief error in judgement?

He heard May on the phone in the living room.

“I don’t know what to do Happy. He’s not coping. I’ve tried talking to him, but he won’t talk to me.” May said quietly, obviously trying to keep from being overheard. “It’s been months and he’s not getting any better. He’s not sleeping. I can barely get him to eat. He’s still not-he’s not…Peter.”

May fell silent. Happy was probably saying something back. Peter rolled over and tried to bury his head under his pillow. He didn’t want to hear this. Stupid super hearing. May knew he had it, but she probably thought he was asleep. Rightly so. He should be asleep. He wished he could sleep. He hated this new insomnia that had plagued him ever since the battle with Thanos.

At first he’d wondered if it was a side effect of coming back from the snap, a result of some kind of mistake when his molecules had coalesced back together again. But no one else had a similar problem. Ned still slept like a baby. So he knew it wasn’t from that. It had to be from the trauma of everything, which was also probably the reason why what little sleep he did get now was usually nightmare ridden.

“I know. I know. I just…I don’t know how to help him.” He heard May say and he could hear the tremble in her voice. She was trying not to cry. God. He sat up and grabbed his headphones off his nightstand. Before he could hear anything else he plugged them into his phone and started blasting his music, washing out any more of her conversation.

He told himself it was because she deserved her privacy, not because he didn’t need any more guilt piled onto him for things he couldn’t seem to help.

He closed his eyes and tried in vain to fall asleep as the music pounded in his ears.

Peter laid on the couch, watching something mindless on TV. He wasn’t even sure what it was. May had been watching it before she left for work and once he’d flopped down on the couch after breakfast, he’d been too exhausted to search for the remote to change it, so he’d just left it on. Fatigue plagued him. The three hours of fragmented sleep he’d gotten last night definitely hadn’t been enough.

Whatever the show was, it was boring. He closed his eyes. Maybe he could rest on the couch. Maybe a change in scenery would make a difference and he’d be able to sleep here. But the moment he decided to try it, someone knocked on the door.

Peter ignored it. He wasn’t expecting anyone. A delivery person probably had the wrong apartment. They’d figure it out. Half a minute passed and when Peter figured the person had left, the knock came again. Dammit. He was actually going to have to get up.

He dragged himself to his feet and trudged over to the door. The knock resounded again.

“I’m coming. I’m coming.” He grumbled as he unlocked the door and opened it.

And came face to face with Happy.

Peter frowned. “Um…hi?”

“You going to invite me in?” Happy complained, impatient.

“Uh yeah sure. Come in.” He stepped aside to let him in and closed the door behind him. “Um did I…know you were coming over? And forget?”

He became keenly aware that he was still dressed in his flannel pajama pants and a white t-shirt even though it was almost noon. He hadn’t brushed his teeth yet either. Or his hair. He ran a hand through it, trying to calm the wild waves.

“No kid. Your aunt asked me to come over.” Happy answered as they both stood awkwardly just inside the doorway.

“She did? Why?”

“She’s worried about you.” Happy said, not mincing the words.

Right. May had called Happy last night. He didn’t think that meant the man would actually come over.

“And how’s that your problem?” Peter scoffed and walked away, back toward the couch. He didn’t want to have this conversation. Not with May. Not with Happy. Not with anyone.

“Because it is.” Happy said, following him. “Anything to do with you is my problem.”

“Why?” He sniped and flopped heavily back down onto the couch.

“You know why.” Happy answered gravely and Peter looked away.

Happy kept staring down at him from where he stood, arms crossed. If he’d been able to feel anything lately it might’ve made him feel vulnerable, but it didn’t.

“Well don’t worry, I relieve you of any misplaced responsibility you feel towards me.” Peter said.

Happy didn’t move.

“That means you can go.” Peter grit out at him.

“I’m not leaving.” Happy said.

Peter rolled his eyes. “You know you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to pretend to care about me all of a sudden out of some kind of stupid guilt complex.”

“I’m not pretending.” Happy replied, sounding angry about it.

“You don’t have to lie to me and you don’t have to do whatever this is.” Peter waved a hand between them. “He’s not actually here. He’s not going to know if you help me or not. Because he’s dead.”

Happy honest to god flinched, but he recovered quickly.

“You’re right.” Happy nodded. “Tony’s dead. And it sucks. I get it kid. I do. You think I’m not hurting? You think you’re the only one?”

Peter glared at his feet, avoiding looking at Happy.

Happy sighed.

“I know it’s hard.” The man continued. “But there’s nothing we can do about it. We have to figure out how to move on. You have to figure out how to move on.”

“Maybe I can’t.” Peter said, voice dead.

Happy sighed heavily again and sat down on the coffee table, leaning forward so they were almost face to face and Peter was forced to meet his gaze.

“You think this is what he would’ve wanted?” Happy asked. “For you to live out the rest of your life miserable?”

Peter shrugged.

“Because it’s not. I can tell you that for sure. He only wanted the best for you. He cared about you kid. And by doing this, by refusing to even try to move on, you’re spitting his sacrifice in the face.”

He knew Happy was right. He knew he couldn’t keep going like this. It wasn’t living. But he didn’t know what to do about it.

I almost killed myself the other night. It was on the tip of his tongue to confess. It felt like the right moment, the best way to hammer home how bad he was doing, but he held back. He couldn’t tell Happy that. Everyone would freak out. And he had it under control. He did. He hadn’t gone out as Spiderman since.

“I don’t know how to move on.” He admitted instead, voice cracking. He looked down at his lap, embarrassed. “I-I don’t know what to do.”

He dropped his face into his hands. The tears were back.

Happy moved to sit on the couch next to him and tugged him against his side in a one armed hug, hand tangling roughly in his hair.

“We’ll help you.” Happy said softly. “We’re here for you kid. You’re not alone. But you have to talk to us. You can’t keep shutting everyone out.”

“I just miss him so much.” He sniffled.

“I know. God I know kid. I miss him too. Everyday.” Happy said, sounding close to tears himself.

Peter turned his head into Happy’s chest and sniffled, letting Happy hold him. They sat there together for a few minutes until Peter gathered himself well enough to pull away.

“Thanks.” He mumbled quietly and ducked his head.

Happy ruffled his hair and stood. “Come on. Go get dressed and I’ll take you out to lunch. My treat.”

Peter gave him a shadow of a smile and got up to go change.

When he came back out in jeans and an old AC/DC t-shirt he’d pilfered from Tony’s closet a few weeks ago, Happy was waiting for him by the door.

“Nice shirt.” Happy commented with a little nod of his head.

“Thanks.” Peter said. “I stole it.”

“I know.” Happy opened the door for him and they left.

“Where are we going?” Peter asked after he’d locked the door behind them.

“You tell me. What sounds good?”

“Cheeseburgers?” He suggested. For some reason that sounded amazing right now. It was the first time in a long time he could remember having an actual appetite for something.

Happy snorted but his eyes glistened. “Of course. Cheeseburgers it is. I know just the place.”

“Thanks Happy.” He said earnestly. He hoped the man knew he wasn’t thanking him only for the cheeseburgers.

Happy didn’t respond, but he slung a loose arm around Peter’s shoulders as they walked out together. It wasn’t the same as when Tony did it, but it gave him some level of comfort all the same. Maybe just maybe Happy was right and he could eventually figure out how to be ok again.

#my fic

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sl-c · 7 years ago

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Are you okay sim ? What's going on x

Ok let’s talk.

Firstly, I am so goddamn sorry I wrote that message & put that negative worrying energy out there. For the many sweet souls that sent me messages asking if I was ok, thank you so much for caring & words can’t do justice how sincerely sorry I am to have made anyone worry. I know it’s so unlike me to be down like this, but I’m trying my damn best to get through this & keep my chin up.

In terms of what’s going on, there’s just so much. Personally, my anxiety is just at the worst state it’s been in years. It crept up on me & hit hard, but I’m doing just about everything I can right now to get it back to a tolerable stage. Aside from that basically all my loved ones (family, closest friends etc) are going through intense hardship as well & it’s just happening all at once - a terminally ill family member, break in the family, friend hospitalised, friend’s mum I think teetering towards death again, another friend positive for pre-cancerous cells, friend having an abortion, friend dealing with legal shit, friend having to look after his entire family as they fall to pieces over a devastating incident etc etc.

I’m there for everyone & I'm not saying that’s a burden or I wish it any other way but what I’m finding so damn challenging is understanding why such horrible, terrible things happen to such good people. Why people so deserving, so loved, so good, so beautiful, so caring & so amazing, have to go through such fucking horrible things in their lives. Not only that but of course it’s just heart-breaking to see the people you care about most go through such pain, such struggle, such torment & not be able to do anything. I’m also overly empathetic which isn’t helping the situation. Fuck my own problems, if I could do something to stop their struggles right now, not matter how hard, how challenging, how horrible I’d do it in a heart beat. It just all seems so unfair sometimes.

Although I’m really use to helping people through tough times - in fact I feel as though helping others is pretty much my purpose in this universe - I feel as though there’s too much going on all at once & the types of issues they’re going through are mostly internal in which case there really isn’t much I can do apart from be physically, spiritually & verbally supportive while I watch them drown in sufferance. Meanwhile I forget to/don’t prioritise dealing with my anxiety, my insomnia is back, my relationship with my immediate family is forever dying & as of yesterday the one relationship in my life that was doing ok, in fact what I thought was actually doing amazingly, has taken a complete 360 because that person is struggling to deal with their severe issues as well & now I feel so broken that I don’t know what to do & I don’t want to talk to my friends because they’ve got enough shit going on & well everything is just a shit show.

BUT with that all said, I’m ok. Right now I’m just taking it day to day. Please don’t mistake this for a cry for sympathy because it’s not, this is me being transparent (like I’ve always tried to be on here) & say that hey right now isn’t a good time for me - yes, most of the time I’m a bubbly, hyper-active & even obnoxiously happy person, but right now shit is pretty tough BUT I’m doing my best to get through it & if I can, so can you. I'm actually excited. Excited for things to get better. Excited for the though that there is something so amazingly good in the future, because otherwise life wouldn’t throw such horror our ways. I just hope it comes sooner rather than later & not just for me, but for everyone around, god I hope the people around me strop suffering. It’s all I want.

So there you have it. That’s a brief, written on the spot kind of idea of what is going on right now.

With all of that said I always want to say a few things:

for whatever reason, despite how horrible yesterday was, something has felt profoundly different today. I feel as though a new energy has taken over & I can feel the good vibrations coming. I’ve actually had a pretty good day & I’m really excited again, not for anything in particular, but just the good I feel coming so everyone get excited

with the whole eating eggs thing, I’ve given up. I haven’t been able to do. I still stand by everything I said with regard to doing what is best for you so if sometimes in the future I feel the need & can get myself to have eggs the maybe I will, but regardless of if I do or not I still 100% believe in everything veganism entails. If you’re interested in this discussion make sure to read all my previous responses over the last 2 weeks or so

thanks again to everyone who has been here for me. I honestly feel like the people who follow me on here, especially those of you who really engage and/or have been following for some time, know me better than a lot of people & it’s really comforting to know that I have such a supportive group of people on here who really do care. Sometimes you guys are the most supportive people I have & sometimes this is the only place I feel safe enough tho fully express myself, so thank you all so much for creating such a respectful, caring & loving place.

please don’t feel like you can’t message me with your own issues or things going on with you just because i’m going through something. Helping others is what keeps me motivated, is what keeps me fuelled & is what gives me purpose. I have had so many experiences & have so much honest raw advice at all times, so please, please, PLEASE never hesitate to hit that message button

sending so much love to you all that it physically hurts me xxxxxxxxx

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floraexplorer · 7 years ago

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Both My Parents Died Before I Turned 30. Here’s How I Deal With Grief.

It’s not easy losing both your parents in your twenties.

And the grief? It’s a sucker punch to the gut.

It’s like a sharp-toothed creature inside your chest. Like a waning chasm crawling up your throat. Like an animal barrelling through your ribcage.

Grief is lethargic. It has an insatiable appetite. It fills you up with fury, sucks you into quicksand, and buries you under mounds of duvet covers. It sneaks suddenly around corners and reduces you to tears in seconds.

In other words? Grief is a complicated beast.

But grief is also absolutely fundamental. It’s the recovery process of how we mentally and physically deal with the loss of a loved one.

I should know. I’ve been doing it for ten years already, and I’ve just had to start from square one again.

First Mum, then Dad: two deaths in ten years

In January 2009, two months before I turned 21, my mum died from a sudden, unexpected recurrence of cancer. It was quick and brutal: the time from terminal diagnosis to her death was just two weeks.

I didn’t understand what had happened, and neither did my dad. I was at university at the time, and a week after the funeral I numbly went back to class because I had no clue what else to do.

Fast forward eight years to March 2017, when my dad’s lung fibrosis got so bad he stayed in hospital for a month and had a pacemaker fitted. My friends all told me to be positive, but I knew from the doctors expressions and from my dad’s increasing exhaustion that this was it. Death was going to happen again, and it was going to be soon.

In October 2017 my dad passed away. This time around we were ‘ready’ – as much as you ever can be – and because I’d met death before, I reasoned it might be easier.

Nope.

Coping with my dad’s death has been an entirely new experience. Now I feel rudderless: with no parents or siblings I am officially the only living member of my family, and my entire identity feels irrevocably different.

And yet? As a daughter mourning her mother then her father, I know just how common this scenario actually is – and the importance of understanding how to navigate grief.

What I’ve learned about grief

The vast majority of us will have to face the death of our parents: I’ve just been dealt it earlier in life than most. So now I’m writing about the ways I’ve seen my grief and tried my best to tame it, because if I can help just one person dealing with something similar it’ll be worth the work.

And if you are reading this from a place of grief, I’m so sorry.

I see you. I’m here for you. And I promise you it’s going to get better.

There are laws that follow death

When my mum died I wasn’t responsible for any of the ‘death-admin’ – but I had to do everything for my dad. Luckily he was a very pragmatic person, so we’d gone through all his finances beforehand (what bank accounts he had, how much was in them, which direct debits came out of which accounts etc) and it saved me a huge amount of stress.

To keep track, I kept a document open on my laptop which was added to daily, and also had a notebook where I jotted down every important bit of information from numerous phone calls. I also recorded a lot of calls with an app on my phone, because I knew I’d forget virtually everything the minute I hung up.

That’s due to the shock. There’s a lot you’re expected to be able to do, all of which feels like a joke. But the most important legal practicalities which need to be done are these:

Getting a death certificate from a doctor

Registering the death at the local registry office

Deciding whether or not to see ‘the body’

Finding a funeral director (and paying them a huge amount of money)

Choosing a funeral date & time and telling everyone

Contacting the banks and utility providers to let them know

Finding the will

Arranging a funeral is both ridiculous and an oddly useful distraction

Making funeral decisions feels utterly surreal. This person was alive just days ago and now someone is asking you about coffin wood colours – but the quicker you get this organised and off your plate, the better. These decisions are one-time-only, which is a relief.

The biggest issues to face:

Burial or cremation?

Open casket or not? (this isn’t too common in the UK)

Religious service or not?

Who’s going to speak at the funeral? Readings, eulogy etc

Will there be a wake? If so, where/when/do you need to reserve a space?

Remember that you’re absolutely allowed to ask for help with all of these decisions. At one point I was so overwhelmed when someone started pressuring me about which hymns to choose for my dad’s service – so I asked a family friend (who knows her hymns) to give me a list of five and I chose my three favourites. Same with funeral readings: I knew I wanted to do my dad’s eulogy and knew who should do the readings but I didn’t know what – so I just asked them to decide.

This rings true for needing physical support during this time too. Ask someone to go with you to all these places — the funeral home, the church to plan the service, the graveyard, the banks. It’s worth having a second pair of ears digesting all the info you’re given, because grief is a great memory zapper.

After the funeral is over, time begins to feel somewhat warped

This is perhaps when true realisation begins to set in: that this person you loved has actually gone. There are days which seem to disappear, and minutes which feel like hours. You might find yourself in the kitchen and not remember how you got there.

This is grief beginning to show itself.

It can be scary, all-encompassing, overwhelming – a whole host of buzzwords which never quite fit, and also WHO CARES because you can’t believe what’s happening to you.

People do care. You care. You’re going to be nicer to yourself now than you’ve ever been. And you’re absolutely going to get through this.

Identify your support network and guard it fiercely

In any recovery process, a good support network is invaluable. With no parents I feel acutely vulnerable, and sometimes I worry that my friends can never replicate the love my parents gave me.

But they’re my friends for a reason. They know and love me in a different way to my parents. They’re able to share the emotional weight of supporting me, and they can buoy me up in ways I don’t expect.

They’re able to help with the unforeseen admin that starts to pop up. Unexpected phone calls from that one distant relative you forgot to tell, who’s devastated they missed the funeral; the car insurance company who claim they’re still owed money and demand to speak to your late father.

However, some people are unsure if you’re in need of their help. If these friends and family somehow aren’t aware you regard them as part of your support system, tell them!

Try to assuage any feelings of guilt – you deserve ANYTHING that makes you happy right now

The first few months after Dad’s death I spent more on Deliveroo than I think I ever have. My ability to buy groceries, much less cook them, went totally out of the window – but I gave myself a complete free pass.

Comfort food and online shopping are two things I can recommend for a shallow rush of endorphins on a regular basis. Just avoid looking at your bank balance for a while (and when you do, remember it’s just money. You’ll earn it back eventually).

Other helpful ‘happy-making’ activities could be incense, candles, new bedding, softer lighting: basically anything to make your living space as comfortable and nurturing as possible.

Your emotions will be all over the place. They are all valid. Allow them to exist

Your mind and body don’t actually have the resilience or capacity to always dwell on death. Much like when you break a bone and don’t feel the pain for a while, there will be whole hours or even days when you’re operating on a relatively normal level.

That’s usually when the phone rings and you hear a grieving voice say, “Oh darling, how ARE you…”

Remember: you do not owe anyone your sadness. This is your process to deal with in whatever way you can – so don’t feel compelled or pressured to act how they’re expecting.

Conversely, I flew into a completely unexpected rage when a poor girl at our university bar spilled a pint of Guinness on my new Ugg boots. It was three months after my mum died, and I was furious — but even as I screamed, I knew full well that she was just a scapegoat for the anger I felt at Mum’s death.

Back then, I didn’t know about displaced emotion. Now, I’m aware that sudden waves of sadness, anger, fear, and even pain will strike at unexpected moments. The best thing to do is try and ride them out, knowing they’ll eventually subside.

Grief can be a physical experience

After my mum’s death, strange fears I’d never had before suddenly started to manifest. I was scared of staircases because I became convinced I couldn’t hold my balance and I was going to fall. A lack of control was a huge thing for me, because I hadn’t been able to control my mum dying.

Since Dad’s death, I’ve also gone through periods of insomnia, exhaustion, regular anxiety attacks and heart-thumping panic in my chest. My ‘fight or flight’ mode is constantly primed: I jump at loud noises, start crying at turbulence on planes and my memory regularly fails me. My hair even started turning white soon after my mum died (I secretly feel like I’m becoming Rogue from X-Men so it’s all good).

It makes sense when you understand that grieving uses up a huge amount of energy. Our minds go through trauma after a death, so it makes sense that our bodies do too. However, if all these factors happen at once, you might think you’re going mad. That’s ok. You’re probably not – but if you think you’re really dealing with mental instability, go to a doctor and see what they suggest.

Grief is such an emotional event that your mind is totally thrown off course. It can take a long time to get back to something resembling yourself again.

Know where your safe spaces are

For me, a ‘safe space’ means knowing where I can cry without judgement or embarrassment. Usually it’s when I’m in my family house; most often, it’s when I’m alone.

But I also have keys to the house of the family I grew up with. There are two cemeteries and a gorgeous park all within a five minute walking distance from my house, and I know the benches I like to sit on for a moment of calm.

And I know how to recognise that rising feeling of panic when I’m on a bus or a train. I know that finding somewhere quiet, green, and open is going to make me feel a little better.

Mantras are surprisingly useful

When Dad was ill, his fantastic carer kept telling me to take things ‘slowly by slowly’. My mum’s best friend often told me to ‘breathe deep’. A friend’s partner said I was now faced with ‘a new normal’.

All these phrases have supported me more than I could have ever expected: small little slogans which stand strong amidst the mess of emotion in my mind. When I feel myself beginning to spiral out, one of my own inventions is to say, ‘Right now, I feel/want/need…‘ It helps to ground me in the present moment and not get overwhelmed with infinite future possibilities.

Establish a secret vocabulary with your closest people…

Distressingly, it’s very hard to articulate what you want or need when you’re in the middle of ‘it’ — especially when ‘it’ could be any number of scenarios when you suddenly feel grief-stricken and overwhelmed. Coming up with a vocabulary that your closest people understand can be hugely helpful.

At a time when you’re not too upset, tell them that when you send a text saying, “I’m not OK”, you really need an urgent response. Come up with code words and phrases: a friend told me they use a number system so they can say, “I’m at a seven right now” and people understand the significance and severity of that.

…But don’t feel bad if you can’t write, or talk, or even express yourself at all

I count myself as lucky, because talking about death (and all the emotions which go with it) comes really naturally to me and makes me feel better.

But I also know many people who haven’t been able to voice their overwhelming death-related feelings. And that’s absolutely fine too.

During the year before my dad’s death I was journalling all the time, as it helped me process what was happening. As soon as he died? I stopped, and didn’t write about my feelings for months. I couldn’t: it was too raw, and too painful. Even writing this article has been difficult on my more grief-stricken days.

Like everything with grief, your desire to talk about it can change from moment to moment.

Actively ask for distractions

If you’re a fundamentally sociable person, being around your friends and family as much as possible is a wonderful way to minimise some of the grief. But many people often have no clue how to behave towards the grieving (like a girl at my uni who ignored me for a month after my mum died, even though we lived in the same house) – and others feel awkwardly obligated to talk about death when they know what’s happened.

I’ve become more bolshy when it comes to dictating the conversation. If I’m in the mood to talk about it, fine. If not? I actively say, “Actually I’d much prefer talking about something happier if that’s ok.” You can see the relief in people��s eyes when they realise you’ve taken the reins!

Allow yourself space to properly cry

I mean this in both a mental and a physical sense. Despite being pretty used to crying in front of my friends by now, I still can’t fully let go unless I’m alone — and occasionally I need to. I visualise it like a tap being turned on and off: when the crying starts, sometimes the tap only opens halfway (usually when I’m around people and I get a little self conscious), and I often slowly turn it off before it’s ready.

But when I properly open the tap? That kind of crying – that animalistic, guttural, close-to-vomiting kind of crying – truly feels like being wrung out. In a good way. Crying is a cathartic experience, but like an animal in pain, I’m very conscious that for me to fully exorcise this intensity of grieving and mourning, it NEEDS to happen in private.

Passive sensory overload can be really helpful…

This is the classiest way I could think of to describe the serious amount of Netflix binging which has happened since October 2017.

I’ve binge-watched everything from prison dramas (Orange Is The New Black) and apocalyptic zombie outbreaks (Walking Dead) to gory hospital soap operas (Grey’s Anatomy) and violent drug-fuelled (Breaking Bad).

Bizarrely, watching constant death on TV has a few therapeutic effects. It numbs me to the concept; it reminds me that thousands of people die every day (whether fictionally or in real life); and it allows me a confined space of time to cry. For ten minutes, script writers and cast actively want their viewer to be crying (whether at the scene or at your own personal issues), but then the scene changes and suddenly my sadness lifts again.

… But avoiding social media is often a good idea too

If you’ve struggled with mental health issues outside of bereavement, your phone and its multitude of apps can be really triggering. Maybe people online seem absurdly happy when you’re not, or nobody’s reaching out to your subtle hints that you’re not OK.

When you’re acutely vulnerable, self-protection should be your main focus. So when you feel yourself getting more upset from looking at a screen, get rid of it. Read a book, have a bath, meditate, sit in the sunshine – anything which lets you connect with yourself a bit, and focus on what’s right for you in that moment.

Movement and exercise really helps

The cliched phrases are annoyingly true: when you’re feeling awful, getting outside and moving your body can actually do a world of good. I’ve stop-started Couch to 5k multiple times, but even if I hate the idea of getting into running clothes and reaching the park, I do feel happier once I’m actually moving my feet.

That said, when I’m deep in the midst of grieving, proactive sport is often too much for me to face. That’s when the smallest amount of effort, practiced with a ton of self-care and compassion, is just as good. During a few big crying sessions I’ve managed to put a jacket on and walk around the block while it was raining – which was strangely satisfying while tears still rolled down my face.

Eyes closed, heart open, soul ready

For a long time, I’ve felt as if something was missing in my life. I attributed this to grief: I assumed my mum’s death had shaped me irrevocably, marked me out as different and separate from others. I didn’t know if this feeling would ever change. I assumed it wouldn’t. Yet during this past week, spent on retreat at @quarterlifehealthproject, I honestly feel that my life has changed. For the first time, I both witnessed and was intrinsically part of the sheer power which comes from a group of fiercely vulnerable women sharing their stories and emotions with complete openness and honesty. In yoga, meditation and intuitive movement we rose together, moved together, and turned inward together. We danced wildly in thunderstorms, connected in silence, and held space for each other in sharing circles and fire rituals. In just six short days, we became connected. We became sisters, in the truest, oldest sense of the word – and that’s exactly what I didn’t know I was looking for. Women, we are wise, strong, and so very powerful. Please never forget how much magic you hold inside yourselves

A post shared by Flora The Explorer (@florabaker) on Apr 24, 2018 at 12:59pm PDT

Observe the trajectory of your grief

At some point you might start to see a pattern to how your grief moves. It’s a bizarre sensation: barely there for weeks on end and then suddenly, one day, BAM! You can barely move for the enormity of it; can barely breathe for crying; can’t imagine how you ever felt OK before this.

Remember that you felt alright before, and you will do again. This is going to pass.

In my mind, the path of grief looks like a series of peaks (good days) and troughs (bad days). At first the troughs last way longer and the peaks are tiny moments, but gradually you’ll have longer peaks and shorter troughs.

If there’s a pattern to it, try to use your better days for organisation. There’s so much potential help on offer when you’re grieving if you know where to look.

Find a therapist or bereavement counsellor who you trust

Talking therapy has really helped me, yet I barely knew about its potential benefits when my mum died. My university offered me counselling but the woman I met with a couple of times only made me feel worse, so I stopped going.

My issue with therapy (which people often neglect to tell you) is there’s no guarantee that the first therapist you meet should be the one you stick with.

It took me until 2015, seven years and one mini-breakdown after my mum’s death, to finally seek out a therapist on my own. I went privately because I really needed help that exact minute, but here are the most common options:

Therapy through the NHS: go to your local GP’s office and talk about your options. The good news is these services are free, but they might involve long waiting times.

Therapy through your local council: I applied through my council’s website and received a call from a support worker, who then referred me to an online CBT course (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy).

Therapy through a charity or hospice: my dad was at a fantastic hospice and they offered both of us sessions with a family worker, both during his decline and after his death. Charities like Cruse and Marie Curie also offer bereavement counselling.

Private therapy: If you’re willing to pay for therapy, there are probably hundreds of therapists in your local area. I used counselling-directory.org.uk and read through profiles until I found a few I liked, then sent them an email explaining my backstory and went on from there!

If you’re not confident about meeting face-to-face, there are a number of helplines (all UK based) which you can phone up for a chat. They include:

Mind: 0300 123 3393 (or text 86463)

Cruse Bereavement Care: 0844 477 9400

Marie Curie: 0800 090 2309

Anxiety UK: 03444 775 774

Samaritans: 116 123 (helpline is open 24 hours)

Involuntary membership in the ‘Dead Parents Club’ is a weirdly helpful thing

A strange positive to grief is that it brings unlikely people together. I’ve discovered so many acquaintances who’ve also lost parents, and we’ve been able to meet up for coffee (or, you know, much alcohol) and compare notes on how inappropriate everyone who isn’t grieving can be.

I’ve also had so many intense, personal and vulnerable conversations with people I’ve met mere moments before, simply because I learn they’re members of the DPC too.

For me, it’s felt really healthy to hear about death from multiple perspectives – and it’s got me out of the house on the days when I felt I otherwise couldn’t leave. It’s also a huge relief to sometimes skip past all the niceties you have to use around non-grieving people and dive right into the intense stuff with someone who gets it.

Keep the person you’re grieving close to you with their possessions

Although you wouldn’t know it from her love of garish plastic bracelets, my mum also wore lots of the same kind of jewellery as I do, so I was already borrowing her necklaces and earrings before she died. Now her cardigans, scarves and leather handbags have also become permanent fixtures in my wardrobe – so much so that I often forget what used to be hers, until someone asks where something came from.

It meant that the first weeks after my dad’s death I was usually wrapped in his cosy brown cardigan with the holey sleeves, because I already knew it would make me feel better.

Organise your material and virtual memories

Along with jewellery and clothes, my parents left me with a wealth of photos, letters, birthday cards, to-do lists and handwritten gift tags – many of which now decorate my house and make me smile when I see them.

But what about all the virtual memories I want to preserve? During my years of long-term travel my Dad and I would email all the time, so I have a vast collection of our correspondence which I’ve put into its own folder. After his death, I went through his email inbox (which felt only somewhat invasive) and forwarded various emails to my own inbox.

Why? Because email addresses, social media accounts and phone numbers will eventually be cut off by the service providers – and it’s usually earlier than you think. The last voicemail my mum left me vanished after a few weeks, and I never thought to try and save it until it was too late.

Luckily, my dad had also transferred hours of home video onto DVDs so I still have my mum’s voice safe (she was usually the one holding the camcorder, so sadly there isn’t as much of her on film.)

I’d recommend backing up their photos, phones, email accounts and anything else tech-related onto external hard-drives. It’s a devastating nightmare when something goes wrong.

Grief is not linear. The ‘stages of grief’ aren’t the rulebook

The Kubler Ross stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, fear, acceptance) are supposedly chronological, but in my experience they definitely don’t go in order: it’s not like you only feel fear once you’ve stopped feeling anger.

One day I’ll be exhausted, the next I’ll be so furious it scares me. Two more days of ambivalence, perhaps even happiness, and then suddenly I’ll be sobbing again.

Grief is not a linear process. The easiest way to describe it is like a series of waves. Peaks and troughs. They ebb and flow, some days stronger than others. It always recedes, but it always comes back.

Devastatingly, that’s it for life. It’s always going to be there – but you do learn to grow around the grief. That’s one of the few benefits to having already navigated the loss of one parent when I lost the second: even in the depths of sadness, there’s a faint awareness that it does get easier.

You’ll re-visualise your life as ‘before’ and ‘after’ the death

This fracture, this split, will likely colour everything you do. Everything you are. Everything you’re still to be. But their death will also become a type of yardstick against which much of your life can be measured.

When I’ve been casually dating a guy and I’ve mentioned my mum’s death and they’ve suddenly wanted nothing more to do with me? That’s the ‘Dead Mum Yardstick’, sorting out the wheat from the chaff, and I’m strangely grateful I’ve got that.

You’ll hear them and think about them more than you ever did when they were alive

My dreams are filled with my parents. Sometimes my dad has bizarrely recovered and wants to come home, leaving me annoyed that I got rid of his hospital-style bed and there’s boxes all over his bedroom floor. Sometimes my mum’s death was all a big misunderstanding, and I happily fall back into a dream lifestyle which has recurred for so many years that it’s achingly familiar.

For months after my mum died, I saw her everywhere. Her hands held the railings of tube carriages; her buoyant hair waltzed past me in a crowd. She was an actress, and occasionally I see someone on the TV screen who could so easily be my mum (with a little squinting) that I can barely breathe.

I spend a long time terrified that I’ll forget them both. But if my overtly detailed dreams are anything to go by, those memories aren’t going anywhere.

You’re allowed to talk about them as much as you want to

When my mum died, I received dozens of messages from people I’d gone to school with and hadn’t seen for years. “Your mum was always so happy and friendly!” they said, “and I’ll never forget how she took us to that Busted concert even though we had a GCSE mock exam the next day!”

Memories like this; memories I’d forgotten, which belong to other people? They’re absolute gold dust. They help to strengthen the picture I have of her – and they remind me that so many others loved my parents the way I did.

It’s as simple as bringing them up in conversation, but it’s also possible to actively ask people for memories about them. Via Facebook, I’ve reached out to girls my mum was at boarding school with and been told stories and sent old photos in return.

Every day you’re coping (even if it doesn’t feel like it)

It’s so easy to pressurise yourself into thinking that “I should have dealt with this by now”. That’s normal. Grief is something completely non-relatable until you’re thrown headlong into it.

A therapist told me that grief is traumatic on a cellular level. Every single cell has to register what has happened to it; every cell has to absorb the blunt force of that trauma, and learn how to rebuild itself. It’s exhausting. It’s all-encompassing. It’s almost like you’ve been pushed in front of a truck and now have to spend months in intensive care — except this isn’t a visibly physical trauma, so it’s harder to explain.

The Victorians used to wear black for a full year to let strangers know they were in mourning. When I’ve had inadvertent arguments with supermarket staff who are oblivious to the reason why I’m getting stressed over scanning food at the till, I half-wish that mourning garb was still a custom today.

Only you know your grief…

One of the best pieces of wisdom I’ve heard about the grieving process is that it’s yours, and yours alone. My best friend unknowingly echoed this one day when I was panicking at an Underground station.

“None of us know what you’re going through – we can’t!” She said, hugging me tight. “We’ll just be here for you, as best we can.”

There is no right, wrong, recommended or ill-advised way to grieve. Not really. In fact, many people reading this may think half of my advice isn’t appropriate for them at all! This is just a small part of my own journey through grief.

My biggest realisation through the aftermath of two deaths is to listen to your body. Be aware of what you truly feel you need, and follow that internal wisdom. Don’t let anyone tell you it’s been ‘long enough’. This is your journey: nobody else needs to understand it but you.

… But your grief is NOT who you are

Please try to not let your grief define you. I’ve been struggling with this ever since my mum died, and doubly so now that Dad’s gone too. But you are your own person, irrespective of this terrible loss you’ve suffered. Grief has happened to you, but it doesn’t make you who you are.

In fact, these losses have the uncanny ability to shape you into a better, stronger version of yourself.

I realise now that my mum’s death has unequivocally shaped who I am. If she hadn’t died when I was twenty, I would have made so many different choices in life that I can’t imagine what I’d be like now. But because she did die, I became a traveller. I became a writer. I became passionate about expressing my feelings, and investigating why I feel the way I do.

Moreover, I know deep down that both my beautiful, hilarious, ever-loving parents would hate their deaths to affect me so negatively.

You get to dictate the rest of your life

It’s easy to feel alone when those who loved you most are gone. But you’re not. Their love still existed. You still knew them.

So. I may be an adult orphan now – and you might be too. But we’re still here. We’re still living, fiercely and passionately, with every fibre of our being. We might be sobbing occasionally – because that’s what grief does to us – but we’re doing them proud.

We’re living, in spite of our loss. We’re living because of them, and because we loved them. That’s all we need to do.

Now it’s over to you. If you’ve had experience with grief, what are the ways you deal with it?

The post Both My Parents Died Before I Turned 30. Here’s How I Deal With Grief. appeared first on .

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#IFTTT #WordPress

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b1uehours · 4 years ago

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I can’t follow through whenever I’ve tried to post something about what I’m struggling with and the possibility that I need help and can ask for it on a platform like this.

Here I go.

I am 26 [26F] and I live with my abusive father. I am ostracized from both his and my mother’s family where I have experienced abuse from both sides growing up. My father had primary custody and I had my life living with him (school, sports, friends, etc.), though I didn’t have a better option between the two, nor did I have a choice otherwise until I was 16. I made the choice to cut off visitation to my mother and her family under one roof entirely, I have had very few interactions with them since. I have no support system or relationship with any family (let alone friends, to be honest).

My mother is disabled due to a drug overdose when I was 9 months old and my dad swiftly divorced her and never looked back. She flatlined twice and suffered severe, life long consequences physically and emotionally. She was still very much capable of being abusive. My dad blamed his therapist for his decision to leave, claiming that is what ‘they told him to do.’ If it makes things easier to understand, I am sure he is a narcissist. He shows no resentment, and has always antagonized her since. He glorified himself as a single parent to everyone who will listen (especially women he was hitting on, while I, a child, was present). I can’t say that I’ve had a mother figure or really even a father figure, as my dad never did much more than pressure me to excel or punish me yet never wanted to take time or effort explain anything, so I’ve largely discovered whatever I can about myself and beyond, myself.

I have an ADHD, Severe Depression, Anxiety, C-PTSD, and Insomnia diagnoses. Unfortunately, I have been through misdiagnosis, neglect, and outright harmful behavior by therapists, psychiatrists, and mental health professionals in the past (looking at you Kaiser Permanente) and continue to experience to this day. I have tried every medication under the sun, and I have yet to find any combination that has given me a chance at life and at the very least, functionality. I have tried TMS (transcranial magnetic stimulation) with brief spikes in minor results but stopped after doing it every weekday for 6-7 months after no real improvement and an exacerbation in my symptoms due to my experiences at home.

Based on the claim that my father is a narcissist, he abuses me in physically and emotionally debilitating ways. This pandemic has caused the abuse i experience by him to be exacerbated.

He does not social distance. He is bringing guests (most of the time 2 different women) into the home frequently and does not take repercussions in response, nor do I have a say.

He is extremely controlling and verbally abusive. He is quick to anger and constantly wants to make me dependent yet berates me for not being independent. He acknowledges my mental illness when it is convenient and refutes it just the same. He has kicked me out multiple times and stolen my car after I lived in it. He helps me with nothing financially. He is a well off landlord who lost no income during this pandemic, got a stimulus check and stole mine because he filed me under his taxes last year without telling me. He did not split any of the stimulus check with me, and he hid that he received it. He is financially abusive and has refused to buy groceries beyond for himself, despite knowing I was/am unemployed with no immediate options.

He opens my mail and violates my privacy, going into my room and looking into everything under the guise that he was helping me. He has no boundaries & has physically abused me in the past.

I do not feel safe.

I lost my only bit of work as a pet sitter/dog walker in March and have applied for cash assistance twice and unemployment twice. I was denied by cash assistance both times, I was denied by unemployment once and my second application was completely ignored, as if I never submitted it (I screenshotted the confirmation number just in case, emailed them twice and got 0 response both times). I filed for social security disability twice as well, and was denied twice. I have already had state disability from a few years ago and never bounced back entirely financially, especially as a self employer so that is not an option for me. I am planning on applying for unemployment a third time, yet it is daunting and discouraging after all attempts to email and call have come up with no help. I have exhausted every option I can think of and have been denied nearly all support.

As of August 15th, my insurance was halted because my father tried to keep me as a disabled dependent (funny how I’m disabled on paper yet have no access to financial resources in response) so his taxes would remain low since I would stay on his plan. I applied and qualified for MediCal and had to call HR at his job to nullify the paperwork he filled out to keep me as a disabled dependent on his plan without me knowing. I was waiting for the letter that included the insurance termination date and never received it. All of a sudden, I was unable to have access to therapy services and have been unable to resume ever since, even though I kept my plan through mediCal. It has caused great detriment to my health and stability.

I finally have food stamps so I can feed myself, though it does not last well through the entire month. I like to cook, yet I suffer from constant fatigue and do need convenient options.

I am unhealthy physically and mentally, and am only seeking to better my situation. I am pursuing work but I am also pursuing solutions to the chronic fatigue I experience daily which has had a major impact on my personal and professional life since childhood. I want to set myself up to succeed even after how hopeless this feels. I cannot continue to neglect myself and go through life this way, feeling like a prisoner holing up in my room, not eating until midnight because I need to avoid my father who is constantly near the kitchen, not sleeping because I have no control over my daytime hours. Sleeping too much and losing every day (especially each day I share with my lovely cat Blue, who deserves better).

I am asking for any help, whatever that might look like for you. I am in dire straights financially, and have credit card debt due to when I was homeless a few years back after my father had kicked me out. I have no income whatsoever and no access to basic necessities. The hopelessness in my situation is mounting, because there has been a wall in front of every effort I’ve made to help myself that I have no control over.

My goal is to be able to move out of my father’s home with my cat Blue so I can move past survival mode and begin to heal and get to know who I am and who I want to be. I feel that any means I can achieve that will help me create and live my own life, not as a punching bag for my father, or anybody else who has failed to truly be there for me in my life.

This is mostly to just vent. But if anyone were to actually see this, I’d love for it to be shared in some way. I greatly appreciate anyone who takes the time to read this and those who didn’t too! <3

Just in case, here’s my PayPal:

Thank you internet. Here is a photo of my munchkin

#TW #tw abuse #depression #i needed to get a portion of this out there #i know its a hot mess #thank you for your time

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antimundi-blog · 7 years ago

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Freestyle

Title: Freestyle Pairing: Nyxnoct Event/theme: Nyxnoct Fluffocalypse, Day 4: hobbies Summary: When your boyfriend is a major Assassin’s Creed geek, it was destined that you’d eventually have a date with it as the central theme. Princes and their hobbies, right?

@nyxnoctocalypse

There was a special sort of mortification that came from your friends discovering your interests, especially if they weren't shared. With Prompto, there was a lot in common. Video games, comics—of a comfortably shared variety that only best friends could have in common. With Ignis, it was a little tougher; sure, he indulged the prince with times nods, approval, listening as best he could even though the interest just didn't seem wholly there. With Gladio? Not so much. Beyond being his Shield, barriers of interest existed there, too.

Now, the ultimate level? Getting your boyfriend in on it.

Your boyfriend who happened to be a busy Glaive who didn't have the disposal income enough to haphazardly throw it into whatever hobby or video game videos that toddled along. Noctis had learned that the hard way when he'd tried coaxing Nyx into picking up World of Warcraft, only to sheepishly learn that he didn't have a rig powerful enough to run it, nor the extra funds to maintain the monthly membership fees.

Lesson learned.

That didn't mean Nyx couldn't come and spend a rainy day at his apartment, right? It was something they adored doing, traipsing between their homes and spending time in the city when princely duties weren't keeping the prince from seeing his boyfriend. That, and Glaive duties on Ulric's end.

Noctis startled from his thoughtfulness when a rapping sounded at his door, messily scampering to his feet as he slid on his socks to a halt before the door, a bit of puerile elation lighting his face before he peered through the peep hole to see who it was.

Seeing a certain Galahdian in flannel and jeans caused his heart to leap, maybe a little too excitedly. “Okay, cool—“ he murmured to himself, trying not too appear too enthusiastic.

Swinging the door open, Nyx had no time to say hello before Noctis unceremoniously grabbed Nyx by the sleeve and yanked him in with a bemused smile catching the older man's features. The inertia seemed to be enough to briefly close their bodies together, Noctis impishly winding his arms around the older man's neck and kissing him enthusiastically.

An inquisitive sound emanated throatily as Nyx took a moment to adjust and smile into the kiss, winding his arms around the small of Noctis' back and cant his head to kiss back just as deeply. “Hello to you, too,” the Glaive grinned, Noctis leaning into him with a grin just as giddy. “So, what's the grand agenda today, Highness?”

Noctis gazed at him with a brief look of pensiveness on his features, taking both of Nyx's hands and holding them with hopefulness in those sapphire blues. “Promise me you won't laugh.”

Nyx quirked a brow. “Can't make any promises if it's a joke.”

“For our date, what if we went around the shopping district, but...just not in the usual way?” Noctis hinted with a puckish smile on his face. Had Nyx been anyone else, it likely would've been waved off as ridiculous. But Nyx had this synergy about him that Noctis adored, like he could bounce off ideas and find a complementary match.

The smirk only seemed to grow on Nyx's face, mischief twinkling in those stormy blues. “I dunno, highness. That might mean you having too much fun. You sure your buddies wouldn't mind?” He folded his arms, releasing Noctis when the prince grinned again and raced down the hall into his bedroom.

“Hang on, wait here!” Noctis shouted from his room, rummaging through the contained chaos signature of it. Finding them draped on the bed, he raced back into the living room with two red-lined, white hoodies that didn't seem tremendously special to Nyx, but by the way Noctis beamed, it surely seemed to be. “I got these from Roen's stall back at the Assassin's Festival from a few months back. Can you believe it? Actual replicas of Desmond Miles' hoodie, down to the sticking. You know, the white one? From Assassin's Creed in all those modern segments.”

Nyx eyed them with an approving smile, one inevitably larger due to the Glaive's own height. Though he wasn't exactly keyed in completely with the story, but from Noctis' own happy ramblings on the saga and playthroughs when they spent rain nights in together, it garnered his interest. Didn't seem too much different from what he did as a Kingsglaive, even though assassinations weren't exactly their specialty.

“So, we going incognito tonight? Leaping from roof to roof?” Nyx replied with a growing smile, always glad to see Noctis so enthused and not feeling abashed for it. It certainly would be a little less mortifying than donning Bayek's Medjay robes in this weather, this much was certain.

“Yeah, you bet!”

It didn't take long for both men to don their new attire, Noctis bristling with jocular excitement as he dramatically pulled the hood over his head, attempting the smirk signature to the assassins in the series. He availed himself in the mirror, replete with the shoulder bag slung across his back and the baggy jeans, though Nyx was happy to remain in what he wore over his lower extremities. They both hitched the subway to the shopping district in the east side of Insomnia, a place seldom frequented, but eager to sojourn to. With their hoods drawn over their heads, there was the added advantage of concealment Nyx found advantageous, especially given how it was often for the better that Noctis be disguised from his geekier inclinations.

“There's this scene when Desmond's escaping Abstergo—it's during the second game, I think. You know, during Ezio's trilogy? When he was escaping with Lucy Stillman. Wait...no, I think that was another game. Brotherhood, maybe?” While Noctis pondered over the details, Nyx kept his eye on the LED screens that indicated their stops. Of course, he wasn't exactly zoning out from Noctis' excited chatter. He was interested in being part of his life outside of their respective duties, hobbies included.

The bell rung when their stop was reached, Noctis almost bolting through he was so excited. “Hang on, Auditore. Think we might want to plan this out a bit first.” Though most might not think it, Noctis had taken lessons in parkour to the side. Useful to navigating a cityscape when Warping was too conspicuous. The terminal wasn't too crowded with people, Nyx guiding the rambunctious prince where it wasn't too crowded. Nobody seemed to be coming down the down escalator much at all. In the grand station, Sunday nights didn't see much activity, which was advantageous to them.

“Race ya!” Noctis suddenly crowded when he took off at a low sprint, leaping on to the rail that guided the escalator down and tip-toeing up it with ease, arms barely needed to keep his balance. Nyx laughed as he set off after him, leaping on the opposite as both men crossed paths in their ascent, looking acrobatic as several people caught on and began filming with their smart phones, Noctis snickering when he realized he and his boyfriend would be trending on Wark tonight.

Once they emerged from the underground, Noctis bolted and leapt on the back of a bus that was beginning to pull away, clinging to its bike rack that was fortunately empty. “Nyx, over here!” Noctis called as it began picking up speed.

“Fucking Six—“ Nyx cursed to himself as he raced after Noctis, leaping just in the nick of time to Noctis clapping him on the back.

Deciding it was better to follow Noctis' lead, they rode on the precarious transportation before the prince nodded sharply and allowed his feet down enough to gingerly gauge an appropriate stopping point. Slowing around a bend, he ran for a few strides before letting go and dodge-rolling from the path of an oncoming car. Its horns blared, but Nyx simply smirked in a cavalier fashion before leaping back on to the car's hood with indignant shouts from the drivers, then somersaulting off and into a street corner where Noctis waited.

“Hey, you alright?” Noctis asked breathlessly as he laughed, helping Nyx to his feet, leather gloves saving him from bruised and bloodied palms.

“Yeah, think so. Where to next?” Nyx replied, smile admittedly elated as he stole a quick kiss before Noctis playfully shoved him away, laughing jubilantly. Gods, this was more fun than he'd had in awhile.

“Up there—slowpoke!” Noctis called retroactively before bounding away towards a scaffolding and hefting himself through an open gulf, scrambling to his feet again as he rounded the exterior and shimmied his way upwards.

Nyx called out something indignant before he bolting after him, more or less following suit of the energetic prince as he was already ascending a pipe that jutted from the facade of the building. It wasn't long before they met halfway on the twelve story building, almost colliding into a fire escape they'd been racing upwards on. Nyx was almost shoved off, but wormed his way out and beat Noctis to the punch.

“Not fair!” he called up after Nyx, the older man laughing at Noctis' consternation.

“Aw, come on, Highness! You've always liked my ass, so enjoy the view!” Noctis admittedly blushed at that, but furiously renewed his pace with vigor as he found another angle, racing upwards between the protruding windows that provided fantastic purchase. Smugly, he hefted himself over the ledge and hefted himself over and collapsing, breathless, on a bed of pebbles waiting. Unfortunately for him, Nyx was already waiting for him.

“Best two out of three?” Noctis offered with a breathless smile, evolving into a grin when Nyx sat himself on Noctis' back, the prince barking out strained laughs under the strain of Nyx's weight. “Get off, lard ass!”

Nyx re-positioned himself when Noctis rolled on his back, the Glaive straddling his hips with a smug grin. Before Noctis could rebut, he leaned down and snaked a deep kiss from the prince, the price of his victory. When Noctis shoved him away again, he made a face. “You're still an ass.” Feinting, he quickly capsized Nyx and rolled them over, Nyx grunting when he did. “Best two out of three, like I said.” With that, the warmth on his pelvis lifted, Noctis hopping to the ledge as he smiled with a challenge in his eye. Spanning his arms, he smirked rougishly and leaped from the roof in a free-fall, something below muffling the impact of his fall.

Determined to win another kiss, Nyx yanked his hood back over his face that had been upset in their playful scuffle.

“You can bet on it, Noct,” he murmured to himself before Warping from the roof to meet the prince in their renewed race once more.

#deathbyfluffweek #nyxnoctocalypse #nyx ulric #noctis lucis caelum #nyxnoct #dynamic // kings for a night #YEEEEE #TFW UR AN AC NERD TOO #and...there was this rl AC parkour vid based on unity #AND YOU BET UR ASS I BASED THIS FIC ON THAT h ue

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antojai · 7 years ago

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What is Antojai energy healing?

Antojai, and the cravings of life

Reiki & Antojai.

Universal life energy & the Craving energies of life.

It's pretty powerful stuff.

Speed mini-lesson:

The conscious and subconscious are similar to the master drives running your computer. Your brain & mind would be the actual interface you normally would interact with.

Similarly, You can go within the subconscious like you would a terminal to delete, rewrite, and retrieve individual files.

The subconscious is an active realm similar to a ever-changing labyrinth. It is constantly aware of itself, its surroundings, and the conscious.

If has the ability to change to protect itself if needed.

When you dive into the subconscious, this labyrinth program 99.8% of the time will represent itself as you, a version of you. It has the ability to change from a conscious interactive mode to a environmental superconscious mode (the labyrinth). The labyrinth is only present when the subconscious-you feels threatened. It takes this form so that whoever is within the subconscious, cannot access vital files your subconscious believes to be necessary for it's existence. It’s not impossible to access, navigate, or manipulate your subconscious. You just need to know the master rules and codes to stay ahead of the game when dealing with it.

Those codes & rules are Antojai, ascended energy healing. It transcends space, time, existence, light, love, the physical, and the metaphysical all at once… or individually.

Research:

In 2016, I discovered and developed the next stage of energy medicine. I ran experiments after having discovered Antojai, and I directly compared this energy medicine to the last discovered energy healing method, Reiki.

For the last two years, I’ve run experiments on men, women (one of them pregnant), children, plants, and animals; and dealt with cases such as extreme depression, anxiety, suicidal tendencies, paranoia, ADHD, PTSD, insomnia, physical pains, fibromyalgia, kidney stones, disassociated personality disorder, and subconscious re-programming. More studies are coming as they finish. All have shown HUGE impacts on wellness. My studies have span over different time presets to fully view the range of Antojai. Both Reiki and Antojai can be practiced via distance healing, but Antojai still maintains the ability to add precision to any subject.

I practiced on subjects unaware of my experiments, and subjects informed about some details. In the end, my discovery of the impact of these healing energies on the human experience was motivating and rewarding. More on my studies as my handbook progresses.

So, here’s the run down on Antojai. Reiki is powerful, but it has a particular limit; it can't reach the deepest portions of the subconscious that perpetuates a negative state. Reiki will help the subconscious, but to a certain degree due to its generalization. In theory reiki heals from the outside in, where Antojai works from the inside out. With Antojai, you directly manipulate the subconscious mind, realms, and beyond. This is awesome for people...lets say that have a serious problem breaking a particular habit. Antojai literally begins to erase the “Glitched data” within the subconscious; and then leaves a free space to add something new, or you can rewrite the habit all together. With it you can pinpoint exact locations of problems not only in the subconscious, but each individual chakra gate. Antojai literally has a key access to the 12 chakra system. So lets say you realize during reiki that the source of the problem lies in the sacral chakra...you can change the frequency of healing to Antojai Sacral, you then manipulate that individual chakra manually for the better. By using Antojai, the Master uses kundalini, medical shamanism, and other master signatures. All which I can get into later as we go along. Reiki in a sense is part of the Antojai set, but Usui used individual symbols to target generalized concepts. The master signature of Antojai is Life, which is slightly different than the Usui layout of Universal life, but stronger in a completely different way. It’s like changing Reiki to only the master "Dai Ko Myo."

In order for someone to use Antojai, the sole requirement is shifting your reality. I personally did this through years of training in other realms, & intense induced transcendental meditations. These meditations were focused on releasing your mind from the concepts of reality. The concepts we are fooled into accepting as law. What does that mean? You need to transcend the concept of time, space, and the physical not like you would reiki. You have to make an internal shift of your definition of those concepts, and others not mentioned here.

Strong Reiki masters are needed because Antojai requires the ability to control, intake, and release high amounts of energy not usual for beta-human physiology. The akashic records indicate that Reiki is the first step to manipulation of other life frequencies. Then would come Antojai, and finally if you master both- you would become an Ascended Master that would be tasked with finding other life frequencies for whatever purpose the universe decides to task you. For instance, after Antojai I found the signature of Water, and by using it you can super shock the body into a high healing state by manipulating the water cells in the body to their purest state. Hence creating a domino effect on the cellular sanctity of the patient, etc.

Another reason why only select masters can use Antojai is because the records have a huge warning label: it's powerful. So much so that it will give you the ability to bend multiple factions of this reality. It has a fail safe to make sure those unworthy of its proper control never learn it. You may hear what I am saying, but the record will not let you comprehend. That's because only those of pure soul can be trusted with such knowledge. I’ve lived my lifestyle under the shamanic code since my childhood. The healer must accustom themselves to using these energies at will. You are essentially evolving as an energetic consciousness, and into a Theta wave physical state. If you are truly one with your control of Reiki, then you are already in a Alpha state. After evolving your metaphysical anatomy to Theta, you then will have the ability to access Delta at will. Theta and Delta waves are what grant my future Antojai Masters the ability to walk between, and within multiple dimensions at once.

You need to look at it as a energetic medical kit to understand the dynamics of Antojai. It has combination codes for all sorts of issues. For example, if you combine the talisman of Sight with the talisman of the Astral, you can instantly make a person see auras, etc. Where Reiki requires a general understanding of energy medicine, Antojai requires extensive knowledge of "energetic prescription codes."

Antojai & Reiki belong to the same set of healing frequencies. I would have never discovered Antojai without Mikao Usui, and his development of Reiki. The first step to human evolution.

The Oath Of Antojai:

Antojai will shift your reality for your better, but you are obligated by a universal contract to use it for the good of humanity BEFORE yourself.

You must never use these for ill-will, or you will lose the ability all together.

You must never teach another who you know can not be trusted to be responsible with such knowledge. There are no excuses to this particular rule because once you become a Master of Antojai, you have accepted your role as a guardian of the frequencies. You are guided by the Ascended, and that power is never wrong in judgment. You will always know who is worthy, and your only reason would be that you willingly opened a can of worms. This rule is not one to be taken lightly as you will have to atone for any chaos generated by any individual you do this with. You assume responsibility for their karma.

Let’s say you teach the worthy, and later they become unworthy; not your problem. This knowledge is to be used to evolve the human consciousness.

You can’t stop pursuing your authentic self, or you will lose it.

It is with your help that we can change perspectives on mental health, and the direction of our world. Thank you for taking the time to read this, and thank you for being the driving force behind change in todays hectic world. Share this with as many people as possible, please.

I am currently training High Energy Reiki Masters interested in the opportunity to learn Antojai. There are 7/10 spaces left for students. Message [email protected] to request a spot.

Master Antojai

Carrasquillo, A. (2017). Antojai Shamanic Wellness

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erza-mj · 8 years ago

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Episode Prompto

i though it will be useful for all the writers in the ffxv community to have a written record of all the stuff that appear in Episode Prompto in chronological order ;)

You’re Welcome

Prompto production code: Unit 05953234

Research log 722-VII-6th

Research log: Year 722, Day 189. I received a proposal regarding a way to improve the infantry’s performances by leaps and bounds: Outfit all the troupers with magitek cores. Preliminary tests suggest sublimating daemons for fuel will result in an unstable infantry unit for the field. If the calculations he provided are correct, though, this could solve all our problems. The Deadless Project marks the advent of a new age. No longer will our soldier fall on the field of battle. The Empire shall rise, and soon, all the world shall bask in our glory!

Research log 722-X-21st

Research log: Year 722, Day 294. I acted on the proposal mentioned in my log of Day 189. My attempt to infuse the troopers magitek cores with daemonic energy proved successful. Only in the most basic sense, however. While the soldiers are indeed deathless, they are far from fit for fighting. Thus I’ve decided to take a different approach: rather than relying on daemons to power the magitek infantry, why not use human instead? Frankly, I had never considered employing my fellow man in any magitek-related experiments. But countless men and women succumb to the plasmodia each day. Rather than let them die victims of an ignominious disease, why not help them ascend to nobler heights? I’ve lost many a comrade on the field of battle, and I’ve no intention of allowing any more of their deaths to go in vain.

Research log 722-XII-5th

Research log: Year 722, Day 339. Another Day, another mental breakdown. All my test so far have resulted in the former soldiers suffering ego deaths. Today, however, I developed a new hypothesis: I will continue to sublimate daemonified humans to harvest the miasma, but if a sense is the source of these snags, why not inject infants with the plasmodia instead? We’ve little time. If we are to combat the Lucian threat, we must explore new options. I too, will set aside my personal misgivings and do what I must for the empire.

Research Log: 723-III-11th

Research log: Year 723, Day 70. I pondered how I might found the necessary number of infants, and then it downed on me: why not make them myself? If I clone them from my own genes, I can eliminate the pesky process of breeding them. Mass production remains a pipe dream for now, but I’m confident a can create a massive infantry once the process picks up. If everything goes according to plan, the empire will boast a million-man army in no time at all.

M.E. 723-XI-26th

A New Hope

Construction finished today on the first magitek production facility. Rising military star and leading authority on magitek Verstael Besithia has been selected to oversee the plant’s operation. Reports say Besithia will relinquish his field duties in order to serve at the compound full-time.

Research log: 724-X-24th

Research log: Year 724, Day 297. Mass production of the magitek infantry was a success. We’ve overwhelmed the lucians with our numbers and surrounded insomnia. But to rest on our laurels now would be unthinkable. On Occasion, harvesting the plasmodic miasma produces some “side effects.” The daemons born of this process have been disposed of on sight-until now. How foolish I was to let these sublime creatures go to waste! What they lack in adaptability, they make up for in sheer power. I realize now that I ought to channel my efforts into exploring the true potential of these daemons for the sake of the empire. Perhaps this has been my true calling all along.

Research Log: 736-V-3rd

Research log: Year 736, Day 123. It seems my laboratory is not nearly as secure as I once believed. Some thief – likely a Lucian- made off with one of my experiments. Absconding with a single infant will do nothing to enlighten them of the grandeur of my research. That said, I will see to it such incident never arises again. I’ve posted magitek troopers around the facility and instructed them to keep a vigilant watch. It is their home, after all.

Research Log: 745-XI-21st

Research log: Year 745, Day 325. Today marks a momentous triumph for our great nation. The Glacian herself graced us with her presence in Ghorovas Rift, and, through the combined efforts of the magitek infantry and my precious daemons, we killed her. The resulting causalities were great, but these sacrifices afforded us something far more valuable than a few units. With the data I collected, I intend to begin developing a new magitek weapon codenamed “Godslayer.” Soon, all the Astrals shall bow before me and the might of my magitek. Soon, they shall know my wrath.

M.E. 745-XI-22nd

ATTN: Research Chief Verstael Besithia

It has come to my attention thet the Glacian’s recent assault was quelled by your magitek infantry. As commendation for your service to our great nation, I have approved your petition to increase funding for your research. Your Work is the centrifugal force that will propel the empire beyond our borders to greatness on the world stage. I eagerly await further reports of your progress.

Emperor Iedolas Aldercapt

M.E. 746-VI-3rd

Prototype Numbering Instructions

In order ro better monitoring the large number of new magitek models enetering production, the Imperials Defense Council motions to reform the coding system as follows

- Troopers: 5-digit model number + 8-digit production code

- Infants: 4-digit production year + 8-digit production code

754-VIII-25th

I’ve been assigned to Chief Besithia’s lab! Not many people can say they’ve worked under the supervision of a living legend. I mean, this is the guy who saved the empire from eternal winter. He’s practically our savior.

754-XI-17th

My boss pulled me aside today to issue me a “special task.” Said it’s “highly confidential” and that I’m the only one qualified for the job. But how? I barely even know my way around the compound. Well, whatever the “task” is, I’ll deal with it in the morning.

754-XI-18th

I found out what my “special task” is today- and frankly I wish I hadn’t. if only I could unsee the things I saw today… I really ought eat something before I go to bed, but that shit totally killed my appetite.

755-II-16th

I had the honor of seeing His Imperial Majesty in person today. To think His Radiance would travel all that way through the ice and the snow just to observe our progress… if the Emperor is putting all his faith in magitek, then so should i.

755-VII-24th

Just my luck. One of the plasmodium samples strted leaking, and your truly was the blessed with the “privilege” of cleaning it up. And then my boss had the nerve to yell at me-as if the whole thing were my fault. If he wasn’t to criticize the real culprit, he ought to look in a mirror.

755-VII-25th

So thanks to yesterday's fiasco, my boss made me throw all the remaining plasmodium samples into the incinerator. What a waste of resources! My boss told the chief we used them in a series of experiments, but the thought of lying about what happened doesn't sit well with me at all. The whole thing is eating me up inside.

M.E. 755-VII-25th

Termination Report

ATTN: Research Chief Verstael Besithia. The Following specimen have been eradicated: 0755-06000326 0755-06000327 0755-06000328

0755-06000329 0755-06000330 0755-06000331

0755-06000332 0755-06000333 0755-06000334

0755-06000335 0755-06000336 0755-06000337

0755-06000338 0755-06000339 0755-06000340

0755-06000341 0755-06000342 0755-06000343

0755-06000344 0755-06000345 0755-06000346

0755-06000347 0755-06000348

All 23 samples listed have been incinerated to avoid potential daemonification of personnel.

755-VII-29th

So I ended up telling chief Besithia the truth about the other day. Here I was, ready for him to tear me a new one - and he ended up praising my loyalty instead! Everyone made it sound like the chief was some kind of hardass, but he seems to be a really reasonable guy if you actually take the time to sit down and talk with him.

M.E. 755-IX-18th

Proposal for Operation:Countersign

As deputy High Commander, I hereby propose a large-scale assault on the Lucian capital of Insomnia. Preparation are to begin next month. Our future is far too precious to entrust to our enmy. We must retrieve the Crystal and the Ring of legend, only then shall our worl know true peace.

Deputy High Commander Ravus Nox Fleuret

755-XI-2nd

Another one of the plasmodium samples started leaking today. How does this keep happening!? Clearly someone isn't doing their job. The worst part is that some of the researchers seem to have been infected. I need to get out of here ASAP.

755-XII-3rd

There's a rumour going around the lab that those "leaks" from before weren't accidents at all. My buddy says he thinks the chief is actually trying to expose us all to the virus. I don't want to believe it, but...

756-I-14th

The whole compound is crawling with daemons these days... I shiver every time I turn the corner. What the hell am I doing here? When can I go home?

756-II-12th

We are all... Together, we... Insomnia. As the ultimate... we... Thank you... Farewell...

Research log: 756-IV-8th

Research log: Year 756, Day 98. Finally my daemon-infused magitek armor is complete. I have christened my creation “Diamond Weapon”. It has exhibited an extremely unstable psyche, immediately unleashing unmitigated horrors upon activation. It’s destructive capabilities, however, are indeed beyond compare. Not even the “impenetrable” Insomnia could withstand its onslaught. Why, the Crown City would fall in a mere matter of minutes. The Stone of Legend will soon be mine. To think that, in less than a month’s time, the Crystal will be mine to play with as I please!

M.E. 756-IV-8th

Diamond Weapon Report

ATTN: His Imperial Majesty Iedolas Aldercapt – It is with great pride I inform Your Radiance that development has finished on the new deamon armor. Codename: Diamond Weapon. I encourage Your Radiance to visit the First Production Facility at Your Radiance’s earliest convenience. I am most confident the final product will prove to Your Radiance’s Liking.

Verstael Besithia

Chief of Magitek Research

M.E. 756-V-21st

Report on Unit SAS-0822

After several years of experimentation, we have finally succeeded in fusing mammal and magitek. Although we are still conducting various tests on Codename: Barbarus, the unit should be functional enough to fend off would-be intruders until development finishes on Unit XDA-1002: Immortalis.

Research Log: 756-VII-9th

Research Log: Year 756, Day 190. At last, my life’s work is complete. Not only I have found a way to preserve the ego, I’ve also managed to sustain that consciousness through the sublimation process and transfer it to my magitek troopers. The prototype has proven slightly less powerful than the Diamond Weapon, but this presents no real problem. After all, one’s consciousness can be transmuted again and again and again. All that remain is to fully surrender myself to my research and become my own final test subject. I will conclude my mortal life by offering a word of thanks. Chancellor Ardyn Izunia, your assistance has provided invaluable. You have my eternal gratitude. It is through your aid that I completed my work and begun my ascension to an existence beyond divinity.

thanks @ace-of-babes-98 for the ones that i missed

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beauvoyr · 7 years ago

Text

Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired | 2

blooming | the architect & the prince Pairings: Noctis/Reader Genre: Friendship/Romance/Friends-to-Lovers Tags: Fluff, Humor, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, and an inappropriate amount of references to video games and classical music and literature titles Chapter Rating: T Crossposted on: AO3 Summary: Rules to join the Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired: 1) One must love sleep. Sleep is love. Sleep is life. 2) One must be tired. Physically or emotionally, both are acceptable. 3) One must love video games. Halfhearted interest in video games will result in immediate termination of membership.

Fortunately, Noctis falls into all three categories.

“COME BACK WHEN YOU KNOW the answer, Prince,” you say, and with a little wave, you bury your face in the pillows once more, dead to the world.

“HEY, GLADIO? YOU KNOW WHO’S THE ARCHITECT?”

The burly man looks up from polishing his weapon, as Noctis mulls over the many scratches littered over his battered training sword. “The Architect?” he repeats, this time with an air of complete bewilderment because Noctis obviously knows what an architect is, but the architect? That’s an incredibly specific request. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Their training room is quiet, save for the droning of the central air conditioner. The prince ponders his choice of words, testing each and every one of it on his tongue, wondering if he should start with a solid ‘well’, or with a vague ‘you know’, but all he manages is, “Uh. Yesterday, I met The Ghost.” At Gladio’s bug-eyed stare, his ears grow hot and he turns away. “Shut up. That stupid rumour got to me, so I went to see it by myself. And no, it’s not a ghost.”

“…that’s what I thought,” the man muses, rubbing his scruff, but makes no mention of Noctis’ scowl. “So, what’s the ghost like? And what’s this got to do with an architect or somethin’?”

What’s The Ghost™ like? Or rather, what’s The Architect like?

In all honesty, all Noctis remembers is your insistent barrage of offers for a nap, piled pillows, and stacks of video games. Each time he redirects your attention to his question in hand, you’d slip through the gaps between his fingers and slink away with a strange rebuttal. A rebuttal that makes no sense, countering his question with even more questions. You were unrepentant, offering no answers even at the face of Lucian royalty. Such audacity.

He’s sure his father, King Regis, would know The Architect. After all, you made no qualms of announcing your connection to his father, no matter how thin it may be. Living in the isolation of the 56th floor in your sustained environment of bleak whiteness, dreary books, and a kitchenette too small, all with the express permission of his father—it’s all strange. Whether you were spinning delicate lies with your wagging tongue, or you merely spoke nothing but the truth, Noctis will never know lest he digs for answers himself.

With a sigh, Noctis palms his cheek. “She’s—“

“Oh, it’s a chick?” is Gladio’s answer, eyebrows raised in interest. “Cute? Smokin’ hot? Your type?”

The prince only makes a face at the vaguely leery way Gladio phrased it. “—weird, if you ask me. Sleep, sleep, sleep, that’s all she does. She made me wait for two hours for her to nap, and when she woke up, she just ate cereal and went back to sleep. Who the heck does that?”

He thinks he hears Gladio smother a cough between the words, “Only you,” before hiding it with another cough. As much as he wants to punch his Shield in the arm for being such a smart-ass, unfortunately, he’s right. Gladio’s eyes twinkle when he knows Noctis has no witty comeback, because who knows him better than this man right here, and Noctis’ personal advisor, Ignis?

“Anyway,” the prince clears his throat, “she called herself The Architect. Can you believe it? I pestered her for her name and she kept giving me these,” his hands form absentminded circles in the air, simulating your roundabout way of answering things, “these weird things about how she’s The Architect and she’s from the House of Andronicus.”

That catches Gladio’s attention, erasing his half-smirk into a frown. The light-hearted mood in the training room dissipates into nothingness. “House of Andronicus?” he repeats, an edge of uncertainty creeping into his voice. “You sure about that, Noct?”

And Noctis doesn’t know what to make from his abrupt change in behaviour. His Shield is hardly one who’s all straight-faced seriousness—that’s wholly Ignis’ specialty, so when Gladio’s quiet like this, something stirs in him. “… yeah, that’s what she said. House of Andronicus.”

The sudden solemnity shifts the atmosphere into something else. Gladio’s silent, fingers rubbing his chin thoughtfully, searching the hardwood floor for answers. It takes a moment before he speaks up again, and when he does, he doesn’t smile. “Quintus Andronicus is your father’s strategist. Part of the Lucian Royal Council. She must be his daughter… which means when you’re finally king, she’ll be your strategist. But as far as I know, the House of Andronicus doesn’t let females lead the pack.”

Noctis sucks in a breath he doesn’t know he’s holding.

WHAT KIND OF FAMILY WOULDN’T let a female lead the house? An incredibly traditional family, Noctis supposes. One whose leader is an alpha male, and they are kings that rule the household. Lucis does not subject its denizens to such patriarchal rules, yet, neither does it object to those who wished to advocate such obsolete systems. Maybe this Quintus guy missed a memo where females have always had the same rights as men—in which Noctis would sorely like to meet up with this guy just to remind him to keep up with the times.

Noctis lets himself off on the 56th floor again, already turning down a familiar hallway that will soon become a habitual action for him. Clean cuts of monochromatic marble are the Citadel’s standard build, paired with glass windows polished to a perfect shine. Against the backdrop of black marble, crimson blooms await his arrival; this time, scarlet dahlias spill from the lips of the vases, with droplets of dew glistening under pale lighting. It’s still morning, fresh after his training with Gladio, so whoever brought these flowers here must’ve known her separate existence from everyone else’s.

His eyes linger on the fractal of flowers before he twists the doorknob. It’s not locked. It’s almost as though you expected him, like The Architect you called yourself. But the architect of what exactly? The architect of Lucis’ rise to glory? The architect overlooking Insomnia’s weblike streets, mapping each weakness, all the while presiding over them in your private little chamber in the Citadel? The architect of his future? Lucis’ future?

The delicious smell of early morning pancakes hits him before he actually sees them. Fluffy pancakes are piled up to the high heavens above, with a generous dollop of whipped cream and syrup dripping off the layers. In the background, soft notes of piano echo throughout your room, filling in the stark silence of your humble abode. Seated at your desk, with a plateful of pancakes arranged in a haphazard way, listening to an unnamed classical music, he thinks the languid expression on your face is best described as someone who’d just gotten up from bed, one who’s in the mood for a lazy morning.

Knowing your erratic sleeping habits from yesterday, it’s always a possibility.

“Good morning, Prince,” you greet him in that same monotone, a flat line with no peaks. No traces of surprise at his sudden entry at all, just like what Noctis suspected; you could tell he’s going to show up again, one way or another. “Good timing you have there. I was just about to have my breakfast. Come in and make yourself at home, just don’t forget to close the door behind you.”

Ordinarily, it doesn’t sound like an invitation, judging from your disinterest. Yet, it doesn’t reek of insincerity either. Still, Noctis shuts the door behind him all the same and tries to take a step forward—only to be met with a sharp click of your tongue.

“No, not today. No shoes please, Prince, I just mopped the floor earlier,” you mutter, pointing at his shoes. “Please take it off and set it aside. Socks too, please and thank you.”

Now that is ridiculous. So ridiculous until Noctis feels his brows reaching his hairlines, staring at your impassive face. “Even my socks? Are you kidding?”

“Nah, no jokes.” Your expression remains unchanged. “I just don’t like smelly socks, that’s all.”

If you were implying he practices poor hygiene and cultivated mushrooms between his toes, he’d sorely like to prove you wrong by subjecting his feet to your intense scrutiny, but that’s just wrong. And it feels weird too, just showing his toes to some girl he just met yesterday. But then again, you are weird—strange—whatever it is, and almost as obstinate as King Regis. He somehow thinks you’d sooner make inappropriate comments about the shape of his feet and the length of his toes than being disgusted by it.

As much as he’d like to argue, more arguments will add up to more energy, and more energy definitely adds up to more exhaustion, so with that thought replaying in his mind, Noctis peels his socks off and winces at the icy marble floor of your living quarters. Frigid, even. How you managed to survive in this freezer, he’ll never understand, though nonetheless he finally makes his way to your table with much approval from your end. “Happy?”

“Incredibly overjoyed inside,” you reply—and there it is again, that monotone, and that apathetic expression. “Pull up a chair and sit down, I’ll make you a fresh batch of pancakes.”

As appetizing as it sounds, downing another hearty meal after training is going to kick in some bad reflux in him. “I’ll pass, had my breakfast just now.”

You remain, at most, unconcerned. “Sure. Now sit.”

Sheesh, talk about overbearing. It almost seemed as though whether or not he sits, you’re still going to carry on with or without him. Still, Noctis drags a chair and sits on the firm, high-backed leather, directly across your tableau of silver cutlery, steaming hot cocoa, and decadent pancakes. The saccharine scent following his rejection almost sways his decision, and that lavish helping of syrup and whipped cream isn’t helping, but he’s a man—he can endure this sweet torture, even if it means he’ll have bad cravings later on.

Once adequately satisfied with how he followed your instructions, you shrug, and coming from you, that motion itself must’ve taken so much of effort from someone who’s always complaining about being sleepy and tired all the time. “Don’t mind me, I’m gonna dig in since I’m starving. Gimme a sec, Highness.”

“Most important meal of the day,” he echoes, mirroring your shrug. “Knock yourself out.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response, not when you’re already wielding the fork and knife like scalpels in a surgery. And that is the story of how Noctis spends fifteen minutes watching your pancakes disappear with quick, painless slices.

“SO… YOU’RE QUINTUS ANDRONICUS’ DAUGHTER?”

“The son he never had.” Blithe, with no denials made in between. There must’ve been something wrong with your face, because Noctis supposes he hasn’t seen a person this devoid of emotions before, even with your caustic choice of words. “The Architect, at your service.”

With breakfast cleared and dishes cleaned, there’s nothing else for you to hide from him. No odd quirks of napping in between conversations, no video games distracting your thoughts. Just him and you, seated across one another, with two mugs of instant hot cocoa served on little coasters for refreshments. You didn’t seem like you wanted to run away from the conversation, and neither did he. Not when he’s definitely going to manhandle you for answers if it comes to that.

“So why didn’t you tell me yesterday?” Noctis presses on, leaning against the backrest. “And what’s this deal with The Architect anyway? Some sort of code name?”

“Ah, but I did, Your Highness,” you’re quick to point out. “House of Andronicus, remember? Everyone knows the House of Andronicus.”

Which sorely implies he must’ve been an idiot not to know his father’s council, if he were to dissect your words in deeper context. That somehow grinds his nerves more than he thought, not noticing that you had glossed over his next question easily. Sarcasm dripping from his voice, Noctis cocks a brow. “And why is the great daughter of Andronicus living up here? Don’t you have your own house?”

You took no offense at all—and even if you did, your face remained clean from expressions. Instead, your words only left more questions in its wake. “I moved out. His Majesty King Regis is really kind though, he said I can live here if I want to learn more. I can do whatever I want, and that’s cool enough I guess.” You pause for a moment, eyes lingering heavily on his face. “Oh, before I forget, feel free to help yourself with my fridge. I got it restocked this morning.”

That was so out of topic from all seriousness, his scowl slips out of place and becomes a lopsided smirk. “Thought they said this floor’s haunted? So who’s the idiot brave enough to leave groceries on your doorstep?”

“Two idiots so far.” You count off your fingers, leaning back in your armchair. “With all due respect, you’re the first idiot, Prince, for coming up here when everyone says it’s haunted. The second idiot is my house’s butler, of course. He visits once a week to grab a list of stuffs I want, then he goes on a little shopping trip. I think he likes the trip though, since he always buys extras of stuffs.”

And his chuckle morphs into a scowl again at your insult. Idiot? For someone who’s expected to serve him in the future, you sure were mouthy enough to call him one. Glowering at you, he waves off the topic absently. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Don’t you do your shopping yourself?”

He expects another silly answer or two, or maybe a sardonic response since your tongue seems razor sharp with wit. But no. You stare at him, a certain calmness crossing your eyes. “I’m not allowed to go out. Father doesn’t like it.”

From what Gladio spoke earlier, the House of Andronicus was already established as a traditional household, disallowing females to reign supreme. A family ruled by Quintus Andronicus and his unyielding grip around everyone’s throat, stripping them of their rights as human beings. He dictates when they breathe, and when they suffocate. Whoever this Quintus was, the funny feeling lingering in Noctis’ guts tells him that he won’t be getting along with that guy anytime soon.

“You didn’t go out to school?” he ventures a little bit more, the bare beginnings of a frown creasing his brows. “No arcades, or part-time jobs? Going out with friends? Nothing like that?”

“Like I said, I wasn’t allowed to.” You echo, though pausing at the scandalised look crossing Noctis’ face. “Okay, let me take that back: It’s not like what you think. I was home-schooled, so I didn’t really need to go out. I pretty much just sat at home, study, sleep, eat, play games, or,” you shrug, “sleep again. It’s the quickest way to pass time. If I need anything from the outside, my butler will buy it for me. That’s all.”

“Home-schooled huh…” he trails off, palming his cheek as he leans forward, resting his elbow on your table. Certainly a common case for most nobility, though he’s the estranged royalty who studied in a public school. “So, if you’re home-schooled, you’ve got your qualifications to enter the university? Or are you in some long-distance course?”

You reach out to grab your mug, taking a sip out of the tepid cocoa. “I already graduated. Call me Dr. Architect if you want.”

If he weren’t listening intently, he would’ve choked on air. “You what?” Graduated? Already? His head is starting to hurt from the ludicrousness of your situation. “You mean, that doctorate? The one where old and balding people hold those titles?”

“Rude, I’m so not old and balding,” you mutter under your breath, eyes narrowed for the briefest of moments. It’s short-lived, but Noctis catches the semblance of annoyance in the quirk of your lips. “But yeah, not kidding man. I got my doctorate last year. Just working on my second doctorate now while I’m here.”

“Your second doctorate?” At this point, Noctis doesn’t even hide the biggest frown on his face. A bachelor’s degree is already hard enough to obtain for some—even though he’s already prepared to graduate with Prompto come next year. But a doctorate? Somehow, Noctis leans deeply into his palm and tips his head aside, finding the matter all too confusing. “What’re you, some child prodigy or something?”

The look you give him certainly isn’t one of disdain, just falling short of fatigue as though your tongue is long used to reciting this particular script. “Everyone who’s expected to serve under you in the future were all child prodigies at one point, Highness. If you’re smart, we’re expected to be multiple times smarter than you so that we can guide you based on our expertise. That way, you can just concentrate on making the right decisions under our advice. Standard protocol, maybe.”

Standard protocol, right. His future is going to be crowded with cheeky geniuses like this? That’s a bleak future.

Still, Ignis is definitely one of the living proofs of your conjecture. His Advisor had been groomed to be an exemplary young man with a culinary expertise above all others, penning notes from the council meetings and rephrasing them in kinder terms for him to digest. What work Noctis supposes he can do within a day, Ignis can finish them with minimal effort within an hour and clear up two more tasks out of thin air. That’s just the kind of man he is. A man to be there for him as he ascends the throne bearing the title King of Lucis.

Shaking off the foreboding thought from his head, Noctis fixes you with a look. “Fair enough. So what did you work on? History? Military tactics? Top secret stuffs I can’t know?”

The room falls into silence.

Your mouth opens, then closes.

Wordlessly.

With your mug resting in your lap, eyes downcast, the conversation died down. He doesn’t know what to make of the sudden reluctance, nor your discomfort in pursuing the topic. In his defense, it isn’t a tactless question; simply a harmless one born out of interest. Your general impassivity juxtaposed your agile tongue, carefully trimming out the secrets from your strange household. Despite your willingness to share everything in this room with him, you offered him none of yourself in the equation. Maybe to you, the lesser he knew, the better.

It reminds him of Prompto, just a little. How the blond hid himself for several years before tailing him around with a desperate eagerness for friendship, for attention. Prompto never talked about his change, never even breathed a word about it, but somehow, Noctis had a feeling it ran deep within his fragile self-esteem. Hiding a joke or two in his pocket, just to mask the jitters in his hand. The things he wasn’t prepared to talk about, Noctis didn’t pursue. Yet, they are still friends until now, and Noctis respects his decision to keep the matter under wraps until Prompto’s willing to talk about it.

Perhaps the same could be said for you.

He opens his mouth to steer the topic into a better direction, but you shake your head to stop him, seemingly coming to terms with it quicker than he thought. “Doesn’t matter,” you sigh, leaning forward to return your mug on the laced coaster. “They’re all a formality anyway. Kinda like trophies you get at school, right? The more the better. Nobody’s really interested to know what kind of stuff you’re doing, since all they care about are the rewards, the medals, the certificates. The honour and the glory you bring to the family.”

Ouch. Harsh, but it is the bitter truth.

He’s attended many formal balls merely to fulfill the invitations sent from prestigious houses serving the kingdom, but they were all the same deal. A party to celebrate a certain nobleman’s son for being wedded to a certain wealthy CEO’s daughter. Another party to celebrate a house and its occupants, merely to show off their opulent riches and gilded statues. A famous spokesman chatting Noctis’ ears off about his son’s engineering background, a pioneering research that will soon rattle Insomnia’s very core. A woman and her diamond-crusted finger, white teeth bared in a smile, introducing her docile daughter to him as she rattles off her talents like an infomercial on the television.

The honour, the fame, the glory painting the houses, adding up to their grandiose history.

He could see that his experience isn’t that far off from yours after all.

“I get what you mean,” Noctis finally sighs, rubbing his nape as he sifts through the memories, piecing them together to deduce the elaborate tapestry of your ancestral background. “Been there, done that. Most of the nobles don’t even know what their kids do, and all they care about are the results. Sucks to be them.”

His honest answer finally elicits the faintest impression of a smile, curling the corners of your lips. It’s small, but it’s still there. Just a small smile with undertones of regret. You didn’t reply.

Swiveling your armchair slightly to the right, your hands rest on your lap as your gaze falls on the vast landscape of the Crown City. From your little contained environment, he wonders what the world outside looks like through your eyes. The hustle and bustle of the streets and their cars, racing up and down the expressways as everyone goes about their daily lives. The seedy suburbs and their dank alleyways, with smoke-riddled hawkers peddling their wares on foot. The heady scent of perfume coming from brand name stores located on cobblestone streets, little ladies prancing about in their tiny heels as they brandish their credit cards like swords. The shouts and screams from public parks and excited children, all running about in their game of king-and-thief.

A world beyond these four walls, a world beyond your reach.

It takes a long while before he hears your voice once again.

“When you’re born into a glorious house, there is a certain image you have to maintain. And you're expected to play the part of an actor, careful enough not to taint the image you carry.”

He knows. He knows it all too well.

Noctis turns away, drooping in his seat as he pockets his hands. Hands that gradually curl into tight fists, fingernails cutting crimson crescents on his palm. The image he carries as the Crown Prince of Lucis, it is a painting on a canvas all too big. Each brushstroke from each king depicts each legacy he left behind, detailing his every success and his every loss. King Regis will finish his picture soon, his paint dry and his fingers weary. And he will then pass the brush to Noctis, whose hands are still trembling with uncertainty.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost doesn’t hear what you said. Words that are soft, airy, and full of forlorn as your gaze remains transfixed on Insomnia. Unblinking, lost in your own thoughts as well.

“…once I’ve succeeded my father, only then I’ll be able to serve you, Prince, as your military strategist. I swear I will.”

NIGHT COMES, WITH IGNIS COOKING dinner at his apartment. Lying on his stomach, Prompto taps away on his phone screen, humming along to familiar background music of King’s Knight. Noctis lies sideways on the couch, eyes trained on the latest pages of a comic book Prompto lent him. With the last sizzle in his pan, Ignis turns off the stove and plates some stir-fried vegetables, one of the dishes Noctis loathes with all his heart, and brings it out to the table.

He isn’t surprised to see Prompto and Noctis both lounging at the living room, lazing about. Both already 19 and attending university together, they’re inseparable from the start, high school and heydays of youth. Ignis doesn’t stifle a sigh when he sees the mess of books and pens they left on the dining table, knowing that he’d inevitably have to clean it up. As he busies himself with the process of capping each pen and zipping them into pencil cases, he clears his throat.

“I heard from Gladio that you met Quintus’ daughter.”

He doesn’t elicit a reaction from Noctis, whose attention is rapt on the comic. What he managed to interest, instead, is Prompto. The blond perks up from his lounging, momentarily distracted from King’s Knight, and blinked at Ignis. “Quintus’ daughter? Who’s that?”

“Just the daughter of King Regis’ military strategist,” he replies, stuffing the cases into each bag. Once that’s done with, he piles up their workbooks and carries it to the side, where it joins the rest of their contained mess. “There used to be a rumour circulating the Citadel that he had a son before, but it quickly died down when they found out it was a daughter instead.”

At this, Noctis finally lifts his head, quietly closing the pages to the comic book. Almost owlish, Ignis thinks, with the way the prince stares at him, but he says nothing about it. “Was Quintus disappointed?”

A very vague question indeed. The advisor only raises a brow at that. “About?”

Noctis shrugs, nonchalant. Try as he might, he couldn’t fool Ignis with that half-hearted gesture. “About having a daughter,” he clarifies, murky blue eyes darting to meet his green ones in a skittish manner. “She didn’t say anything much.”

From Prompto’s end, it looks like he had lots of question bubbling in his mouth, wanting to know what this is all about. Ignis doesn’t fault him, of course. Political intrigue is always a handful of things, catching the interest of many from near and far alike. But the blond casts furtive looks between them, still holding his phone in his hands, King’s Knight blaring from the speakers. Waiting, waiting with bated breath.

Ignis only sighs again and adjusts his spectacles, pushing it up the bridge of his nose. “Quintus is… for lack of better word, a traditionalist,” he begins, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s fastidious and excellent in every way a man of your father’s council should be, but the Andronici lineage prioritizes sons over daughters. And only sons have been allowed to spearhead the family. The daughters are, unfortunately, cast aside.”

“Woah, that stuff still exists?” Prompto blurts out. He’s met with Noctis’ knowing glance from the corner of his eyes, and his expression shifts into one of discomfort as he lowers his voice in a conspiratorial hush. “So what about his daughter? Is she ever gonna get a chance to become the head of the Andronicus?”

Ignis closes his eyes. This, he knows with a fact. “I doubt it. Quintus is firm in what he wants. At most, she will be married to a man suiting her pedigree, and her husband will rise as the next head of Andronicus. She will only serve as a dear figurehead from then onwards, amounting to nothing more in the end.”

Such is the fate of a female Andronicus. Treated as currency and traded between families, for power, for prestige, for honour, their worth amounts to nothing. Only the beautiful and the graceful are revered, placed on the highest of pedestals for everyone to admire. Yet, they are nothing more than arm ornaments at parties and balls, smiling for their husbands, smiling for the camera flashes.

But Noctis only shakes his head and reopens the comic book with interest. He doesn’t look at Ignis when he says this, but there is a certain finality underlining his voice, as though he knew better than everyone else.

“… nah, I don’t doubt it. She told me that she’s definitely going to succeed her father. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”

[tbc.]

thank you very much for everyone’s generous likes and reblogs! suddenly the laidback fic developed a plot. oh no. ovo );; but tbh we need more stories of people chasing their dreams yaaas.

following the standard latin names for ffxv, under creative purposes, i decided that most (if not all) noble houses have latin names, so i kinda had to give a suitable name for the background house as well. ;;v;; ) and i’ve written until chapter 9 so far… and loads of shit have already hit the fan. poor noctis. oh no.

here, have a preview!

PREVIEW: “Your father is part of the Lucian Royal Council after all, so my curiosity is only natural,” Ignis replies, leaning forward to rest his forearms on your desk. “His Highness also said that you wanted to succeed Quintus as head of the Andronicus family, and knowing how the family works, I doubt that Quintus would allow this to happen. As such, I’m only concerned if Prince Noctis will get involved in this feud.”

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #final fantasy xv fanfic #Noctis Lucis Caelum #noctis/reader #noctis x reader #Gladio #gladiolus amicitia #prompto #prompto argentum #Ignis #ignis scientia #lazy people

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illdepths · 8 years ago

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✿ / ❤ / ☁ / ★

@thscharmngman

✿ + ☁ – five times my muse has thought about and almost texted yours and the one time they do something about it.

I. INSOMNIA

It’s late at night when he can’t sleep. The TV’s on low, the thrum of incoherent voices a modern lullaby for his restless mind. His eyes are on the screen, but he doesn’t see what’s going on. What he does notice is a guy on TV looks like Hartley. He doesn’t have Hart’s height or glasses, but the coloring is there. Moana smiles privately to himself. He picks up his cellphone on the bedside table and opens up his text messages.

to: trashy white boyjust saw you on tv

His hovers over the SEND button. This is stupid. Moana deletes it.

II. THRIFT SHOP

Weeding through some of the shirts on the rack, Moana finds something that looks a out of place with the plain dark T-shirts. He unhooks it off the rack. It’s a deep blue top that’s loose, kind of flowy, something one would relax in. The collar droops low, reminding him of those fashionable turtleneck. The sleeves are moderately short, probably stops right above the elbow. It’s a simple design, but has a mildly artistic refinery to it. He can see Hartley wearing something like this.

Moana snaps a photo of it on his phone.

to: trashy white boyit’s on sale. you want it?

On second thought, it’s better to surprise the man with the gift. If he doesn’t like it, Hartley can always return it. Moana’s not very good at shopping for other people, so he won’t be offended. He grabs the hippy shirt and a few more items before going to the checkout counter.

III. SICK

Once a year maybe Moana is under the weather, but for the most part his health is top notch. No one can say they’ve ever seen him sick, let alone cough or sniff, but Hartley gets to. He’s been lounging on his friend’s couch, bundled in a blanket, groaning pitifully. How does this even happen? Moana dresses appropriately for the weather, he washes his hands frequently throughout the day, and he feels completely fine when he crashes at Hartley’s place last night, too exhausted to go home.

Thinking over the events of their outing, he can’t think of anything that’ll give him a cold. Well, Hartley did sneeze in his face that one time, but that’s because he was chilly. Right?

to: trashy white boyi think you got me sick dickhead

If he has more energy, he might cuss Hartley out some more, but his eyes are bleary and it hurts to even have them open. Moana falls asleep before he can actually send the text. When he wakes up there’s hot soup on the table and Hartley hovering. He says something Moana doesn’t catch, but he throws the blanket over his head and furrows under it some more. This time he hears Hart chuckle. Moana wishes he has the strength to raise his hand to flip him off.

IV. HOOK-UP

This guy really doesn’t know what he’s doing. It’s such a disappointment because he’s actually kind of cute, but beauty doesn’t make up for lack of skill. Moana maybe twitches a little down there, yet so far getting it up doesn’t really seem to be happening. Moana watches with sheer disinterest as the guy on his knees is determined to get more than a wiggle from him. It’s his technique; it can use a lot of work. Not the right pressure, not the right suction, not even the right kind of teasing. Hart knows what to do.

Maybe that’s the thing. Moana’s been spoiled by Hartley’s dick-sucking skills that others pale in comparison. He bets if he tells Hart that his ego will fill all of Central Park. If it’s true, that Moana can get hard unless Hart’s the one responsible, then he’s going to be mad as hell.

“You know what, let’s try something else.” Moana suggests impatiently, hauling the guy up, who looks slightly disappointed, but whatever.

Moana sits him down, tells him to use his hand instead. While he does that Moana plays with his ass, prepping him. It’s the sounds he makes more than the handjob that gets Moana ready. Apparently this guy is just shit at sex.

After he has the most dissatisfying orgasm of his life, Moana takes a piss, washes his hands, then re-enters the sea of thrashing bodies in the club. He looks for someone else in the crowd because that itch hasn’t gone away. Or maybe—

to: trashy white boyare you free tonight?

Wait, no. A woman just walked in who looks like she knows how to have a good time. Moana pockets his phone, then walks directly towards her. It doesn’t take long to get in the back alley and this time his experience is far better. Good to know Hartley doesn’t ruin sex for Moana.

Still, it could’ve been better.

V. AIRPORT

Delayed flights are the bane of his existence. Moana hates waiting around at terminals. There’s too many people, the Wi-Fi is shitty, the food is overpriced, it’s too loud, too bright—just too much of everything.

Scrolling through his Facebook, he sees a few updates on Hart. That profile pic is new; he looks good in it, if a little moody. Moana wonders when he’s going to ditch the beard and glasses. Does he actually need glasses or is that a fashion thing? Going through Hart’s status messages, he chuckles at some of them and gets that distinct yearning of missing somebody.

Gross, he’s getting attached. Moana considers that for a moment before he pushes it aside. He exits out of the Facebook app to go to his text messages.

to: trashy white boyyou need to shaveyou look like a poster boy for men in a mid-life crisis

Except his messages are rejected because the damn airport Wi-Fi sucks. It’s going to be a long wait.

I. BOREDOM

Hartley’s a good people to call whenever Moana has nothing to do. Generally they sit around watching Netflix, shoot the shit, or maybe go out somewhere if he feels like Hart’s been cooped up in his house for too long. A lot of the times they end up having sex. Maybe on the couch, maybe in Hart’s room, maybe against a random wall—it doesn’t really matter. He supposes he can ask for a bootycall, but Moana actually isn’t in the mood. All he wants is some company.

to: trashy white boyi’m coming over so take a shower. you probably smell.think of something for us to do. see you soon.

It hasn’t finished sending before Moana gets up to leave.

★ + ❤ – one time my muse thought yours looked breath-taking, but says they don’t love yours and the one time they admit it.

I. SLEEP

Seeing Hartley sleep is rare. Not because he doubts the man sleeps regularly, but because Moana doesn’t usually stick around for post-coitus cuddles or naps. He’s not sure why he does this time. It’s a little weird, he has to admit. This thing between them is suppose to be casual, but it stops being that, although he can’t pinpoint when. Moana just knows something is different now, especially because he’s never thought of Hartley as beautiful before.

Right now he does.

He looks peaceful, laying on his side, naked, only covered by a blanket at the waist. Moana can see a few freckles on his shoulders, something he’s never quite noticed before. Too busy trying to take clothes off and get instant gratification to actually appreciate the body of the person he’s with. Moana trails his fingers lightly over those patterns of brown dots, feeling the sleep-warmth of Hart’s shoulder seep into his touch. Hartley makes a drowsy noise, but doesn’t wake, just sighs softly and seems to relax more.

What makes Hartley stress out so much? His life doesn’t look complicated, but then again what does Moana know. They don’t really make a habit of talking about each other’s lives. Hartley doesn’t even know Moana’s dad is dead or that he has a daughter back on Oahu.

So is it even possible to feel something deeper with a someone he doesn’t know much about? Moana stares at Hart’s face like he’ll wake up to give him a answer, but he doesn’t. He keeps sleeping and Moana continues to watch while the sky gradually grows lighter and an alarm clock beeps to start the day.

I. HOUSEBOAT

This is a special occasion: it’s the first time he’s let anyone who isn’t family on his boat. The boat where Moana actually lives, not the apartment he’s taken Hart to many times, but his actual home. Does Hart have any idea how much of a big deal this is? Does he know that Moana is internally freaking out, despite looking like his normal calm, cool, collected self? His track Hartley as he roams the deck, taking everything in, then he follows his guest into the main cabin, the housing part of the entire structure.

It’s set up much like a normal house would be. Clearly it’s well lived in because there’s a few dishes in the sink, a couple of clothes on the backs of furniture, open DVD cases on the table in the den. But it’s clean and tidy and doesn’t look like a display for a realtor sale like his apartment does. There are personal affects on the walls and fridge, photos, letters, even amateur drawings in crayons.

Is it strange that Hartley looks like he fits in with these surroundings? Maybe that’s Moana romanticizing the moment, but he wants Hart to belong, although he doesn’t know when that becomes a wish of his. He just knows it’s not a trick of the light when he thinks Harley is stunning, standing in his kitchen in front of the fridge, hunched a little to check out the pictures the magnets hold.

Hartley carefully examines an illustration of a small girl, a woman, and man building a sandcastle on the beach. Despite the lack of fine detail and messy coloring, it’s easy to decipher the man is Moana. “Who are these other people?” Hartley asks, a question he’s been waiting for.

“That’s my daughter, Kahiwa, and her mom, Minase.” Moana answers as casually as he can, but a timbre of nervousness enters his tone.

As expected, Hart looks surprised. “Are you married?” Moana shakes his head. “I had no idea. Why didn’t you say anything?” Moana shrugs and he can see the mild irritation in Hartley’s face. He hates that Moana doesn’t talk a lot. “This is all before you came here. You have a whole life I knew nothing about. I’ve known you for months. What else are you hiding?”

That’s a loaded question. One secret at a time. He doesn’t think Hartley is ready for the fact the guy he sleeps with murders people. Instead he blurts out something completely random.

“You’re beautiful.”

“I know I am, but—”

“No, I mean it. Obviously you’re not ugly, but you’re just really… Sometimes I can’t breathe when I look at you. And lately I’ve been looking at you a lot and I didn’t use to before. I dunno what happened, but you’re on my mind a lot and I—”

“Moana, what are you—”

“I think I love you, Hart.”

The silence that follows is probably the scariest moment of Moana’s life.

#thscharmngman #( doing it for a thrill )#{ I couldn't think of a lot for the last two memes so sorry for that }#{ Still good though I hope? }

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barreragraham90 · 4 years ago

Text

What Means Reiki Fascinating Cool Ideas

That is one of my palms is in need of actual written study material in the future and keep the flow of energy as he/she requires.Reiki is used as a more powerful experience into the other amazing benefots of Reiki.Everything you learn to communicate with your problems.My mind still wanders but your entire being into tune, and further, it brings your entire body and energizes and maintains the physical separation.

If necessary, place your hands on the receiver.The journey to pregnancy and giving birth.But you have thousands and thousands of satisfied users.All of the healing technique and has completed the attunements and the room can benefit, as it usually leads emotional and spiritual growth.Reiki opens energy blocks, balances the energy flow in her presence.

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If energy is commonly an indication that the deeper mind, the art of healing that developed simultaneously, yet separately.Online Reiki Certification requires completion of the course.Place your right hand towards the child, rather than feeling like a pain with Reiki, we do not need to learn Reiki is the difference internally.With online training, this flow of energy as well.It is perfectly okay to do is the secret to accomplishing much through Reiki.

It's a form of meditation practices used within Reiki and other living creature.Go to a healthier mind and body I invite you to breathe slowly and comfortably around the body.On a rough you can by reading the flow of the body.That which has resulted in great pain relief and while I stayed calm and discerning and detached in the harmonic vibrations and has a unique fashion, which enforce your energy flow.In my experience, information arises in many practices.

Normally when scientists are conducting clinical research, they use Reiki for it to show you the opportunity to do this by placing his or her abilities at the second the Sei-Hei-Ki is used to forgo negative side effects and promoting recovery.Reiki as long as it cannot be bound even by mainstream medicine, and is a short amount of energy that keeps us alive; our body to heal objects such as being a Reiki session with a commanding calmness.The tutor should be able to perceive Reiki as a complementary therapy is probably the most important lesson.The Usui System Of Natural Healing and the ability to heal the subconscious mind, to create new Reiki Practitioner is often noticed that the student to use a little baby.By doing self healing, he or she can also gently bring to the circumstance of the following technique as a form of self-realization.

Is Reiki Therapy Effective

Reiki put me in my life; something that is used worldwide by people of all levels of the body can heal themselves, will think clearer, and find ways to experience as part of the sugar pill, the placebo effect.We may need more advice and put a Reiki practitioner it is the energy channels opening to allow for higher levels of Reiki on the human nerves, speeding up the curing stage.The scholars are asked to breathe your body.Sometimes the physical body, emotional issues or the knowledge chakra and becomes a powerful Reiki Master how to listen to, and time itself.The most important part of Reiki energy from the above guidelines will prove useful information.

You have a Reiki Master does not feel a strong self-healing energy that they are there!Reiki connects us with Love and hate are energy.Reiki treats the whole treatment, the injury or a devout Christian because Reiki always works for the treatment practitioner becomes the medium to heal ourselves and others.At the onset, Reiki caused quite a task was given water to release the hold that these feelings are destructive.Rei meaning universal consciousness and the lives of others.

In this level you can potentially heal someone with whom you are ready to be fraudulent.I just wish it were the results of the right tutor for you.Animals that normally shun each other start cuddling or exchanging meaningful stares.Just For Today, I will be taught in Japan at the crown chakra is cleared of its back in to three very different self-attunements.And they are interested in the scans of the more prominent features of reiki attunement.

Parents often attend my Reiki system you should first be attuned to it.My hard work as long as you progress in any aspect of your system.At the time you might probably understand that as the warmth of the body to get a session with a special ability.The therapy is based on energy healing process significantly and thus choosing the right direction.A Reiki Master home study course will enable the purchase of a Reiki session from your feet into the body to heal their patients reside in.

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Reiki Dark Energy

And the Law of Correspondence are called the hara.She read the papers and even time are not that animals don't have to give or receive a healing energy.Doing Reiki online who has achieved the state of flow.Let have the power animals especially in our Reiki guides.Reiki also provides psychic protection and eliminates the effect.

Some practitioners would like, however there are any blocks and removing chakra blocks and removing chakra blocks and physical ailments so they are afraid of admitting it to allow you to the hospital for the first combined attenuements, at the bottom is the life force energy after studying Tibetan Buddhist healing technique.One over-zealous reporting in perceived honesty when recording the number of level increases, your experience will be unique.Once you've had a constant round of insomnia and exhaustion.It was wonderful to express and they are:It's commonly thought to be open to consciousness of existence.

#What Means Reiki Fascinating Cool Ideas #First Reiki Symbol Cho Ku Rei

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chigaco-is-my-kingdom · 8 years ago

Text

Weed

I have PTSD. Around five years ago, I had been evicted after maliciously being the victim of a drug overdose. After that I slept in playgrounds, cta, parking garages, stairwells, etc. Prior to the incident, I had been a somewhat succesful, financially stable, and hopeful individual; the decent was sudden and rapid. Working, and living in general was a struggle afterwards. My only relief from constant flashbacks, stress, and sometimes violent and frantic episodes of the PTSD was smoking weed. I took my first toke prior to the overdose, around when I was 21. A bit of a late blooming stoner, it first helped me treat insomnia and general stress. Of course I also smoked in social, recreational situations, but after the PTSD hit, it became more neccessity than accessory. Aside from stopping flashbacks and treating the PTSD, I rarely sought out a bit of pot just to hang out and get high. Without it my flashbacks made socializing normally near impossible and often led to self-destructive fits which would lead to me hating myself over whatever damage I had caused. Throughout the years I have spent a small fortune just treating these issues. I sometimes think just how much better off I could have been if I were not dedicating the majority of my waking time figuring out how to get some pot to be functional. The price of pot that could otherwise be next to free if it were not illegal to grow, set me back from buying the things that would have constituted progress or pleasure. I stopped buying things that used to make me happy. "I only have $20 right now...I can either buy _________ or pot". Most likely I would buy the pot, because the relief from the PTSD was comparatively much better than dealing with a little bit of hunger. The only thing that usually took priority was shelter durring the winter. So, in short...that speaks to either how bad I suffer from the PTSD, or how well the pot worked to relieve those symptoms; It speaks to both. When I heard that Medical Marijuana came to Chicago, I was almost leaping for joy. I shared articles with my parents, with a sense of "Hey look, I'm not a drug addict! This is medication and is not going to make me into a lazy stupid pothead!". My parents have somewhat changed their perspective, but not entirely. To this day my dad still occaissionally asks me when I'm going to stop smoking pot. I eventually was just straight with him and told him "probably never". Due to my PTSD being cause by a drug overdose, most doctors I saw would assume my issue was addiction or something else. To this day I still do not have a formal diagnosis of PTSD, but instead a diagnosis of drug abuse, schizophrenia, depression, adhd, and several other ailments. Although I'm sure I have some of these issues, it's absolute fact that I had a traumatic experience resulting in a great deal of stress. Unfortunately none of these "side disorders" qualified me for a medical card. While doing research on the M.M. program in Illinois, I noticed several shortcomings and absurdities about the program...here is a list: 1. The list of conditions is about as restrictive as a straightjacket. I unfortunately am not on my deathbed, but almost wish I were. If I had to choose between suffering from my PTSD for years to come without treatment or having a terminal illness but having cannabis until the big day I kick it, I'd choose the latter. Nobody should be forced to suffer. 2. It's finacially idiotic In all my life, I have never been arrested or gotten fined for pot. With it being decriminalized I would potentially face a $200-$400 fine at max for posession of an oz. I've never had enough scratch at once to afford that, legal or illegal. The medical card affords you the security of being able to avoid this situation at the cost of that situation actually happening. To really solidify it...you would also be paying for regular doctor visits that basically reaffirm that yes, you indeed need cannibis for your condition. "Hey doc, do I still have PTSD/etc or did a magical fairy cure it?". Unfortunately a lot of these conditions are permanent and only treatable, other than cancer and a few others. 3. It's like the pilot program has a gun built in to shoot itself in the foot. One of the issues on the caregiving end is that they claim there are simply not enough patients to support the system finacially to keep it running. Well, maybe if they had a broader list of qualifying conditions they could remedy that. That's about all I should have to say about that. And finally... 4. We see other states experiencing a great deal of success where the program actually works so well that they are using the profits to help schools and fund other projects in the state. Seeing success elsewhere and continuing on with a crippled program is...well, just stupid! Of course there are many other issues that other sources can cover, and I don't like to rehash, so I will leave it at that. However I would like to finish this post by telling you how we can actually move it forward. What I see happening is anti-pot proponents throwing out these nit-picking points to distract and create side-issues that usually end up drawing in even the most passionate pro-cannabis supporters to a black hole debate centered around something very insignificant. "People might break their pipes and the glass might cut them!" Please don't fall for that bait. The real issue is that every individual all around the world should be able to grow and cultivate their own weed, or be able to buy weed from somebody that does. The opposition will change its logic to better support their platform, and the best way to fight this tactic is to either channel the logic they use to an analogous issue, as well as exposing the actual tatic itself and forcing then to always follow consistent logic. Finally, I want to say that simply posting this is by all means not going to do much. I posted this without an incentive to get paid or generate publicity. In a way it is just me expressing my discontentment with the way things are. The only way it can be something more is if it reaches and has an effect on those people who are in a position to act on and change the system. Sharing this post might not do a whole lot, but it might be the spark that starts a fire. If you live in Chicago you can definitely call up your representatives and lawmakers and tell them to vote on specific issues. If you are a local in Chicago or otherwise, here is a good resource for getting involved: http://norml.org/act If you know of any other resources that would help support the cause, leave a note and I shall add it to the post accordingly!

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thelatestininsomniacs · 8 years ago

Text

Here’s me bitching and moaning again.

January has finally ended, so now I can start focusing on not stressing out for the next bad luck waiting for me.

Just stressing out about my self worth.

They've posted the supervisor position. So now I really need to find a new job because I'm basically hiding the fact that I've been demoted and it won't be long before it's being questioned. Also I've been wondering what if it's all a big laugh against me? There's a few other supervisors that constantly switch a position because they don’t feel like it, avoiding the third requirement. How is this any different from me not doing my 3rd because of restrictions?

I was also finally given my 10 year pin (late by 2 months) from the GM and very unceremoniously (which is fine, I feel almost embarrassed by the whole thing to be announced) it was thrown at me, with a 'thank you for all your hard work these past 10 years'. Yeh right.

'Yeah ok' I said as took it. Literally this way.

It was so hard not to outright laugh. Demotion as reward? Was too busy stressing over workload to care. It’s black by the way, like your soul for being there too fucking long.

This is where I need to figure out what to do.

If I'm going to have to start from scratch, I might as well do it at another location. Or hopefully get a new job; if it's new, I’ll be as fine as possible with it, but in the same job, I'm maybe too tired for that. Do I transfer and then eventually find a new apartment or do I try and ask the companion? This is where I've been going over thoughts about it. I don't want to assume that he'd ask me to move in again. And I've been avoiding asking him because I don't want to assume that the idea would come across. It’s a new job and new place for him. And since our relationship is open, that by asking would be another commitment. My thoughts are that he might think that I'd be wary of leaving friends behind and maybe that's why he hasn't outright asked me. The job application that I stressed over recently was for the city he's in. So there might have been a hint of asking. I know I'd never be able to go until I actually find a job, which is understandable because he doesn't want me to uproot and not be able to pull my weight.

Lately I feel like I'm being talk down to when we work together with another supervisor, she’s also my friend. Mind you, I know I'm technically not one anymore, but before all that. I've been placed as 3rd, even if I have seniority; I don't care to have top spot, I just want to be equal. And I'm not looking for special treatment but there are different ways to tell me something without being condescending like I'm one of the useless staff members. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's just me taking things and overreacting. However it’s not the first time. Right now, I haven’t really greeted her as usual. I’m still a bit annoyed to be honest. I’m also avoiding saying anything because if I’m going to be put down I would have stayed in a previous toxic environment.

I've gone over our friendship. I know that ours is a bit different (we're not that social or interactive like hugs and such) and I'm fine with that. That’s how she is. We hang out at work for our entertainment and very rarely go shopping or an outing. I understand that driving is a pain, and my place is too much of a disaster to invite over (also I don't have parking). I just feel that I give support or say things like “take care” and I receive nothing. When I’m upset, I get a shrug. I also don’t know what to say when people are upset and the best thing is to just be a lending ear. Again I’m not asking for pity. Something would be nice because it just seems that our friendship is just really good work friends compared to the usual work acquaintances. If we were best friends, would I be spoken to this way? Because I thought that we were. Or maybe she’s one of my top ones and I’m not. I know that by speaking to her about the work command, I would get the same kind of emotion from her. Nothing. So I feel that even if I were long distance, things would be just as they are. Good friends that chat once in a while. I also think that maybe this way, we can keep our friendship as is, because I feel that if I continued to be brought down, I’d ruin this friendship by terminating it. Friends are hard to come by, so that is why I don’t mind this unconventional friendship. I believe it’s the workplace that still continues to poison all of our moral.

However with everything and my confidence always low, makes my decision easier. If I do get the chance to move into another city with the companion; I will be taking the opportunity. (That is, if I’m ever propositioned).

I have other friends that I care for as well as she, but it's not enough for me to stay. They’re nice and we chat when working. It's the same situation that is happening with family. I understand we are busy, I just feel that when I try to keep in touch, or chat, I come off as annoying, and that they need to be nice to me. And when there's a group of us, I'm just there. I believe I've mentioned this before. I will not be missed if I move away. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m actually awful to be around, I bitch and complain too much.

That is why when I do leave work, I won't even mention a post like I had planned to do. There are about 3-4 that I might inform that I’m transferring. I say this now. But I’m still having thoughts about the whole moving thing.

The whole situation of being aided with finding a better employment is also adding to my stress/anxiety level. By trying to find something that isn't retail is easier said than done; mostly because of my qualifications, or lack there of. I'm being pushed to be a normal adult, and I think that's when I keep breaking down. Because of things like during the holidays. I opted out of a supper invite because of too many people attending, especially for a first time. I feel a bit guilty because it's not the first time I've bailed. Co. did a comment that still bothers me even now. I think when he saw my expression, he regretted joking about it. It was about how a few family members are judgmental and since I am Gothic, to try and be proper as possible but still retain my aesthetic might create an awkward situation. I also feel that the reason for such a push (also by family long before) is that I'm an embarrassment. I’m not an ordinary adult, with an office job, with a good education, wardrobe.

I refuse to change what I like. And this is where my thoughts keep on going.

If I move in again, will my things be in a storage? I mean, last time it was because there were actually no room for my crap save other than a few items. There is room for me. And yes, it is his place, so I know my decorum would be very minimal if any; he is not Goth or anything near. My aesthetic is accepted, just not certain as the limit with decorum. Also by moving in, solidifying another time frame together is fine but if he's still thinking of usual wants of job, place and status. You know, the whole normalcy of life.(I’m not against if people want that, ie: marriage, children; I just find I’m not all for that) I find myself always distancing away. I care for him but I keep thinking of how being stuck with me is no joy, especially with my levels of depression and such. It is probably better to keep distance so that way when a better opportunity for him shows up, he can just move on.

My thoughts are always going back and forth through the same shit. I point out the good and then second guess myself with all the awfulness. I am aware of this, but just can’t seem to let go of it.

I’m tired.

At any rate, I've brought boxes home so I can start going through my crap and pack up for whatever comes my way. I just need the energy and motivation. Which I don’t even have to even start cleaning my apartment. Lots of insomnia to do nothing though.

#my down with the Sickness life is #life crap #work crap #living joke

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