#that post was like 'being in your 20s is just a daily struggle not to spend $40'

[lunar-years]

Guys I didn't hold out long I preordered the Roy funko and I also finally bought Keeley's believe sign t-shirt because what is life if not a series of buying myself little treats 🫣

[falesten-iw]

To Those Who Still Hold Onto a Shred of Morality and Humanity - Stand with Us and Don’t Forget Us.

Over 40,000 lives have been lost, with 70% of them being children and women. Among these numbers are my own family members—many of whom I’ve already lost.

My family, my cousin, aunt, their children, and grandchildren were all directly targeted by Israeli airstrikes. I’m sharing a video of my aunt and cousin to reveal the harsh reality we are facing in Gaza. In this video, my aunt bravely shares her story about how the Israeli army airstruck them along with their children and grandchildren. Even if you don’t understand Arabic, just watching her speak will help you grasp the immense suffering we are enduring in Gaza. You can see the vedeo in this post.

The few family members who remain are in grave danger, and I’m terrified of losing them too. We have a chance to make a real difference and give my 24 surviving family members a chance to live.

In Gaza, jobs are non-existent, and nonprofit organizations like the UN have drastically reduced their work on the ground. Basic necessities such as milk, food, and medicine are almost as expensive as gold. My family is struggling to afford even the essentials, and my mother urgently needs medication that we simply cannot afford.

I’m also sharing another video that shows the daily struggle people face just to get clean water. The suffering here extends far beyond my family; it’s a genocide affecting every aspect of life in Gaza.

Thanks to the generosity of those who have already donated, we’ve raised $535 toward our goal of $190,363- august 17th. I’m deeply grateful to each of you, but we still have a long way to go, and I need your help more than ever. Imagine if it were your family—how would you feel if they were in this situation?

For those who have created special posts or reblogged to amplify my voice, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your support means everything to me and to my family. If you haven’t yet shared our story, please take just one minute to do so. Your voice could be the lifeline my family desperately needs.

You cannot continue to treat human lives as mere numbers. This is a genocide that demands immediate action. How many more should be killed before you all wake up? Will 40,000 lives be enough to stir us to action? 50,000? 100,000? 150,000?

Asking for donations and charity is something we never imagined having to do in Gaza before the war, and it’s heartbreaking that it has come to this. But if everyone who saw my last post donated just $10 or $20, we could reach our goal in no time. If you’re looking for a way to contribute, consider giving up your coffee, tea, or other “cup” for one day, one week, one month, or anything in between. Then, donate what you would have spent to help me. Please help us and donate now!

This is about more than just donations—it’s about preserving human lives and upholding our shared moral values. Your contribution can make a world of difference in our survival and ensure I don’t lose more of the people I love.

Demanding an end to this suffering is a matter of basic humanity. You cannot remain neutral in the face of such genocide. Please, let’s stand together. Enough is enough.

Every donation, no matter how small, brings us closer to hope and healing. Thank you again for your kindness and support. I will never forget it.

Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link

Listed even as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link

Important note: ** 105 Swedish kr is just 10$ ** 1050 Swedish kr is just 100$ ** 10500 Swedish kr is just 1000$

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[kedreeva]

Hi! I have a small farm but your posts have made me consider adding some peafowl. I've had guineafowl and chickens but god would i love peafowl. I also saw your posts with your hand raised peahen in the house, and I was wondering if she's actually litter trained? I have some bottle babies but have transferred them all out to typical barn/pasture existence, but if I could litter train a peafowl for (partial) indoor existence that would be glorious

As I have said many many times before and will likely say many many times again, you do not want a permanent house peafowl, I promise you. Bug was indoors with me because a) I have over a decade of experience with these birds, b) I did a sex linked breeding so I KNEW that she was a girl from the second she hatched c) I didn't particularly want to hand raise her, but I also wanted sleep and the birds are brooded in the house and she would not stop screaming d) I knew I was going to be home full time basically 24/7 to raise her without having to leave her on her own for long stretches while I was at work and e) I raised her with the full intention of putting her out when she was old enough to hold her own with the big birds- and that's where she currently lives, outside where she belongs.

They cannot be house/litter trained, the most you can do is diaper them, and they're not big enough for that for a few months and wearing one is always a risk- if they catch a toe from a poorly-fitted or poorly-applied diaper, they are strong enough to break their own legs and/or break their necks/wings struggling to get out.

Unlike standard breed chickens and farm waterfowl, peafowl can fly, like Actually Fly, and they can do so from about day 3 of life. You don't want a 10lb bird throwing itself around your house, because they're not passerines, they can't grasp things with their feet so they will just knock everything you love over in an attempt to find flat ground to stand on wherever they want to be. And they WILL throw temper tantrums when they're not getting their way- when you aren't sharing food, when you aren't going to bed at 6pm in the winter, when you aren't performing their daily schedule right, etc. They're just smart enough to be assholes, and big enough that that's a problem.

On top of that, males that are hand raised become exceedingly aggressive at maturity, to the point where many have been put down because they will relentless hunt and attack humans in their territory, and they have nasty spurs on their legs, and the ability to fly and to jump at least 6 feet up and hardly use their wings, which means they CAN jump and spur you in the face- and unlike chickens, they know where your face is, and will go for it. I've seen several folks with injuries from aggressive boys where the person narrowly escaped losing an eye. I, myself, was clawed over one eye once just from a bird that was eluding capture, and I'm well aware how much more badly that could have gone if she'd meant it rather than just trying to get away from being caught. The hens are (usually, although I've seen an exception) not aggressive, but unless you have the ability to socialize a hand raised hen with other birds, they have a hugely difficult time adapting to living in a flock, and I've heard many others refuse to breed with the males of their own kind. If they can't adapt to socializing with other birds, they can stress hugely when left alone or with other birds, and this can make them prone to illness.

The photos are cute, but this is a 110% "please do not attempt this at home" kind of deal. I've been caring for/learning about peafowl and their care in some way for 20 years and breeding them for the last 15 or so and I can say with my whole chest that you don't need any complications when getting into peafowl. There are already a million things that can go wrong just trying to raise a peafowl in a normal way, people kill the babies so often that a) reputable breeders often refuse to sell before 3 months old so they are well started and hardy and b) at least one Large Scale breeder I know of sells multi-pack day old chicks (the "discards" from his experimental pens) for super cheap because he fully expects them to die so he doesn't have to worry about competition on rare color breeding and can still make a buck.

If you want peafowl, and you have the space and the ability to pen one properly, and access to proper food and vet care, and you've done research on care and behavior, then absolutely go for it, they make great farm animals and they're really easy to befriend as subadults and even as adults and some birds are even super chill and will come right up and say hi (like Eris, whom I took home from another breeder because I visited and she just walked up and started inspecting me for treats like a chicken). But they do not make great indoor pets, even partially as adults.

[theetherealbloom]

NO COMPLAINTS | JOEL MILLER

No Complaints | J.Miller One Shot

Summary: In the peaceful town of Jackson, life seems stable. Ellie has found some sense of belonging, but for you, life remains a constant struggle due to the trauma you carry. You've faced loss, isolation, and danger, and you're not sure where you fit in. That's when you cross paths with Joel Miller, a man with a haunted past and a heart hidden beneath a tough exterior.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: Age-Gap (Late 20s - Early 30s) Angst, Hurt-to-Comfort, soft!joel, suicide ideation, Almost SA (dw nothing gets that far), Assault, Abuse, Blood, Injury, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Panic Attack, Slavery, Ellie and Joel had talked through their problems and everything is ok so no golf =D

A/N: This fic by @familyvideostevie titled “the meaning of it all” inspired me to write again after a long-ass writing slump. Literally, go read all of her fics cause they're just THAT good. Tbh, I’m not sure if this was even good to post since I’ve been out of practice. This one is a little darker than my usual writing, idk how it happened… it just does… so remember the trigger warning ya’ll!

Song: No Complaints by Noah Kahan

MAIN MASTERLIST

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

You always thought that you’d find peace in never being awake long enough to feel anything. You lay there staring at the red marks on the hillside and the sharp grooves in the bark of the trees, and you couldn't help but wonder how you got to be in this desolate spot. Your feet, which were now exposed and rough, bore witness to a difficult journey.

All you knew is that one moment, you were fighting for your life from a group of raiders a few miles North, and you ended up where you lay. Had it been minutes? Hours? You weren’t sure as your vision was blurry and hazy, only saw the bleak white winter sky, you could hear crows cawing in the distance as you were freezing, and the snowflakes were on your lashes as you lay there in the snow.

Memories were a blur, time a mysterious riddle. One second, you had been immersed in a life-and-death conflict with savage captors who had enslaved you many kilometers to the South. In the next, you were in this desolate, snow-covered setting, with no clear explanation for how you had arrived. You saw the world through hazy glasses, your eyesight clouded, and all you could see was the stark winter sky, pure and cruel. As you lay there, a lonely soul in the middle of the cold wilderness, the eerie cries of far-off crows provided a haunting tune to your frost-chilled daydream. Each snowflake rested sweetly upon your eyelids.

A ghostly mist danced in front of your eyes with each breath, a whispered reminder of life's fragileness. You tried to relish these fading moments with every exhausted breath out. You felt tired and under pressure from having survived for a long time. You had endured the storm for a long amount of time, seeing pathetically as those you loved died, leaving a thick veil of grief, guilt, and unremitting agony in their wake.

You ached for relief, an end to the never-ending agony that had become your daily existence. During those last seconds, as your eyes closed like a curtain shutting on a world of hopelessness, you heard the muted voices of a group of strangers and the distant sound of galloping horses. A lone figure towered above you, their voice a beacon crying for assistance, while the warmth of your own tears blended with the chill on your cheeks. 

“Please… make it stop,” you gasped, the words escaping your trembling lips like fragile whispers, hanging heavy in the frigid air. "I just want it… to stop." And with that, at that very fragile moment, you gave yourself up to the gentle embrace of the gathering darkness.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

How you awoke unfolded gradually, like the faintest of whispers. First, a parched throat and chapped lips stirred you, and then the sensation of the plush pillow cradling your head, the yielding mattress beneath, and a soft blanket cocooning your form.

Your eyelashes fluttered as you hesitantly blinked awake, and an immediate panic surged within you, constricting your chest. The world around you was unfamiliar, and a gnawing uncertainty clawed at your psyche. Was this a new iteration of hell on Earth?

A relentless drumming, your heartbeat, echoed in your ears, and your vision swirled with chaos as you scanned the alien surroundings. You used your forearms to hoist yourself from the bed, your chest rising and falling with the rapid pace of your breath.

Then, the door swung open, revealing a man in a pristine white doctor's coat, clutching a clipboard. "Oh, you're awake," he began, but your question cut through his words like a knife.

"Where am I?" you demanded, urgency coloring your voice.

"You're safe," he assured, though the reassurance felt as hollow as an echo.

Driven by an instinct you couldn't fathom, you sprang from the bed, the IV drip yanked free from your left hand, a sharp sting preceding the rush of cool air against your skin. Barefoot and resolute, you pushed past the doctor, racing down the dimly lit hallway, your footsteps echoing in the empty, sterile corridors.

With a beating heart, you reach the end of the dimly illuminated corridor and see two enormous doors. With bated breath, you lunged forward, pushing them open and preparing yourself for whatever horrors could be behind them. You expected to be in another harsh and terrible location where the only things that remained consistent were torture and cruelty.

To your astonishment, you found yourself in a simple, wintry town. People of all ages populated the snow-covered streets. Elderly residents chatted quietly on porches, and children giggled and played, their rosy cheeks contrasting with the chilly air. The adults turned in surprise at your unexpected arrival, their faces mirroring a mix of curiosity and concern.

From behind, the approaching doctor and nurses shouted, their voices filled with alarm. In the midst of your confusion and disarray, a strong pair of arms encircled you, causing your instincts to scream in fear. 

"Let go of me!" you cried out, struggling in the grip that held you captive.

A soft, heavy southern accent whispered gently in your ear, "You're okay... you're safe here. Ain't no one here gonna hurt you, darlin'."

Your fear intensified as you flailed and cried inside the confining hold. But you didn't notice the abrupt, stinging prick on your neck because you were too caught up in the chaotic mayhem. The environment around you became blurry and black in a couple of minutes.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The patrol had begun like any other routine, just another day in the relentless grind of survival. The plan was straightforward: coming across a few Clickers and eliminating them like they were just annoyances to be removed. What he had not expected, though, was to stumble across a lady who was on the verge of dying of hypothermia. 

“Please… make it stop,” you begged in a voice so soft and fragile, "I just want it… to stop."

Joel couldn't ignore the desperation in your pleas. He'd been there before, when the world had crumbled into chaos, and he'd lost his daughter. Back then, he saw no point in carrying on, until he'd met Ellie and endured the hardships alongside her. He found her, protected her, and now, he cared for her as if she were his own.

Joel stood there, just across the street from the clinic, his weary eyes and gruff exterior a testament to the countless trials he'd faced. Those brave enough to ask for the details of what had transpired a few days earlier, who he had discovered, were met with curt, direct responses, followed by an icy, hard stare. 

He'd assumed that Maria, Tommy, or whoever had been entrusted with integrating newcomers into Jackson would take care of you. So, for the past few days, he went about his life as best he could—patrolling, teaching Ellie how to play the guitar, constructing new homes, and restoring old ones.

But as he made his way to assist Tommy with yet another task, he saw you in the middle of the street, awake and in a state of panic, clad in your medical gown. His chest constricted with a sudden, unexplainable urgency, and without a second thought, he was sprinting towards you, clutching you against his chest in an attempt to ground you.

Now, you were back in the small room of the clinic, asleep due to the sedative they had administered. Joel sat in a chair beside your bed, patiently awaiting your awakening. He couldn't quite comprehend why he felt drawn to be by your side, to ensure your well-being. He closed his eyes, pressing both palms to his face, contemplating the reason he felt so adamant about your recovery.

Maybe it was the way he had glimpsed the hopelessness in your eyes, a reflection of his own prior misery. The way you had pled, already having given up on yourself, touched a chord within him. He understood that sensation all too well. Despite the plethora of sins he had committed, perhaps aiding you was a chance for atonement, a way to make amends for everything he’s done.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

You stirred from your slumber, feeling the haze of grogginess envelop you as your weary eyes fought to open. Gradually, your vision sharpened, and you found yourself in a familiar place. This time, you weren't alone.

Across from your bed, a figure sat in a chair. His countenance was rugged, marked by the passage of time, a salt-and-pepper beard framing a face etched with the stories of his life. His presence exuded a rugged handsomeness, even as he raised a quizzical eyebrow in your direction.

In a deep baritone, his voice resonated through the room as he uttered the words, "You're awake."

You shifted uneasily on the bed and looked at him with wide, unsure eyes, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. His piercing look was enigmatic; you didn't know how to respond, so you decided to be quiet, entangled in a fog of uncertainty.

With a soft hum, he introduced himself, "The name is Joel… Joel Miller. What's your name, ma'am?" His voice carried an air of gruff kindness that gently nudged you to respond, yet you found it hard to meet his gaze. Your eyes darted everywhere but his, and you said your name in a shy whisper, leaving it hanging there like a delicate secret.

Joel's voice wavered as he began, "I'm... I'm not exactly supposed to be here, but I—" 

Your brows furrowed, and your eyes squinted with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion as you interrupted, "Then, why are you here?"

His words stumbled and faltered. "I... I don't—"

Frustrated with the lack of a clear answer, you turned your gaze away from him, your attention drawn to the frosted glass window on your left. Joel fell silent, respecting your need for space.

After a brief pause, you nodded toward the outside, your voice soft, inquisitive. "Is it real?" Joel waited for you to elaborate, and you continued, "There are kids playing in the street, no FEDRA, elderly being taken care of... it all seems so..."

"Normal," Joel finished your thought, and you snapped your head back to him, watching him nod in agreement. "Yeah, I couldn't quite believe it myself, to be honest," he admitted, clearing his throat. "Jackson is a safe place, a good community. They've got real food here."

A weary, exasperated chuckle escaped your lips as you felt a lump form in your throat, and your eyes grew watery. You hugged yourself tightly, seeking comfort in your embrace as you confessed, "I... I don't know what to do."

"We'll figure it out, darlin'," Joel reassured you, his words infused with a tenderness that pierced through his rugged exterior. It was a kindness you hadn't expected, a gentle ember igniting a glimmer of hope within you. Maybe, you began to believe, that life wasn't supposed to be a never-ending punishment after all.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Solidarity was something you thought was long gone ever since the beginning of the apocalypse, where the Infected had taken what they wanted, and the remaining people who survived will always be at war with each other rather than fighting the common enemy.

It took more than a few tries, but eventually, you got the hang of things, thanks to Maria and Tommy, and especially Joel and Ellie. Bits and pieces intertwined with time got you to understand them better and sometimes made you feel less alone. Your mind sometimes wonders how Joel and Ellie met, when Joel practically adopted Ellie as his own, or how they got to Jackson.

You’ve got a house that you have made your own, a bed, and a kitchen. You help give back to the community in ways that you can. You helped in the greenhouse, and the stables, and when you were finally ready, you went out patrolling with the group when you were up for rotation.

Initially, you kept to yourself, often skipping breakfast, lost in a peculiar silence that enveloped you like a shroud. It was a protective cocoon, a way to conceal yourself as if you were an isolated island adrift in a sea of people. The presence of others had always unnerved you, a lingering fear that refused to release its grip.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Taking charge of the stables for the month had its perks, especially when it came to tending to the horses—an undertaking that ranked high among your favorite chores. While two other residents were technically assigned to work with you, the majority of your time was spent in the solitary company of the majestic creatures.

In the quiet embrace of the early morning, just before the crucial handover to the patrolling team, you busied yourself ensuring the horses were well-fed and prepared. Running your fingers through Scout's mane, one of the older stallions, you continued the rhythmic task of brushing his coat, a tranquil hum escaping your lips.

"S'cuse me," a voice interrupted, and you jolted at the familiar sound. Turning your head, you found Joel, surprisingly up and about at this early hour. Mouth slightly agape, you greeted him breathlessly, "Joel, hi."

"Up early for patrol today... so... was wonderin' if you needed any help," Joel's gravelly voice broke through the quiet serenity of the stables.

You tilted your head, a subtle quirk of curiosity. The unexpected shyness emanating from Joel piqued your interest. Scanning him up and down, you suppressed a smile before nodding, trying to appear nonchalant despite the fluttering in your chest. "Um, sure... Could you feed the rest of the horses over there?"

He nodded in acknowledgment before moving with seasoned ease to attend to the horses, his hands moving confidently as he handled the feed and navigated the familiar routine of caring for the animals. As he worked alongside you in the quietude of the stables, the bond between caretaker and horses, and perhaps something more, unfolded in the soft morning light.

"How are you settlin' in in town, darlin'?" Joel inquired, his voice dipped in a gentle southern charm that sent a delightful shiver down your spine. The term of endearment he used left you feeling a sweet warmth spreading throughout your body.

You shrugged, a subtle smile playing on your lips. "Jackson is good, quiet, and peaceful. Never thought a place like this could still exist after... everything."

Joel's gaze lingered on you, and he couldn't help but note, "Well, it's got its charm. People here look out for each other. You included darlin'." His words held a quiet sincerity, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

Your eyes shifted around, a flutter of nerves settling in before gathering enough courage to meet Joel's gaze. You licked your lip nervously, and the words tumbled out, "Joel, I... I never apologized when I... um... first arrived here in Jackson. I'm sorry."

Joel looked at you, seeing the vulnerability in your eyes, and a softness overcame him. He offered you a sympathetic smile, "Nothin' to apologize for."

"You must have thought I was crazy," you lamely laughed, and Joel shook his head, his voice gentle, "No, not at all, just someone who's hurtin'."

You stared at him wide-eyed, feeling a phantom fear of tragedy as if he could see through you, still aware of any negative tendencies you may have. It evoked a sense of helplessness and vulnerability.

Then, a flicker of something in his gaze—a fire, a subtle intensity that caused warmth to spread across your face. An unspoken connection kindled in the quiet space between you, creating an inexplicable but undeniable bond.

Unable to hold his gaze, you looked away, clearing your throat, and tried to hide your smile as you continued to brush out Scout's mane. Joel smirked, watching you duck your head, proud of the way he made you react with just his gaze. The unspoken words hung in the air, a sweet tension that hinted at something more than apologies and simple conversations.

“So… what’s today’s patrol route?” You asked, trying to move the conversation, Joel walked over to you and finished feeding the horses, he stood in front of you and sighed, “Should be a quick one, makin’ sure there aren’t any infected or raiders nearby.”

Time flew by in the hypnotic flow of discussion with Joel before you realized it. His patrol partner eventually arrived, signaling the end of your stolen moments together. As you handed over the reins to Joel, a subtle thrill coursed through you when your hand brushed against his. A soft smile graced your lips, and you whispered, "Stay safe out there, Cowboy."

In response, Joel's steely exterior softened, and a rare, small smile played on his lips. He nodded, meeting your gaze with a warmth that transcended the casual camaraderie. "I will, darlin'," he affirmed, the endearment lingering in the air like a promise.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The kitchen at Jackson bustled with activity, and you were focused on the mundane task of chopping carrots for the evening's stew. Gemma, a fellow resident assisting you, had stepped outside to discuss some news with an acquaintance. The day seemed ordinary, a haze of familiar routines in the post-apocalyptic town.

But then, it happened. A deafening crash of the door bursting open shattered the tranquility, causing you to jolt in fear. Instantly, you were transported back in time, your mind torn from the kitchen and thrust into a nightmare you thought you'd escaped.

In an instant, you weren't in Jackson anymore. Instead, you found yourself in that dreadful place, that sinister basement that still haunted your darkest memories. It was as if the chains that once bound your ankles were clinking and dragging across the worn wooden floor again, just as they had back then. The echoes of your fellow captives' whimpers and cries resonated in your ears, the cacophony of despair down the hall of that wretched basement.

The room seemed to whirl around you, and a frantic panic welled up inside, a chilling flood of memories surging through your mind like an unstoppable tide. It was as if the past, a nightmare you believed you had left behind, had come crashing back into your reality. 

Your throat constricted, and tears welled in your eyes, blurring the faces of the people and the clatter of the fallen knife in the kitchen. You couldn't bear it any longer. You couldn't pretend that everything was okay. You couldn't ignore the haunting echoes of the past any longer.

Without a second thought, you dashed past the bewildered onlookers in the kitchen, their voices fading into a distant, indistinct hum. Your pounding footsteps carried you through the dining hall and out into the crisp, autumn air.

Outside, you continued to run, propelled by an inexplicable urge to escape. The scene before you spun as you sprinted past, driven by an overwhelming need to distance yourself from the nightmarish memories that had clawed their way back to the surface.

Reaching the stables, you sought refuge by pressing your trembling hand against the cool, aged wood of the railing. It was a familiar anchor in this moment of turmoil, offering some semblance of support as your chest heaved, each breath drawn in ragged gasps. Your other hand clung to your racing heart as if to prevent it from leaping out of your chest.

Overwhelmed by emotions too powerful to contain, you eventually collapsed to your knees on the straw-strewn ground of the stables. There, amid the scents of hay, horses, and leather, you allowed yourself to succumb to the tidal wave of anguish. It was a cathartic release, an outpouring of pent-up pain, as you wept for the horrors of the past and for the insidious trauma that still gripped your very soul. The weight of the past was crushing, and a foreboding sense of its unending presence gnawed at you.

Amid the silent stables, in the hushed serenity of the autumn afternoon, your sorrow reverberated through the air. The horses nearby snorted and shifted, sensing your distress. Through your blurry vision, you made out the form of your own horse, Spirit, a palomino, whinnying and restlessly pawing the ground. Even he could perceive your distress.

With a heavy heart, you surrendered to the overwhelming emotions, curling into yourself. You buried your head in your arms, seeking refuge from the maelstrom within.

Time was elusive in that moment of vulnerability, and you couldn't gauge how long you remained in that cocoon of pain. It was the gentle touch of someone's hand on your shoulder that finally roused you from your anguish. Startled, you jolted and flinched backward, your tear-soaked eyes locking onto the familiar figure before you. 

It was Joel. He knelt on the stable floor, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. His hands were lifted in a gesture of surrender, a silent assurance that he meant no harm. His voice, as gruff and comforting as ever, reached out to you with reassurance, "Hey, sweetheart, it's just me. Nothin's gonna hurt'cha."

You felt yourself wrapping your arms around Joel in a vulnerable moment as if motivated by an unsaid desire for comfort rather than condemnation. He hesitated for an instant, but then he threw his powerful arms around you and held you close to his chest. Tears poured easily into his flannel, his hold's warmth providing a haven from the cold.

His hand moved with a soothing rhythm on the small of your back, a gesture meant to calm the storm raging within you. In that quiet corner of the stables, amidst hay and the comforting scent of horses, you let out the pain that had long been buried.

Word had traveled through the residents about the outburst you experienced, reaching Maria's ears. Concern etched on her face, she went to check on you, only to discover your broken state in Joel's embrace on the stable floor. A shared look between Maria and Joel conveyed an understanding, a mutual acknowledgment of the solace he provided. Without a word, Maria nodded in appreciation before quietly walking away, leaving you in the tender care of Joel's comforting arms.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Funny how it all fades away, the chaos of the world and the turmoil within, the very moment you surrender to Joel's arms. It's as if the universe aligns with the comforting embrace, reshaping the way it spins. You find yourself rearranged, your mind shifting, holding on a little tighter in the safety of your old age.

Your past, a fragile tapestry of pain, remains untold, hidden away from prying eyes. No one had ever asked, and the memories were not something you carried with pride.

Before you knew it, tears had given way to exhaustion, and you had surrendered to the solace Joel provided, falling into a peaceful slumber in his arms. Joel, unable to disturb your tranquil rest, gathered the strength to lift you with a gentle grace. Carrying you across the farmhouse they called home, he navigated the familiar halls with the kind of care one reserves for something precious.

In his bedroom, he gently laid you down on the bed, tucking you in with a blanket. You slept soundly, undisturbed by the world outside. Closing the door with a soft click, Joel rested his head against the wood, his tired eyes reflecting the weight of concern.

A voice sliced through the quiet, shattering Joel's contemplation. "Watcha hidin' in there?" Ellie's words caught him off guard, and he jumped, a whispered curse escaping him, "Fuck! Christ, kid, you almost gave me a damn heart attack."

Ellie leaned against the doorframe, her eyes studying Joel's worn expression. "Who's in there?" she asked, her curiosity tinged with concern.

Joel sighed, running a hand through his grizzled hair as he said your name, "She needed someone, kid. Don't worry, she's asleep now." He could see the questions forming in Ellie's eyes, and he continued, "She didn't need to be alone, not tonight."

Ellie's gaze softened, her understanding silently conveyed. "Need any help?" she offered, the bond between them speaking volumes in the unspoken connection.

Joel shook his head. "Nah, I got it covered. Get some rest, Ellie."

As Ellie retreated to her space in the garage, Joel turned back to the closed door, a silent vigil for the fragile peace within.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

As you deeply inhaled, the scent of soft cotton sheets enveloped you, and the plush mattress cradled your form. A gentle breeze wafted through the open window, causing the curtains to sway gracefully. Blinking your eyes open, your eyebrows knit in confusion as the unfamiliar room unfolded before you, a stark contrast to the one you had meticulously crafted as your own.

As you pushed yourself up, the blanket slipped off, revealing a scene that painted a portrait of the person who occupied this space. A guitar stood propped up next to a box of records, hinting at the melodies that might have filled the room. A clock, perched on the wall above a small bookshelf adorned with a multitude of books, ticked away the moments. The window, adorned with a closet nearby, allowed soft daylight to spill into the room, casting a warm glow on the carefully curated details that made this space unique.

Exiting the bedroom, you quietly padded towards the kitchen, drawn by the inviting aroma of breakfast and a faint hum in the air. As you entered, Joel came into view, focused on the morning task of preparing a meal. You said his name, but he tilted his head to the side, as if catching a subtle sound in the stillness. Eventually, he turned around, and a small smile graced his face, revealing the hint of a dimple.

"Oh, you're awake. Good mornin', darlin'. How'd ya sleep?" Joel greeted, his eyes warm and the kitchen bathed in the aroma of breakfast. The worn, well-loved kitchen table held evidence of countless meals, the scent of brewing coffee enveloping the space, and a charming clutter of ingredients spoke of a morning routine crafted by familiarity and care.

“I… I’m–”

“Before you start to apologize for shit that you can’t control, don’t,” Joel interjected, a wry smile on his lips.

Deciding it was too early for arguments, you settled for a small nod, and Joel mirrored it with an agreeing one, “Alright, good.”

You began, “Uh, then I should… uh, see myself out then um–”

Joel shook his head, “Not with an empty stomach, you’re not.”

“But I–”

“Let me take care of you, please?” Joel's request carried a certain weight, and you found it hard to resist. Politely nodding, you ventured, “Is there anything I could help with?”

Joel shook his head, “Just have a seat over there by the dining table.” You complied, the chair scraping against the floor before you settled, observing Joel expertly preparing a spread of plates.

The front door opened, and Ellie walked in with a bright smile upon spotting you. "Hey! You’re still here and Joel hasn’t scared you off yet?”

You began to reply, but Joel scolded Ellie, placing down plates and glasses on the table, "Ellie!"

With a sheepish smile, you told her, "Quite the opposite actually."

Ellie shot Joel a cheeky look as she stuffed her face with food, “Wow! Look at you, when did you become such a social butterfly?” Joel sighed, shaking his head, while you shared a chuckle with Ellie, finding yourself welcomed into the heartwarming banter of their unconventional family.

You three had a nice supper together in quiet companionship. Ellie finally got up from her chair and announced that she was going to hang out at Dina's apartment. Never one to pass up a chance, she gave Joel a playful glance and puckered her lips into a kissy face at him while you were busy with the dishwashing.

By the time Joel was done drying the dishes with a towel and setting them on the drying rack, you picked at the loose skin on the edges of your fingernails, nervously waiting for Joel to ask the question you knew was coming.

“Let’s go sit out at the porch and enjoy the good weather, watcha’ say darlin’?” Joel asks and you bring yourself to look at him and you just nod as you follow him outside. He opens the door for you and gestures to the seat that you take, Joel moves the table around and moves his chair closer to yours.

You inhale deeply, finding solace in the delicate dance of silence and the caress of a spring breeze that leaves goosebumps in its wake.

“Have ya talked to anybody?” Joel's voice breaks the quiet, and you turn your head to meet his gaze, a mixture of curiosity and kindness in his eyes.

“What?” you respond, caught off guard by the sudden question.

“Y’know, made some friends around town?” Joel elaborates gently.

“Are you asking if I have friends?” Your quizzical tone hangs in the air, and Joel huffs, “Well, you ain’t answerin’ the question, honey.”

A sigh escapes you as you weigh the words in your mind. Finally, you admit, “I like being alone.”

“Must be why you’re talkin’ to me so much,” Joel remarks with a smirk.

You meet his gaze, the warm sun highlighting the depths of his brown eyes as he looks at you. Shaking your head, you say, “That’s why I knew you were different. Because, for the first time ever, I wanted someone else’s company more than my own.” The vulnerability in your words hangs between you, suspended in the soft glow of the sun.

Joel's weathered hand envelops yours, a gesture that carries the weight of shared pain. "I’ve had 'em, the um, panic attacks," he admits, his voice a low murmur that echoes the haunting specter of those moments. "Feels like all the air in your lungs is gone, and you begin to feel like you’re drownin’.”

“I see her sometimes,” Joel continues distantly, his gaze lost in the depths of memory. You wait, the air thick with unspoken sorrow. “Sarah, my daughter. I lost her on outbreak day. She was only twelve.”

Your eyes well up, and you squeeze his hand in silent solidarity. "I'm sorry, Joel."

Joel shifts his gaze to his broken watch, a relic that marks the day and time when his world shattered when he cradled Sarah in his arms as she bled out.

“I got Ellie now, and she’s…” Joel trails off, the weight of his feelings for Ellie impossible to articulate fully. She's his everything, the reason to press on in a world that often feels desolate.

“I know,” you say, nodding in understanding.

“Talkin’ about it helps, y’know. Learned the hard way, almost lost her.”

Tears stream down your cheeks as the raw vulnerability in Joel's words resonates with your own pain. “I don’t want to just survive anymore,” you gasp, the ache in your chest palpable. “It hurts, Joel.”

“What happened out there, darlin’?” Joel asks, his voice breaking.

With a sob, you reply, “Nothing good. Nothin’ good, Joel.”

Then, the floodgates open, and you begin to tell an account laced with patches of short-lived joy and a frantic search for any opportunity at a better life. You spoke about the day of the breakout, the terror of seeing your parents die, and the passing of your siblings. You were taken prisoner by deranged and vicious raiders who took you to a basement filled with the deafening screams of violence.

You consider yourself lucky, spared the physical torment, yet the anticipation of it looms, a shadow of dread. "They should've just killed me then and there," you choke out, laying bare the scars that time can't erase.

A surge of anger courses through Joel's veins, an incandescent rage that echoes through his chest, resonating in the very marrow of his bones. The simmering heat in his head intensifies, a visceral response to the mere thought of anyone causing you harm. Every protective instinct in him flares up, urging him to mount a horse and embark on a ruthless pursuit, to track down those who dared lay a hand on you and unleash a torrent of violence upon them.

Yet, a rational part of Joel prevails. He recognizes the urgency of your need, the necessity for his presence here and now. Despite the molten anger that simmers beneath his skin, he restrains the impulse to act immediately. For your sake, he remains seated, the muscles in his jaw tensing as he clenches his teeth, locking away the fiery wrath that threatens to consume him. It's a fierce battle within, between the protective warrior ready for vengeance and the caring soul determined to offer solace. In this moment, he chooses the latter, for you.

The weight of your dreams presses upon you, vivid and haunting, every detail etched into your consciousness. "I've been remembering my dreams, more vivid than they've ever been, every detail and little thing. Every time I think about going back there to save the others I just… I can’t,” you admit, the guilt seeping through every fiber of your being. Joel kneels in front of you, a pillar of support, placing his hand on your knee.

“Let’s go inside, sweetheart,” Joel suggests, his voice a gentle anchor. You nod, allowing him to guide you back inside. Both of you settle on the couch, and Joel scoops you into his arms, a comforting embrace that shields you from the harshness of your own thoughts.

Sniffling, you pour out your heart, “I know I should have gone back for them, but I saw the opportunity, took it, and fought. I fought hard, and then I ran.”

Joel hums, a soothing melody that allows your tears to flow freely. “I thought… I was okay with the idea of dying, right there, in the snow, and then–”

“I found you,” Joel interjects, his voice a soft murmur.

You look up at him, eyes filled with uncertainty. “You found me?”

Joel's voice drops to a low register, his gaze steady on yours. “I found you during the patrol, freezin’ to death. Thought I didn’t make it in time.” The admission lingers in the air, a symbol of the frailty of beating the odds and the silent connection that kept you from falling apart.

You both stay quiet as you try to calm yourself down while Joel holds you, unable to form any response to the revelation that Joel saved you. You know you’re supposed to be grateful, but at the same time, you don’t feel that way. So you settle closer to him and Joel squeezes you a little tighter as if he knows what you are thinking, and there is no judgment, just pure empathy and understanding.

Eventually, you settle down and softly say, “I don’t know what to do,” Joel rubs a soothing hand up and down your back, “We’ll figure it out, darlin’.”

Then for the first time in years, that's when you could finally breathe.

 •───────•°•❀•°•───────•

As the seasons wove their tapestry of change, so did the fabric of your life, threading moments of lightness and warmth. Having shared the weight of your past with Joel, he became a steadfast presence, an anchor in the shifting tides of your existence. Ellie, too, became a companion in the shared journey of growth.

On a particular day, amidst the vibrant greenery of the greenhouse, you found yourself potting plants and tending to the garden alongside Ellie and another resident named Tris. The air was filled with the earthy scent of soil and the symphony of laughter as you engaged in the simple joy of gardening.

Joel, clad in his worn yet beloved flannel, entered the greenhouse, his eyes inadvertently catching the scene of camaraderie and playfulness. He watched, a subtle smile gracing his lips, as you and Ellie exchanged sweet banter, a dance of words that resonated with laughter.

Ellie couldn't resist a playful pun, and you responded with a burst of laughter, the sound harmonizing with the rustle of leaves and the hum of nature. The moment encapsulated the genuine connection, the shared language of laughter, that had blossomed between you and Ellie.

There had never been a label given to the unwritten relationship between Joel and you. It was a wordless understanding, manifested in the tender attention he paid you and the evenings you spent finding comfort in the round of his arms. There was a promise in the air as he held you tight, "I'll keep you safe, sweetheart." The words were genuine and reverberated through the unexplored areas of your connection, a song of love and safety that didn't require any further explanation.

 •───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The morning proceeded as usual, and the break of dawn illuminated Jackson's sanctuary with a hopeful glow. There was a small party of new arrivals, an expected but unusual sight, and the customary welcoming committee was called upon to assist them in becoming adjusted to the way of life in the community.

You and a few others started the annual task of welcoming the newcomers into the communal room that serves several purposes. A mixture of wonder and expectation pervaded the air as the newcomers experienced Jackson's regularity and warmth—a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the post-apocalyptic world.

You did your duty without thinking as the new faces moved into the shared dining room, where a shared meal was waiting. But at the doorway, something stopped you cold, a pause that went against the normal flow of the greeting.

And then, you saw him.

Recognition struck like a bolt, the back of his head triggering a flood of memories—the cadence of his voice, the grimy shirt clinging to his frame, the dirt-encrusted hands that bore the stains of a past you had fought hard to escape. Time seemed to fracture as you stood there, immobilized, your mouth agape and dry, eyes widened in sheer terror.

You could feel the weight in the pit of your stomach, a concrete representation of the eerie memories of abuse and torment. This could not be real. He was not allowed to be here, breaking into the safe sanctuary you had taken refuge in. Previously perceived as a haven of security, the shared area now seemed to evoke images of suppressed anxieties and bad dreams.

His eyes lock onto yours, and a malevolent grin creeps across his face, revealing a set of teeth that seem to glisten with wicked intent. The sight sends shivers down your spine, and an overwhelming sense of nausea threatens to consume you. In that moment, Maria's reassuring grip on your shoulder serves as a lifeline amidst the storm of dread that surges within you.

Her voice cuts through the dissonance in your mind, “You okay? You look unwell,”, her concern accentuated by the chaos unfolding around you. Yet, it's her inquiry that acts as the catalyst for your unraveling. A surge of panic propels you out of the scene, your movements fueled by a desperate need to escape the looming threat.

The world blurs around you as you sprint through the town, a disorienting juxtaposition of familiar faces and judgmental gazes. The echoes of a haunting déjà vu accompany your frantic run, amplifying the weight of your terror. Tears stream down your face, and your breaths come in ragged gasps as your throat constricts, a relentless grip tightening around your airways.

Staggering, you struggle to maintain composure, but the relentless onslaught of fear takes its toll. The corners of your vision blur, and in a secluded moment, away from the prying eyes of the community, your body rebels. The gut-wrenching sensation overwhelms you, and you bend over, retching as the trauma resurfaces in both memory and physical reaction. The ground beneath you bears witness to the aftermath of a confrontation with the haunting specter of your past.

As you slide down the cold, unforgiving wall, a shiver courses through your body, amplifying the stark reality of the present moment. The cool surface offers little solace as you fold into yourself, desperately clutching your knees as if they could shield you from the impending storm.

The air around you thickens with a stifling heaviness, a cruel reminder of the past that refuses to release its grip. Curling into a defensive ball, you hug yourself tight, as though this simple act could ward off the encroaching darkness threatening to consume you.

With your head buried in your arms, the world outside the fortress of your limbs becomes a distant, distorted canvas. The minutes unravel, each tick of the clock echoing the pulsating rush of blood in your ears. The simplicity of the moment clashes with the complexity of the emotions swirling within.

Seventeen again, caught in the clutches of an awful, horrible place that has become an indelible scar etched into the tapestry of your existence. The pain is not merely a memory but a living, breathing entity, clawing its way back into your present, rendering the passage of time meaningless.

The walls around you seem to close in, their echoes carrying the weight of your history. It's a stark reminder that the past, no matter how desperately you've tried to escape it, remains an unwelcome companion, haunting the recesses of your soul.

You feel the air thicken as he draws near, his presence casting an ominous shadow that seems to devour the feeble rays of sunlight. A cold shiver races down your spine, a chilling prelude to the encroaching darkness. His footsteps echo like ominous drumbeats, each one resonating with an unsettling promise.

"You thought you could escape, huh?" The words slither from his lips like venom, his voice a malevolent symphony that pierces through the ambient sounds of the surroundings. His gaze, filled with a malevolent gleam, locks onto yours, trapping you in a macabre dance.

Despite your mind screaming at your limbs to flee, a paralyzing fear roots you to the spot. The weight of your past sins, haunting and relentless, manifests in the figure before you. His form, etched with the scars of your shared history, now looms with a menacing intent.

"Did you really think you could hide here? With these people?" His tone drips with disdain as he gestures to the community around you. The tendrils of his threat extend beyond mere words, reaching into the very fabric of your newfound sanctuary.

Your breath catches as his words morph into a menacing promise. "I can take it all away, you know. Everything you've found here." His gaze shifts to the people you've come to love, their laughter and camaraderie now tainted by the looming specter of his return.

Nathan. A name, almost lost to the recesses of memory, surfaces in your mind – a cruel reminder of the scars he etched upon your soul. In this ominous confrontation, the echoes of your past reverberate with the sinister intention of reclaiming what he believes belongs to him.

Nathan's grip tightened around your arm, and you let out a scream, thrashing wildly to break free. As your nails clawed at his face, Nathan spat out a curse, "You fuckin’ bitch, I’ll kill you!"

In desperation, you tried to stand, but he grabbed your ankle, dragging you mercilessly across the floor. Your knee aimed at his face was thwarted, and his hands closed around your throat. The air in your lungs dwindled, and you kicked and screamed in a futile attempt to escape.

Feeling the switchblade in your pocket, you willed yourself to grab it. Flipping it open, you cried out as you stabbed him in the neck. Joel stormed towards you, anger etched across his face, but before he could intervene, you pulled out the switchblade, attacking Nathan with a frenzy of stabs.

"Stay the hell away from me!" you cried, each word punctuated by a vicious thrust of the blade. Tears streamed down your face as you unleashed your rage on the man who haunted your nightmares.

Joel, realizing the danger, moved swiftly. He pulled you away from the blood-soaked scene, shushing you and grabbing your wrist. The switchblade fell from your grip, staining the grass, and Joel held you close, shielding you from the aftermath of the violent confrontation.

Amidst the chaos, Joel's voice cut through, reassuring and protective. "Easy, sweetheart, easy. You're safe now." The echoes of your cries mingled with the distant sounds of Maria, Tommy, and others dealing with Nathan.

Maria's gaze shifted towards you, concern etched across her features. She turned to Joel and gave a decisive order, "Go and make sure she’s okay." Joel's response was a firm nod, an acknowledgment of his responsibility.

There was a hint of irritation in Joel's eyes as he escorted you home with an arm around your waist. It was an aging-related displeasure with himself for not being fast enough. But he was driven by desire to take care of making sure you were safe, and he brought you home with a strong sense of protectiveness. The atmosphere was tight, with echoes of Maria's instruction that spoke of the need to protect you from the horror that had recently occurred.

 •───────•°•❀•°•───────•

In the quiet confines of the bathroom, Joel tenderly cleans the cuts and blood on your skin. The sterile scent of antiseptic hangs in the air as he carefully tends to your wounds. His touch is gentle, a stark contrast to the harsh memories that still lingered.

Joel glances at you while he works, capturing your attention. Through the difficulties you've undergone together, you've built a mutual understanding and a silent bond. The air changes, as trust and frailty meld together at that one instant.

Joel stops and meets your eyes for a brief period. There is a tangible tension between you that none of you can deny. The air seems heated. He places the first aid kit aside and reaches for your face with his hands.

Without a word, Joel leans in, closing the gap between you. The touch of his lips against yours is a gentle reassurance, a promise that you're not alone. In that tender kiss, there's a quiet acknowledgment of the strength you've found in each other.

As the kiss lingers, the weight of the past starts to lift. It's a moment of solace, a testament to resilience and the possibility of healing. Joel pulls away slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort or hesitation.

And in the quiet bathroom, amid the wounds of the past, you find a newfound feeling of hope, grounded in the connection established through endurance and the compassion of Joel's care. Joel smiles softly and says, "You deserve to be happy, darlin'. Let me take care of you."

As Joel continues to care for your wounds, a sense of calm settles within the small confines of the bathroom. The sting of antiseptic is a tangible reminder of the present, but you find solace in the fact that Joel is here, offering comfort and care.

He finishes cleaning the last cut, his hands lingering for a moment before he retreats. There's an unspoken understanding between you, a silent agreement that this moment marks a turning point. The ghosts of the past may linger, but the present holds a promise of healing.

Joel's gruff voice breaks the quiet, "You're a tough one, you know that?" A hint of a smile plays on his lips, a rare sight that warms your heart. You manage a small smile in return, grateful for the unexpected bond that has grown between you.

Leaning back against the bathroom counter, Joel lets out a sigh. "You've been through hell, and here you are, facing it head-on. I've seen folks crumble under less. You're stronger than you think."

The atmosphere shifts as Joel's gaze meets yours again. There's a question lingering in the air, one that goes beyond words. You realize that this moment is a crossroads, a chance to choose your path forward.

"You're not alone in this," Joel reassures, his eyes reflecting a depth of understanding that transcends the scars of the past. "Whatever you need, I'm here."

In that moment, you feel a surge of courage, a newfound strength that emanates from within. The pain of the past begins to lose its grip as you accept Joel's support. The familiarity of the bathroom transforms into a sanctuary, a symbol of resilience and the possibility of rebuilding.

As you rise from the seat, Joel watches you with a quiet intensity. You get closer as the uncovered pull between you becomes stronger. This is a turning point in your life when you realize that you are now in control of the two worlds you have battled to survive and are determined to rebuild.

Joel's weathered hands find yours, a comforting embrace that symbolizes the connection you've forged. The tension that once lingered now gives way to a shared understanding, a silent agreement to face the future together.

In the hushed bathroom, among the fragments of the past, you lean in, closing the distance between you and Joel. The kiss that follows is a testament to resilience, an affirmation of the strength found in vulnerability. It forms a bridge between the hope of the next day and the scars of yesterday as it becomes deeper. 

Joel pulls away, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or hesitation. Instead, he finds a glimmer of determination, a spark that signals a new beginning. With a whispered promise, he says, "We'll face whatever comes our way, together."

With Joel right there beside you, you walk into that tiny, quiet room, ready to tackle whatever the world throws your way. Strangely enough, the weight of the world feels lighter with him around. No complaints from you—just a sense of readiness for whatever comes next.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

End Notes:

tbh, I blacked out while writing this--- so UH if there are any inconsistencies let me know! :>

[fragmented-sike]

A Lifeline for DID/OSDD: The Journal that could Change your Life

Hey guys! We're incredibly excited to share something that's finally been released for a month now: the Pieces in Peace Journal. This journal isn't just another project for us-it's resource born out of necessity and a deep understanding of what it means to live with Dissociative Identity Disorder and Other Specified Dissociative Disorder. And to celebrate a month of being launched, we're hosting a GIVEAWAY where two (2) lucky winners will receive a copy of the journal along with free lifetime updates to the journal!

Why we created the Journal

Living with DID/OSDD can feel incredibly overwhelming. When I was first diagnosed, I felt so alone. I felt like a freak. I felt isolated and scared and confused. This is why I got online and found community here to begin with. The daily challenges of managing different parts of yourself, tracking moods, tracking time-loss, dealing with memory gaps, and trying to explain your experiences to others can make life feel chaotic and confusing. I've personally navigated these complexities for close to a decade now, as I was diagnosed nearly 8 years ago, and I know firsthand how difficult it can be to find the right tools and resources to help make sense of it all.

Access to care is a major issue for so many of us. Whether it's due to financial barriers, lack of knowledgeable therapists, or simply not knowing where to turn, many people with DID/OSDD struggle to find the support they need. That's why I created the Pieces in Peace Journal-to offer a comprehensive, supportive resource that can be used alongside therapy or as a standalone tool for those who don't have access to regular treatment. I consulted with DID specialists and took tools from my own extensive treatment history to create this resource to offer the community.

This journal is designed to help you navigate the multifaceted nature of DID and OSDD, providing structure and clarity amidst what can sometimes feel like chaos. It's a tool for self-discover, emotional regulation, and system collaboration-a way to bring a sense of peace and understanding to your journey.

In the Journal you will find:

Post-Regulation Tracker: Track your feelings and progress after using regulation techniques for better self-awareness.

Communication Log: Record interactions between alters to enhance system communication and understanding.

Distress Tolerance Plan: Quick steps and techniques to manage and reduce distress effectively.

System Collab Goals: Set and track collaborative goals within your system for cohesive growth and progress.

These sections, along with MANY others (over 100 pages!!), are designed to support you in understanding and managing your system. They're tools to help you keep track of your progress, set goals, and ensure that everyone in your system is working together toward common goals.

Why the Journal Matters:

This journal isn't just a collection of pages-it's a lifeline for those who feel lost in the complexities of DID and OSDD. Each section is thoughtfully crafted to address the unique challenges that come with living with a dissociative disorder.

How to Enter the Giveaway:

To celebrate the one month launch of the Pieces in Peace Journal, we're hosting a giveaway! Here's how you can enter:

Check out the Giveaway post on IG for ALL the details on entering. Reblogging here counts as an extra entry!

This giveaway is open internationally and ends on August 20, 2024

Thank you so much to everyone who has supported us over the many years we've been on Social Media. We used to have a tumblr under the name FrgmntdPsyche that we deleted many years ago, however we are back now and plan on staying. Thank you to all of you who have had interest in the Pieces in Peace Journal and have supported us in it's creation and release! We truly appreciate every one of you and hope this journal becomes a valuable companion on your journey.

Stay tuned as we continue to work on making more resources for people across many spectrums (CPTSD, Chronic Illness/Pain, ADHD, and more!), host more giveaways, and help as best we can to give back to an incredible community who has saved our life on more than one occasion. Join our Discord for even more support and a great little cozy community of amazing people!

[bellofthemeadow]

Dawn Ends the Night - Chapter 3

Aemond Targaryen x FemReader (Dayne)

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 4.7K

Warning: All warnings on the Series Masterlist, will update if necessary (Re-iterating, no minors allowed! Thank you)

Chapter Summary: The aftermath of the attack sees Prince Aemond wrestle with new feelings.

Notes: Hello everyone, I hope you are all enjoying this chaotic posting schedule just as much as I am!!! I am back with a new chapter, a little window into Aemond's very messy mind. That man is a softboy at heart, he just needs like 20 years of therapy. RN its the beginning of a slight "obsession" as our boy for the first is feeling... something that is not murder, or hatred, or the need to burn everything with Vhagar. So yeah.

Like always thank you to everyone who reblogged and commented I love interacting with y'all and I really hope that you enjoy this chapter 💜💜💜

Taglist: @duds31 , @snh96, @lol-im-done, @heavenly1927, @whimsywilde , @queen-123s-posts

Through your Eyes

In the silence of his bedchamber, Aemond's pulse raced like the chained dragons lagering in the dragon pit, its beat echoing from the cavern of his chest to the very tips of his fingers, awakening the primal blood-rage that slept within his Targaryen blood. The air around him trembled with his ragged breaths, each one a stormy gust tearing through the otherwise stillness of the room. Alone, he wrestled with his armor, the leather stained with the day's deadly encounter. He would need to get the leather treated so the blood wouldn’t leave its reddish mark, Aemond thought with annoyance.  His hands, though shaking with a fury he struggled to contain, methodically peeled away each layer, dismissing the need for a manservant's aid. This was his ritual of solitude, after a lost fight in the yard with Ser Criston, or an annoying dinner with Aegon, Aemond needed to take a moment to confront the tempest within, a moment to try and tame the dragon. 

“My thanks for saving us” your sweet words echoed in Aemond’s brain like the hymns his mother had once insisted he memorize, trapped in his mind – relentless in their grab for his undivided attention. Although he had just met you earlier (had it only been 3 hours?) each detail was etched into his memory with unnerving clarity —the putrid stench of Flea Bottom that now seemed to permeate his very being and clung all the way to his smallclothes, the satisfying melody of the guard's screams echoes loud as he replays  the moment he severed the man's hand from his foul body; an act of true dragon-justice.  

 Your eyes. 

Those eyes, captivating and raw, rimmed with red, their watery sheen reflecting a tumult of fury and fear. It was a look Aemond rarely witnessed in others, but they were a mirror to the emotions he often grappled with in his daily solitude. Staring into his own reflection, he was accustomed to seeing the same intensity in his sole eye, the other a remnant of his past, a void where fear once dwelled. Now, that fear was often overshadowed by a simmering fury, a relentless fire that had become his constant companion. Yet, in your gaze, he saw the fear and anger, a young bird still scared of an unknown, cruel world – but oh so angry and unwilling to get yourself drag down by its cruelty.  

Since coming back to the keep after he had settled the matter at the market, Aemond’s mind was inexorably drawn back to the market, to the moment he first laid eyes on you. He had not needed anyone to point you out; he knew who you were from the second he saw you, holding that little boy who was clinging onto you like the barnacles that littered the rocks in blackwater bay.  

Seeing you so small yet standing so tall in the shadow of the guard’s golden cloak, he had only seen the resolve and desire to protect; for Aemond, it was like a visceral pull that transcended mere sight that had drawn him to you, like he was being pulled with a thight string attached to his heart.And in the dirt of Flea Bottom, you had stood cloaked in a gown of gauzy lilac in a style of dress he had never seen at court. The sheerness of the sleeves and the plunge of the loose bodice defied the strict, colorless conventions of the court and in a way that would surely raise his mother's brow in disapproval. But Aemond did not care for what was proper, as when he freed the man’s body from its hand, he only longed to take you in his arms, to press the silky fabric of your gown, under which he knew luscious curves hid, between his fingertips.  

Aemond closed his eyes trying to imagine what you would feel like in his arms, he could almost feel it if he concentrated enough - were he a bold man, Aemond would have tugged on the fabric of your dress to bring you closer to him, to hold you tight. Not for unseemly reasons as you were still his betrothed, a lady of noble birth at that, and he was no Aegon. It was hard to admit it to himself, but all he wanted was to inhale the sweet citrusy scent he had caught when you had tied the purple scrap of silk to his bicep.  

Aemond unwound the fabric from his arm with a tenderness that echoed the way his mother handled her most precious emerald necklace, an heirloom passed down from his grandmother. She cherished it so deeply that she allowed only herself to touch or clean it, guarding it like a dragon hoarding its treasure. But to Aemond, this simple piece of purple cloth was infinitely more valuable than any gems or riches that lay in the royal vault; it was the only tangible thread linking him to you. Through this favor, you were his and he was yours, bonded through blood and silk. He hoped one day he could shower you in trinkets; ruby-red necklaces, perhaps paired with a green samite gown, or freshwater pearls jewelery ; he had heard that Riverrun made amazing hairnet with them  –Aemond could not help but smile at the thought of you outfitted with tokens from him, all would know that you belonged to him.  

Aemond let the fabric dance lightly between his fingertips and bringing the scarf closer, he tentatively pressed it against his nose, inhaling deeply. The fragrance was faint, a hint of your presence as if you had only briefly held the fabric in your grasp. Frustration flickered within him as he sought more of your scent, breathing in with an intensity born of deep longing and desire. Aemond was no stranger to yearning; his life was a testament to insatiable hunger - for recognition, for greatness, for respect, and for the Iron Throne. His brother, with his lecherous appetite and penchant for debauchery, and his older sister who is always entangled in a web of deceit with her brood of Strong bastards, were both underserving of what should have been rightfully Aemond.  

Yet, as he held the fabric close to his face, Aemond felt his greed transform from ugly and covetous to an all-encompassing desire to protect and care. He yearned not for accolades or crowns, but for the intimacy of your existence in his arms. Indeed, Aemond was a greedy man, and at that moment, he longed to truly have you, to have your scent permeate his skin. The mere thought of burying his face in your hair, drawing in the essence of your being, became a need that tugged at his very core. He almost scoffed at his thoughts, to think that the dragonrider of Vhagar would be reduced to a puddle of quivering emotions! If, when his mother first informed him of his betrothal, Aegon had told him that in barely a moon's turn he would desire nothing more than the simple pleasure of his betrothed's closeness, to breathe in the sweet aroma, he would have throttled his idiot brother. But you had ensnared him – a simple instant in your presence, a look from your beautiful eyes and he was yours. What a mess he was.  

Closing his eyes, Aemond did his best to recall the delicate touch of your hands as they had wrapped the fabric around his arm. The feeling of your delicate fingers resonated deep within him, intimate and gentle, unlike any he had ever experienced. The soft pressure of your fingers against his skin, the careful way you secured the scarf, it all felt like a silent promise, I shall care for you, my lord husbands. Words Aemond yearned to hear falling from your plush lips.  

Under the tender scrutiny of your eyes, Aemond felt a man transformed; Gone was the bitter sting of being known as 'Aemond the Dragonless' or 'Aemond-who-sends-the-maids-crying.' Instead, he felt seen as who he should have been, had fate not cruelly snatched away his eye – a true dragon prince, deserving of admiration and respect. Deserving of a crown, even if his weak father refused to admit it.  

"Prince Aemond!" The call from Ser Criston echoed forcefully through the door, breaking the stillness of the chamber and brought Aemond from his musings. Huffing, Aemond groaned in displeasure, he could understand now why Aegon stopped his sword training - Ser Criston did have the worst of timing. Maybe if he held his breath, Ser Criston would go away. He waited a minute, but the pounding restarted; Of course, he would not go away, the knight was relentless.  

"Just a moment," Aemond replied tersely.  

"The Queen requests your presence immediately, my prince. The matter is urgent, so please make haste my prince" came Ser Criston's insistent voice from the other side. 

Aemond groaned before swiftly splashing cool water across his face, feeling it's refreshing touch against his skin and hastily pulling a tunic over his head, covering his bare chest. There would be time for a proper bath later in the evening, before dinner and the official presentation of his betrothed to court, he reasoned. 

His fingers then reached for the purple silk and carefully he tied it around his wrist, positioning it high enough to remain concealed beneath the folds of his jerkin. Though hidden from view, its presence was a secret comfort, a reminder that he did not dream you – that you existed, in flesh and blood.  

Aemond flung the door open, his movements brusque, revealing the stern figure of Ser Criston Cole. The knight looked annoyed; his lips downturned in displeasure. Without exchanging words, Aemond began striding towards his mother’s solar, the path so familiar that he required no guidance, least of all from his mother’s shadow. 

"The Queen is quite agitated, my prince," Ser Criston broke the silence, his voice echoing down the dimly lit corridor. "She has been informed of the incident at the market and is... less than pleased." 

Aemond's steps faltered, his fists clenching at his sides, he knew it was coming, he just had not imagined it would happen so soon, although it made sense as Alicent had many eyes and ears all over the city. Aemond looked at Ser Criston before rolling his eye, the knight had no doubt babbled the second he had reached his mother's vicinity. The thought of disappointing his mother tightly squeezed at his heart, with gritted teeth, Aemond let out a noncommittal grunt in a thinly veiled effort to maintain composure. Ser Criston, however, persisted. "In light of the current tensions at court, such a public display of violence was... ill-advised, to say the least. For a prince of the realm to act so rashly..." 

Stopping abruptly, the torchlight casting long shadows that danced on the walls, Aemond turned sharply, his eyes a stormy sea of frustration and barely contained rage. "And what would you have had me do, Ser Criston? Stand by while that animal threatened my betrothed with cold steel? Be grateful I let him leave with his life." 

Ser Criston's demeanor remained stoic, attempting to soothe the prince's anger. "These are indeed trying times, my prince. But your betrothed should not have found herself in such a predicament. A lady of her station venturing away from her escort raises questions about her discretion. Such behavior could bring unforeseen troubles to our doorstep..." 

Aemond's voice cut through the air, sharp as Valyrian steel. "I severed the hand that dared harm her. What do you think I would do to the tongues of those who dare tarnish her name?" 

Ser Criston's expression flickered, a brief moment of uncertainty crossing his face. "My prince, I did not mean to imply—" 

"I know exactly what you implied," Aemond interjected, his voice laced with a cold venom. He unconsciously reached to his right arm where he knew your favor was hidden, touching it to bring your bravery to his words. "Remember your place, Ser Criston. As much as you are a valued member of this household and as much as I have always considered you to be a great mentor, I will not tolerate any slight against my betrothed. Is that clear?" 

"Yes, my prince," Ser Criston conceded, the strain in his voice evident. "I shall be more mindful." 

With a curt nod, Aemond turned away and, as he moved through the corridors, passing servants and knights alike, he noticed their efforts to avoid meeting his gaze. It was a dance he had grown accustomed to, yet today, it felt more pronounced as it made the hole beneath the eye-patch throbbed. Trying to keep the pain at bay, he imagined you at his side holding his hand and giving a sweet reassuring smile. It seemed to help somewhat as the pain started subsiding, leaving in its wake only the feeling of emptiness. It would do for now.  

 Reaching the door to the Queen's solar, Aemond paused, collecting his thoughts. He had hoped that by now, his usual icy composure would have resettled over him like a familiar cloak, that the fiery dragon within would have been tamed and subdued. Yet, beneath his skin, a prickling heat lingered, a reminder of the inferno that had coursed through his veins earlier. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for the encounter ahead. The comforting memory of your grateful eyes had to be set aside, replaced with the bracing reality of his mother's scrutiny. 

Aemond gently rapped on the door and after a brief pause, one of his mother's handmaidens opened the door, allowing him and Ser Criston to enter the room. Inside, Queen Alicent, adorned in a dress of her usual striking green, paced before a large window. Her anxiety was palpable, evidenced by the way she gnawed at her cuticles, some of which were surrounded by tiny specks of blood where she had bitten too deeply.  

Aemond felt a pang of shame tighten in his gut. He was rather unaccustomed to being the source of his mother's disappointment. Throughout his life, she had always shown him a particular kind of attention, especially during his more vulnerable, bullied childhood years when he did not have a dragon to stop people (Aegon) from mocking him. Displeasing Queen Alicent was not something he took lightly. His gaze swept across the room, and Aemond noticed the unusual absence of Otto Hightower, which was odd as the man always had a way to immerse himself in every family discussion. 

Aemond's thoughts were shattered by the sharp rebuke of his mother. "Aemond, for the love of the Seven, what possessed you?" Queen Alicent's voice might have sounded stern and strict to the uneased ear, but Aemond could hear a pinch of desperation. "To attack and dismember a gold cloak in full view of the public. Do you realize the talk this will incite!?" Her eyes, usually so full of maternal warmth reserved for him, now bore into him with a sternness that made him inwardly flinch. 

The smoldering embers of Aemond's anger flared up once more, and he met his mother's gaze with his own steely look – the one that made grown man shudder. "Mother, that man was a disgrace to his cloak. He was assaulting the woman who is to be my wife, threatening her life. He was a beast, unworthy of his position and of the gold on his back. By intervening, I not only did what was necessary to protect my intended, but I restored the name of the King in the eyes of the people of King’s Landing. I will not apologize for my actions as I was under the impression that Lady Dayne, being betrothed to a prince, would be under the protection of our house. It seems I was mistaken. Perhaps I should have allowed her to be stripped naked and beaten for all of Flea bottom to see, would this have been more appropriate?!" 

Queen Alicent, her fingers once again finding their way to her mouth, bit her nails nervously. With a weary sigh, she approached Aemond, her hands reaching out to gently grasp his arms. "Aemond, you misunderstand my concern," she began, her voice tinged with fatigue. "Your actions in defending your betrothed were commendable, but the manner in which you executed them... it is the brutality of it that troubles me. Such a display of violence and cruelty, it's not befitting a prince of your stature." 

Aemond's response came with a touch of bitterness, "Mother, the people of King’s Landing have always viewed me as a monster. What I did today is likely mild in comparison to what they all believe me capable of. And frankly, the man got off lightly. Had it been solely up to me, I would have fed him to Vhagar without a second thought." 

Queen Alicent's sigh was heavy. "Aemond, please," she implored. "I understand your urge to protect your future wife, but you have not even properly met her, your reaction was..." 

"You understand nothing," Aemond interjected sharply, his voice rising with indignation. "My name is Aemond Targaryen! NOT Aemond Hightower and I will uphold the words of my house, 'Fire and Blood,' in dealing with any who threaten us. And that includes Lady Dayne, from the moment Ggrandfather arranged for our betrothal. " 

Alicent's expression turned grave, her gaze unyielding "Is that truly your desire, Aemond? To be remembered as another Maegor the Cruel? To walk the same dark path as your uncle, the rogue that all the nobility of the realm scorns? What legacy do you wish to leave – Aemond the Monstrous? Aemond the Brutal?" 

Aemond winced upon his mother's words – Aemond the monstruous? A bitter retort escaped his lips, "Perhaps I do want that. Perhaps if they called me 'Aemond the Cruel' openly as they all think it, my dear older sister would reconsider herself, parading her bastards as if they were legitimate heirs, worthy of the throne." 

Queen Alicent took a deep, steadying breath, her eyes closing momentarily in a silent plea for patience. She released Aemond's arms, turning away from him, her posture one of weary resignation. "I only wish that you would remember the lessons of mercy taught by the Mother," she said softly. "I understand your anger, Aemond, but you must see that there are alternatives to your actions. Violence, war, death – these are not the sole answers to all our difficulties." 

Aemond felt sour upon his mother’s words, had she always been so blind? "And what would be the 'appropriate' answer, mother, when Rhaenyra learns of your plans with Grandfather? When she discovers your intention to crown Aegon over her?" 

"Aemond, please," Alicent implored, but he pressed on relentlessly. 

"Do you truly believe she will simply just accept it? Do you not see that war and violence are already at our doorstep? Is this not why you arranged my marriage to Lady Dayne – to secure Dorne's support when conflict inevitably breaks out? Consider how our position would weaken if I had allowed the first Dornish lady on our soil since the conquest to be abused on the streets of King's Landing. Prince Quoren might have renounced our alliance entirely. And then what, Mother? Whom would you have me marry? A distant Beesbury cousin? Perhaps some lesser Velaryon to challenge Lord Corlys? What would your grand strategy be, mother?" 

Alicent remained silent, her figure still and composed, even as the tension in the room thickened. Aemond felt like a snarling dragon, spewing fire at the calm and poised figure of his mother – but a dragon could burn down a tower if needed. From his vantage point in the corner, Ser Criston, who had been observing the exchange in silence, finally spoke up, his voice stern. "Prince or not, you will show the proper respect when addressing the Queen." 

Alicent's voice was calm, final. "It is alright, Ser Criston. My son is evidently still distressed from today's events. You may leave us, Aemond." She did not turn back to look at Aemond, her gaze fixed somewhere distant. 

"Mother," Aemond uttered, the anger was still there, but a deep feeling of regret was starting to tightnened in his troath – he had never spoken to his mother this. Had always revered her as the woman who had always loved him, would always love and cherish him, eyes or no eyes. The woman who had taken his side on Driftmark, who had been willing to draw blood for him. So why was he so angry? Because you know of another woman who would have taken your side on Driftmark now, a smooth voice whispered in his mind. He could imagine Lady Dayne, except instead of the little street urchin clinging to you, it was him – holding you as you were soothing him and urling insults to the Strong. Nevertheless, although Aemond knew he had won the argument, the victory was hollow and left a bitter taste in his mouth.  

As Aemond stormed out of his mother's solar, the door slammed shut with a force that was quite petulant and wholly unbefitting of his princely demeanor. The urge to visit Vhagar tugged at him; her presence, the soothing texture of her scales, and the smoldering depths of her yellow eyes often brought him solace in tumultuous times. Soaring through the skies on her back, he found unparalleled freedom, a sense of true self that grounded him amidst the chaos of court life. But today, his steps wavered, his usual path to where Vhagar rested, momentarily forgotten. 

A different impulse guided him instead, steering his course through the corridors of the castle. He caught sight of a maid, her steps quick and purposeful towards the kitchens. In a swift motion, Aemond reached out, his hand gently but firmly grasping her arm. His voice, though laced with the lingering storm of his recent encounter, carried a softer edge. "Tell me, where in the castle is the Dayne retinue lodging?" 

The maid, attempting to maintain her composure, did everything to avoid the intense gaze of his solitary eye, stuttered her reply. "In... the west wing, my prince," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper. With a nod of acknowledgement, Aemond released her, his mind now set on a new destination. 

Navigating the labyrinth of corridors towards the West wing, Prince Aemond was in a whirlwind as each step he took was shadowed by uncertainty - would you be there in your quarters? And if so, would you welcome his presence? He wondered if the radiant spark that had lit your eyes earlier, the one that had captivated him so completely, would still shine when faced with him alone. Doubt nagged at him, whispering questions of whether you might prefer solitude over his company. He shook his head, none of it mattered; the second-guessing, the fear. He needed to see you, to lay eyes on you and ensure your well-being. These thoughts propelled him towards your quarters, and he felt more like a dragon than ever before, like a great beast tracking its prey before feasting – unrelenting, with a singular purpose. You.  

As Prince Aemond neared the West wing, he was met with a contingent of guards adorned with the Dayne sigil – a white fallen star against a field of lilac. A frown marred his features. Where had these men been when you needed them most? "I wish to see my betrothed." Aemond’s tone left no place for arguments. 

However, one of the guards, an older man with a graying beard and sharp brown eyes, appeared unmoved by Aemond's royal status and instead eyed the prince distrustfully. "The lady is currently resting after a taxing day... My prince" The last part was definitely added as an afterthought. 

Bastard, Aemond thought angrily, did he not know he was speaking to a prince? How dare this commoner (who had let harm come to you) come between him and his need to see you! Aemond's sneer was barely concealed. "I'm well aware of her trying day, as I was present," he retorted, trying to quell the anger that pulsed in his veins. "Is it a Dornish custom then, that betrothed couples cannot converse? Especially after one of the party saved the other. Quite a peculiar custom if you ask me." 

Another younger guard grumbled “Not as much as fucking your siblings...” If Aemond was not so consumed with thoughts of you, he would have had whipped this guard for the insolence.  

The older guard's expression soured further, his eyes narrowing. "Given today’s events, where one of your men assaulted our lady, you'll understand my prince,” definitely a sneer” “Our caution.”  

"And the man responsible has been dealt with," Aemond countered firmly, his gaze unwavering. 

The standoff continued for a tense moment before the older guard relented under Aemond's intense gaze. For once, Aemond was quite satisfied that his one eye could make even the fiercest of men grow uncomfortable, it helped to get his bidding done. The guard led the prince to a corner door and knocked briskly. "My lady, Prince Aemond is here to see you," he announced. 

The response came in the form of your familiar, melodious voice, which had haunted Aemond's thoughts throughout the day. "Come in!" you called out, and Aemond felt a mixture of relief and apprehension as he prepared to enter. 

Upon opening the room, Aemond was met with a scene quite unexpected. There you were, center stage in the spacious chamber, having exchanged your earlier attire for a strikingly different ensemble. You were adorned in a long, elegant purple tunic with short sleeves that left your arms gracefully exposed. Underneath, a pair of voluminous white breeches reached down to your calves, leaving the lower parts of your legs exposed. Aemond gulped loudly at the sight of you, he had never seen a young lady dressed in such a manner. Were all Dornish ladies such beautiful women, who scorned proper attire? Were all Dornish ladies so... enticing? No, Aemond thought decidedly, you must be one of a kind, a lone bright star in the otherwise dark skies of his life.  

Yet, it was the action before him that truly caught him off guard. You were in the midst of a tussle with the same young boy from earlier - Daven, was it? You were attempting to apply soap to his hair, a task he seemed to be resisting with all the vigor a 5-year-old boy could muster. On the large bed nearby, another boy of a similar age sat, munching on a bright red apple, his eyes wide with fascination as he observed the struggle. 

“My Lady... Am I... Bothering you? Aemond muttered, at a lost feeling like he might be intruding on such a strange, yet merry moment.”  

Your smile bloomed like a desert rose at dawn, eyes sparkling with the kind of joy that one might associate with discovering a long-lost treasure, or seeing a long-lost friend... Or lover. Gently, you shifted the still-pouting boy in your arms to face Aemond, calling to him with a warmth that melted the icy barriers around the prince's heart. "Look, Davos! Our brave prince who saved us earlier has come to see us!" The boy, Davos, offered a shy smile and a timid wave, his earlier resistance forgotten in the presence of his hero. 

Aemond felt an unfamiliar flush of warmth spread across his cheeks under your gaze, filled with gratitude and something deeper, something that seemed to stir the very core of his being. The usual fire that raged within him, driving his every ambition and desire, seemed to simmer down into a comforting warmth, a feeling he couldn't quite place but didn't wish to escape. 

His heart pounding a rapid rhythm, Aemond offered a slight bow. "Might I be of assistance, my Lady?" 

Your response came with an infectious beam. "Another pair of hands would be most welcome." 

Positioning himself to be of help, Aemond muttered, "Guide me to where I can be most useful, my Lady." 

With a soft and tender smile, you replied, "I believe, my prince, that you are perfect just where you are." 

Perfect right where he is?  

Aemond would never leave your side, nothing would ever tear from you and you from him. The Gods had always scorned him since his childhood, this was payment. His due. You were his and he was yours from this day until the end of his days.  

Next chapter

[and-then-the-dragons-arrived]

I'm getting REALLY angry at all "motivational" books / blogs / posts who keep saying things like "Stop watching TV / playing *World of Warcraft* and you will have a few hours a week to create a business / write a book / whatever".

Because I don't watch TV. I watched like two EPISODES of TV series last year. And probably no more than 5 movies of which some I didn't even finish.

I'm not playing video games. I wish I could but I don't have enough time.

I'm already sleep-deprived so don't even start with "Get up an hour earlier".

And I still can't gather more than a few minutes a day to work on my personal projects.

And even if I *do* find some time, sometimes I'm too tired or overwhelmed to do anything more challenging than going to sleep or scrolling my phone. And before you start with "So stop scrolling social media and you'll be able to write", just DON'T. At those times my level of focus is so low that I couldn't put two words together.

And I still WANT to do those projects. I NEED to be creative for my mental health.

So here's to those who - like me - have daily goals to write TEN words. No, NOT ten thousand or even a hundred. Just ten words. One or two sentences. If I'm lucky and can write a few hundred, that's great! But ten words are FINE. Do you know how many words I wrote yesterday? THIRTEEN. I had literally a few minutes.

I'm often writing on my phone because turning my computer on would eat up all the time I have to write. I don't have any special ritual with scented candles or special tea because all this setup takes too much of my time.

I'm writing all this because maybe you need to hear this.

Maybe you need to hear that setting tiny little goals is OKAY. You don't need to write thousands of words a day.

Maybe you need to hear that watching a movie or scrolling your phone when you're overwhelmed is OKAY. Having free time does not equal being able to do a task, especially a creative one. You can't be always on your 100% capacity.

Maybe you need to hear that there's someone out there (me) who is doing even less than you. If you add 20 words to your current WIP today, you're still ahead of me. So if you see those writers making amazing progress each day, just think there's me who's struggling to do 1% of that.

And that's OKAY.

[stuckinapril]

i saw your posts about studying and i want to know if you have any advice for people looking to get back into the swing of things? even though i was once technically high achieving i feel like i never really cultivated that study muscle properly cause i was just riding talent till i crashed. i've been kinda rotting outside academia for years doing jobs that don't challenge me & i want to go back to school and try to get to a career i actually care about. but i fear i can't get in anywhere and even if i do, i'll show up with my weak/rotted study muscles and just...flop. 🙃 how did you build up your study capacity? any advice would be very much welcome. thank you 💛

Doing dopamine resets has helped me so much w this. I know at this point “dopamine detox” has become a buzz word in productivity spaces, but there really is truth to the fact that our dopamine receptors are fucked—and when you’re first trying to get back on the wagon, it’s important to do it w a mind that is not aching for the tiniest glimmer of entertainment it can find. You can’t get to the finish line if you’re always distracted and veering off course. Quit your phone cold turkey for a few days (or however long you need), eat bland food, don’t listen to music. Literally just be okay w being bored.

Building stamina for studying follows the same principle as building stamina for anything: progressive overload. I had periods where I went from doing absolutely nothing to overloading my schedule w 8 hours of study time, gym, friends, meal prep… and then I burned out and quit and the cycle repeated. I recommend starting off w unimpressive goals for the day (30 minutes of study time, a 10 minute walk, 20 flash cards a day) and then gradually amping it up to your ideal goals (8 hours of study time, 1 hour daily workouts, 300+ flash cards).

And if you find that my example is still too challenging, make it even simpler. 5 minutes of studying is better than 0, even if you think 5 minutes are too little. You really have to take the ego out of it when you’re first getting back on track. It also helps lower the barrier of entry—in my experience starting out w the goal in mind that I wanted to do 8 hours of studying made me not want to start at all, especially after a prolonged hiatus, whereas knowing my goal was 30 minutes got me to start w little resistance bc it didn’t intimidate me. Once you’ve started, it’s usually pretty easy to keep going and you end up doing more than what you set out to do. When 30 minutes become easy, go for an hour. When an hour becomes easy, go for two. Progressive overload.

Also!! So important!! But don’t be scared. Like this will sound so corny, but half the battle is believing you can do it (even if it might take you longer than your peers, even if you struggle at first). Having a defeatist attitude sets you up for failure regardless of how high your potential really goes. So long as you’re pushing yourself hard enough, being mindful of your limits, planning things diligently and sticking to them, you’ll succeed at literally anything you want to do. Unequivocally trusting in that has saved me so much grief.

[g1rltalk]

Like a Girl is the seventh mini album of the fictional South Korean girl group, GIRL TALK, released on November 16, 2023, through Delphi Entertainment and XG Labels. It’s available digitally and physically and has seven tracks with “Get It” being its title track. There are three versions of the album; “Get”, “Kill”, and “Hit”. GIRL TALK promoted “Get It” and “Nobody Knows” for six weeks.

“Get It” received nine music show wins. The music video received 70.4 million streams and 5.3 million likes in 24 hours. They posted daily content videos of “Sleep-Over with GIRL TALK” on their YouTube channel, held several online and in-person fansigns, as well as appearing on multiple variety shows. They also released the “Kill It” and “Hit It” dance practice versions. As usual, their girl crush and mature concepts always go viral, and this time, it was no exception.

Two weeks after Like a Girl was released, Delphi Entertainment announced GIRL TALK’s documentary film; The Girls Talk. Produced by Jordan Hwang, The Girls Talk is a documentary film that emphasizes each members’ individuality and struggles. According to Hwang, the girls “get real”. The Girls Talk was released on November 30, 2023, in select theaters worldwide. Due to popular demand it re-entered theaters in select countries on December 20 and 21 2023. The film is to be released on YouTube Premium on February 24, 2023.

༺☆༻ TRACKLIST

Get It title track

Nobody Knows promoted bside

Look

Eyes Roll

Love Me Like This

ICU (쉬어가도 돼)

21:29

༺☆༻ ALBUM CONTENT

THREE VERSIONS ( GET, HIT, KILL ) … EACH 1 disc + 1 photobook (112 photos) + 1 random photocard out of 5 types + 1 out of 5 mini solo posters + 1 out of 2 large group posters + 1 lyric book (16 pages) + 2 sets of stickers sheet + 1 random bookmark out of 5 with a member’s kiss stain on it

GET YOUR PHOTOCARDS HERE!

༺☆༻ LOOKBOOK

LEFT Get It RIGHT Nobody Knows

༺☆༻ THE PUBLIC’S VIEW

The comeback was announced on October 20th, giving fans and the public a few weeks to prepare. After it was announced, Yuuri went live with the title “AND THE GIRLS ARE BACK!” where she would spoil Nobody Knows, giving fans the first taste of their newest album. Soojin came in a moment after and took her phone away like she was a child, ending the live with a swift but sweet goodbye.

Now that fans knew that the album would involve a mature concept, boy, were they excited. Of course, they love all concepts by the girls but there’s always something about their mature concepts. Of course, non fans were excited, too.

Minji helped write Get It with Cho Yoonkyung, Holly helped Yoonkyung with Nobody Knows. Minji completely wrote ICU and all the girls wrote 21:29.

The music video would get 70.4 million streams and 5.3 million likes within 24 hours. Therefore beating their previous record of 79.8 million with Devil.

Get It debuted high on the charts, #1 on Bugs, #5 on MelOn, #7 on Genie, and #50 on Flo. It was #19 on Billboard 200. Nobody Knows also debuted #4 on Bugs, #6 on MelOn, and #90 on Flo. The girls tweeted a ten second video of them just screaming. No talking, no pausing, just screaming and then it ends. They followed up with another video, thanking the fans and everyone who listened to them.

Minji said ICU was to a close friend of hers, letting them know she’s always there for them, even oceans apart. She didn’t say which friend, but from the girls’ reactions, it’s safe to assume it’s about someone else.

The girls wrote 21:29 for the fans, one of the many. It was a tearjerker, Holly tears up when they first performed it live at an in person fansign.

Get It and Nobody Knows were promoted for six weeks from November 17th to December 17. Their first out of nine win for Get It was two days later on Inkigayo. They had two additional wins for Nobody Knows— which one of them they won against Get It.

As usual, the girls were active on social media. They especially posted a lot on TikTok, posting videos nearly every day and when they skipped one, Blossoms jokingly wondered if the girls were kidnapped or dead. They replied to fans on social media and had one or two lives each week.

They went on variety shows such as Knowing Bros and Minji and Mei guest starred in Running Man. Yuri joked on Knowing Bros that she wished We Got Married was still airing, she wanted to be on it. You can imagine netizens’ reactions. They also went on Jimmy Kimmel and performed.

Throughout the era, they released all three versions of Get It’s dance practices. They also released their MMA and GDA performance dance practices. On December 25, they released a special dance practice video where they wore similar outfits to the Mean Girls’ Santa dresses. Soojin and Mei got the cutest outfits and solo stans were pissed.

Most of the girls stayed their natural dark hair color, while Yuri was blonde and Minji dyed her hair blonde halfway through the era, saying that the blonde hair in her photocard was a wig.

Oh, this was Minji and Holly’s eras. They just shined really brightly in this one, going viral almost every other day for a fancam or something they did or said.

People gave Minji such backhanded compliments for her lyrics and voice while somehow degrading her to a ‘dumb blonde’. Holly went viral for her Nobody Knows fancam, people stating it was her choreo like she just does it like it was made for her.

As usual, Yuuri went viral for all the wrong things. People took her words a bit too seriously like her We Got Married comment, and her saying their comeback was the best comeback the entire year. Stupid things like that.

Antis didn’t have one thing to complain about Mei this era for, but you know— they still did.

It’s not a GIRL TALK comeback if there’s not at least one dating rumor. This era’s victim was Soojin, what a surprise.

All of the girls went viral for Nobody Knows, multiple fancams of theirs for the song had more than two million views. This brought more attention to them, both bad and good.

Some people thought it was somehow too raunchy …? As Holly said, “They don’t like people showing their ass, I guess.”

Twitter was in hell for Blossoms. Like it was a constant war every day. They had to defend the girls from so many other fandoms, who called them sluts or untalented, etc. You know the works.

They attended Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade in New York and all stops of the iHeartRadio Jingle Ball tour, meeting a few celebrities such as Sabrina Carpenter, Olivis Rodrigo, Doechii, Melanie Martinez, SZA, and more.

GIRL TALK went to AAA, MMA, SMA, GDA, and CCMA. They went home with at least one award every show.

They released their documentary film The Girls Talk on November 30 in select theaters. The girls shed light on past incidents, reminisce together, and even visit their families in the film as a way to go back to their roots after finding stardom. It will be released on YouTube Premium on February 24, 2024.

On midnight January 1st, the girls dropped a music video for 21:29, a thank you gift to them, concluding the Get It era.

[girltalkcollectives]

🪞 Trying to love yourself in a world that profits from your self-doubt (and how i'm finally starting to win that battle) 🪞

Let's have an honest conversation about something I've been struggling with lately. You know those days when you're just scrolling through social media, feeling pretty good about yourself, and then BAM – suddenly you're wondering if you need that new miracle serum that promises to fix a "flaw" you didn't even know you had?

Yeah, we need to talk about that.

The Reality Check

At 20, I'm constantly bombarded with:

"Anti-aging" products (like… I'm literally TWENTY?)

Filters that completely change my face

Before/after photos that make me question everything

"Clean girl aesthetic" pressure

"That Girl" morning routines

Weight loss ads between every TikTok

"Body trending" conversations (because apparently bodies trend now???)

And honestly? I'm exhausted.

The Hidden Cost

Here's what this constant pressure actually costs us:

Mental energy we could use for literally anything else

Money we could be saving or investing

Confidence in our natural selves

Time we'll never get back

Real connections because we're too anxious about our appearance

The simple joy of existing without criticism

The Truth About "Perfect" Posts

Let's break down what we're usually seeing:

Perfect lighting

Strategic angles

Multiple takes

Careful editing

Specific poses

Curated moments

And sometimes? Straight-up lies

What Nobody Tells You About "Goals" Posts

That influencer with the "perfect morning routine"?

She took 67 takes of that "just woke up" shot

That's not her everyday breakfast

She's not actually that productive every single day

Those workout clips are from different days

The "no makeup" look has makeup

She probably felt anxious posting it too

My Personal Journey

Recently, I started documenting my actual, unfiltered self:

My actual skin texture

Real morning hair

Genuine facial expressions

Normal body positions

Regular daily outfits

Real-life messy moments

And something magical happened: nothing. The world didn't end. People didn't run away screaming. Life just… continued.

The Small Wins

I'm celebrating these victories:

Posting pictures without filters

Wearing what feels comfortable

Going out without makeup sometimes

Unfollowing accounts that make me feel bad

Actually believing compliments

Calling out beauty standards with friends

What's Actually Helping

Here's what's making a real difference:

Curating my social media: Unfollowing anything that triggers comparison

Finding real role models: Following people who look like me and rock it

Reality checks with friends: Honest conversations about our insecurities

Gratitude practice: Focusing on what my body does, not how it looks

Setting boundaries: It's okay to skip conversations about diets/appearance

The Mindset Shifts

I'm learning that:

Beauty standards are made up and literally change every decade

Companies profit from our insecurities

"Perfect" doesn't exist

Confidence is more attractive than any physical feature

My worth isn't tied to my appearance

It's okay to be a work in progress

To Anyone Struggling

Remember:

You don't owe anyone prettiness

Your body is not a trend

You're allowed to take up space

Your worth isn't measured in likes

Beauty standards are fake

You're enough, right now, as you are

Moving Forward

Here's what I'm committing to:

Being honest about my struggles

Sharing unfiltered moments

Supporting other women

Calling out toxic beauty standards

Celebrating all types of beauty

Working on loving myself as I am

The Revolution Starts With Us

Maybe the most rebellious thing we can do is just… exist. Unapologetically. Without shrinking or filtering or constantly apologizing.

[comfortlesshurt]

alrighty, I locked in for a couple days and now I get to reward myself by yelling into the tumblr void about the series progress

first off, there are TWO FICS over 50% done, v exciting stuff. I know they've been over 50% for a bit now, but like... let me have my motivation, okay? we are in the HARD PART of the project where it all looks overwhelming, so I'll take the wins I can

also tex fic is finished and through round 1 of editing. it still needs another major edit and i need to finish fic 1 to make sure no info conflicts between the two, but the serious work for that is done

there are a few more days left before NotNaNo, but even going in with today's word counts, focusing on fics 1 and 2 should put them pretty close to finished by the end of November unless I was super off with the word count estimate

also had a really good writing day yesterday!

ignore those date projections at the bottom because like... those assume either i write 3k every day or i write 3k twice a week and 1.2k the other 5 days, and I canNOT do that consistently. but that July 23rd date is realistic! that's me continuing to hit my average based on the past 106 days since starting this project, so there's a good chance I finish this project in a total of just over a year (in which case I will never shut up about writing 450k in a year, so watch out)

finally, fic 1 is a huge portion of that daily par number in the first row, so... unless I fall majorly away from the intended timeline, that required daily par will go down a LOT at the end of december, which will be nice. the goal is still to focus a lot on this project and only really jump over to side projects as they call to me, but it's easier to do that when your average isn't struggling to keep up with your daily par number. it simply does not feel good to be constantly working just to barely get over the par.

as far as editing, i'm starting to fear i didn't budget enough time for that in my early projections, so the timeline might be off there. those due dates listed are for the final rough draft, which doesn't get a chance to rest before immediately going into a month of editing. something just tells me now that a month isn't going to be enough to cover a content edit for each fic. it's also relying on the technical edits being done week-to-week as each chapter goes up.

also added one more tracking tool recently:

this is to look at all the projects week-to-week, and really what it's done is made it obvious that I am in fact very focused on fic 1 lmao. in my defense, that's the one that has consistently had the highest required par, so it's easy to treat it as the most important. also, up to 27-aug is rough. I started writing these fics in Word, so I didn't have day-to-day stats to go back and check. I could only find those once I switched to Reedsy, so for the record I did not write 54k between 20-aug and 27-aug. same with the tex fic--that wasn't all written in one week.

this chart still only looks at ILaD progress, so you can see where I take my break in October and it cuts down a lot... but that's excluding the 10k that went into an unrelated fic, so I don't think taking this break has actually cut down on my writing much. it's just made me have a better time with it temporarily. i took a couple days off writing completely during October but like... I didn't really enjoy that? so I don't think that's the solution I'm looking for long-term.

anyway, thanks for coming to my ted talk. i will infodump again, and probably soon since all the end of the month posts are coming up in the next week.

[ovaruling]

ok a bit emotional but you should be used to my long personal posts by now—i was finally able to deadlift 115 for todays WOD! which is not a lot for most ppls DLs but considering i only started in May and also have the ridiculous physiological history that i do and also considering that my most recent surgery included a full abdominoplasty only a couple yrs ago (evil) and considering that i’m struggling w medication and withdrawals rn……

AND considering the WOD was a pyramid of 1-10 and ladder descent back down to 1 of burpee & deadlift from crossfit games ‘22 with a 10 min cap—this is a notable functional body milestone for me! i was able to ascend the first 10 rounds by the end of the cap, after a rly rigorous warmup that kicked my ass, too

i may have broken my body a million times over but i am building and rebuilding. i was once a horrifying 80lbs at 5’9/5’10 and hospitalized for air bubbles in my heart from purging so violently and was growing sicker still from my BBL infection. it’s so weird to think of that girl now—she seems like a total stranger compared to who i am today.

i have so many of the inspiring women here to thank for being able to reach this point in my Life Comeback. i joined radblr almost a year ago and since then i have seen the changes to my well-being accelerate tenfold, and i attribute so much of that to having found strength here in the words and the fiery arguments of women who are AWAKE. there has been a real life effect for me ricocheting from the women who post here—and i want that known! for all that it can be messy, online activism is not necessarily automatically a net zero. it does affect many of us in our daily lives in a positive way. it has the ability to feed and organize so many of us who started with no hope, no minds of our own. do not underestimate your voices here—they are not zero. i am proof of it, even if i’m only one woman.

and if i do nothing else w my life i want to be a small proof of the resilience of women disabled by both lifetimes of eating disorders and the evil cosmetic industry. if i can do this—if EYE, me, just some woman—can do this……..then we CAN still grow and repair. also our 20s are not the end of us nor are they a peak of anything. we are not finished. we can and will regenerate…. salamander women rise up……

[sometimes-men-need-help-too]

Community mourns 10-year-old’s death; parents say bullying is to blame

GREENFIELD — A mound of flowers encircles the small tree in Sammy Teusch’s front yard, along with a fireman’s hat and a Spiderman balloon.

A collection of wind chimes hangs from its branches, gifts left by virtual strangers who came to offer what support they could to Sammy’s parents — Sam and Nichole Teusch — who say their youngest child committed suicide in their Greenfield home on Sunday, May 5.

Sammy was a fourth grader at Greenfield Intermediate School.

He was just 10 years old.

As the greater Greenfield community has been reeling from news of Sammy’s death this week, the family has spoken out to local media, blaming the Greenfield-Central schools for not doing enough to stop the bullying he allegedly endured for months.

The boy’s father, Sam Teusch, told WTHR-13 in Indianapolis that the family had contacted Greenfield Intermediate School 20 different times to report bullying, but on Tuesday school officials said no reports were ever filed.

“In every instance it was never made anyone else’s fault by Sammy,” Nichole said.

Sam Teusch said another child once struck Sammy with an iPad on the bus, knocking the glasses off his face and giving him a black eye.

“I guess what angers me is that, if it wasn’t bullying and they had the video of this child who smacked him with an iPad, and broke his glasses right off his face, I guess that’s one-sided fighting? To me that’s bullying,” said his wife.

The Teuschs say they asked Greenfield-Central school officials for a copy of the video, “but they said no because there’s other (children) in the video,” said Sammy’s mom.

The Teuschs admit Sammy had been acting out at school, which they believe was likely prompted by bullying.

He said he also had multiple talks with Sammy, who would tearfully tell his dad he was being bullied at school.

“Sammy told me a lot over time and then just one day he just stopped telling me,” the father recalled.

“I’m an idiot … We asked him how everything was going at school, and he said, ‘Good. Good.’ After awhile he stopped telling me,” he said.

Greenfield-Central superintendent Harold Olin did say that staff members have “worked with the Teusch family quite a bit over the last 18 months,” but declined sharing details.

“Contact between school personnel and the parents was frequent,” Olin said on Tuesday. “We are investigating their claims related to bullying. Beyond our own investigations, we are cooperating with the Greenfield Police Department in this matter,” he said.

While Olin said he couldn’t share details in the case or previous conversations with Sammy’s parents, Deputy Chief Charles McMichael of the Greenfield Police Department said the investigation into the boy’s death is ongoing.

“This death is tragic for our entire community. Our hearts break for this child’s family and friends,” he told the Daily Reporter.

“What I would like for you to share is this: Parents, now is the time to talk to your kids. There shouldn’t be anything in their lives you don’t know about — school, homework, sports, friends — every aspect of their lives. The more conversations you have about everyday life, the more comfortable they will be talking about the hard stuff,” he said.

Meanwhile, the community struggles to make sense of the tragedy.

A Go Fund Me page set up to support Sammy’s family and funeral expenses grew quickly throughout the week, raising more than $2,000 beyond its $30,000 goal as of 3 p.m. Thursday, May 9.

Although Sammy’s parents could not be reached, a message on their Go Fund Me page posted Wednesday thanked the community “for the amazing support we’ve been shown. Last night we had a few hundred people show up and give us hugs and support. I couldn’t tell you how many complete strangers walked up to grieve with us and show support,” it read.

“The kids showed up in droves. It was much-needed craziness. There were tears (lots) but for the first time in a few days I seen smiles. I heard laughter. Then more tears, but that’s OK. Friends at this point become family,” it said.

A public “anti-bullying protest walk” has been posted on Facebook for 11 a.m. Saturday, May 18, starting at Greenfield-Central High School and ending at the Hancock County Courthouse.

SCHOOL RESPONSE

Greenfield-Central officials stand by their claims that bullying at school was not the cause of Sammy’s death.

“We have no reason to believe this (tragedy) was due to bullying at school. They are truly rumors and not based in fact,” said Robin LeClaire, the school district’s director of student services, on Tuesday.

LeClaire said the superintendents and counselors from all Hancock County school districts have called Greenfield-Central school officials offering their condolences and support, and that counselors and mental health professionals from all four districts were supporting students this week at Greenfield Intermediate School and Greenfield Central Junior High School, the schools Sammy’s siblings attend.

“We have continued to provide additional mental health professionals in these two schools this week, and we have reminded all G-C families that we have mental health professionals in all eight of our schools to support our students throughout this crisis,” said Olin.

“We have been fortunate to have an outpouring of support from our Hancock County school peers and the faith community, who also made themselves available to our students and families,” he said.

LeClaire said school officials have been in touch with many parents of students who were friends with Sammy, and that the district will continue to support the boy’s family, students and staff.

“We can’t control the narrative that’s out on social media, but we feel like we’ve responded well (in working with the family). Many of the (rumors of bullying) out here are not the experience we have had with him,” she said.

“Greenfield in general takes bullying reports very seriously, and we act on every single report every single time, and if action is required we do that,” said LeClaire. “We also provide training for staff and students at the beginning of every single year.”

LeClaire said what happened to the young man and his family is “a horrible tragedy, and we are extremely saddened by the situation. We know everybody is seeking answers as people often do when a child dies … but right now we don’t have a lot of answers, and I don’t know if or when we will.”

Olin said Sammy’s death “is tragic, and it has left our school corporation and larger community in tremendous grief. Our hearts pour out to the family at this time.”

According to the superintendent, Sammy had been a student in Greenfield-Central schools for the last year and a half, finishing his third grade year at Weston Elementary last spring and attending fourth grade at Greenfield Intermediate School this school year.

When asked if the family had filed any bullying reports regarding Sammy during his time in Greenfield-Central schools, Olin said he could not answer due to privacy laws and the ongoing investigation.

“I can say that we investigate and respond to all bullying reports and that Greenfield-Central takes bullying seriously and every matter is reviewed,” he added.

Olin went on to say the Greenfield-Central schools provide an official bullying incident reporting form, as well as an anonymous reporting app called StopIt on all student devices and school websites.

“Students and/or parents can report bullying behavior verbally. If the claim/accusation meets the criteria spelled out on the form (and Indiana Code), the bullying incident report form is completed,” he said in an email Thursday.

Olin said all incident reports related to bullying are reported to the Indiana Department of Education as mandated by state law.

While the investigation into what led up to Sammy’s death continues, “We are primarily focusing our resources on meeting the immediate needs of the students we serve in Greenfield-Central schools,” he said.

INVESTIGATION CONTINUES

McMichael, who handles community affairs for the Greenfield Police Department, encouraged the public to give the police department time to complete its investigation before laying blame.

“We’re hearing a lot of the same rumors everybody else is hearing. What’s true and what’s not true, we just don’t know yet,” he said.

“If this were an adult, some of the questions would be so much easier, but primarily because the case involves juveniles, there’s just not a lot we can say. Right now, it’s still a very active investigation,” said McMichael. “We’re still talking to several juveniles and there are still several more we want to talk to. I just don’t have anything to share beyond that.”

He added that anyone with information regarding the case can contact Det. Brandon Pope with the Greenfield Police Department at bpope@greenfieldin.org.

Sammy’s obituary, posted at stillingerfamilyfuneralhome.com, shared that Sammy was “loved by all, thoroughly embraced hugs, and had big plans for the future.”

It said Sammy was a fun-loving young boy who loved to hike and fish, jump into ponds, and play with robots and video games.

He was also a big fan of spicy foods, especially spicy Ramen noodles.

A visitation is planned for 2-8 p.m. Tuesday at Brandywine Community Church, at 1551 E. New Road in Greenfield. The funeral will take place at the church at 10 a.m. Wednesday, May 15, followed by a gathering back at the church after a graveside service.

Guests are invited to dress casually, “as Sammy would have known you.” Memorial contributions may be made to STOMP Out Bullying at StompOutBullying.org.

This is so sad. And at ten years old

I'm not surprised the school is trying to say it wasn't caused by bullying, though

[alpaca-clouds]

Daily things in historical settings

I am listening to a lot of the DnD audiobooks right now and I am kinda drawn back and forth between being amused and kinda annoyed with some of the stuff that those books get wrong. Because... Okay, DnD is not a real historical setting. The historical technologies and such are all over the place. But... I am going to assume that at least horses travel at the same speed than actual horses.

So, let me talk about some little tidbits that might be interesting to people writing (pseudo)historical settings. Be it fanfiction or your original fantasy books.

Historical Travelling & Information Speed

Some things that people struggle with has to do with how fast travel was - and how fast information could struggle. And great news: For most of human history this did not change a lot. Like, from the moment people first created wagons to put behind horses, till the invention of the car (well, and in regards to information the sign posts) this didn't change.

Historically speaking a lot of travel happened on foot. People travelling by foot would usually make 15-40km (so about 8-20 miles) per day.

People travelling on horseback would cover about 30-50km (15-25miles)

Messengers, who had faster horses and switched them out, might manage 70-80km on one day (35-40 miles).

Stagecoaches would also have high speeds and switch out horses, managing between 50 and 70km. Please note: If you wanted to travel with a stage coach, you usually would have to give message ahead.

Someone just leasurely taking a horse wagon might cover between 30 and 40 miles usually.

Armies (that moved slower, due to the number of people and the stuff they took along) would most of the time cover between 15 and 25km (8-13miles)

Big exception were the Romans, who would often march between 40 and 50km a day (20-25miles) when they moved their army.

River travel obviously depended on whether you would travel upstream or downstream. Usually upstream would not be more than 20km (10 miles) a day. Downstream it could be up to 60 or even 70km a day (30-35 miles).

Sea travel depended a lot on the weather and the ship. On good days they could do 150km a day, but on bad days they might only cover 40km.

Food and Drink

Okay, I talk about medieval food and drink a lot. I am not gonna go into the more detailed things what was eaten and what not, because I did that enough. (And if you do historical stuff, sure, maybe your fantasy world has different food.) Instead I would rather like to talk about some logistic and technological things.

A lot of historical houses did not have a kitchen. Rather the people would just good food over their fireplace. Usually they had some way of hanging a pot over the fire (like seen above), which might be adjustable for height and closeness to the fire. Which is why a lot a people often ate soups and stews. Because you could cook those with just one pot.

You know the phrase "best thing since the invention of sliced bread"? Yeah, that is because for the longest time, bread wasn't sliced. People just pulled it apart and dunked it in whatever they were eating.

Historically speaking there was no running water, so people had to go out to a pump or well to get their water. (I really just wanna see people getting water more often in fantasy settings.)

In some areas of the world, people might actually drink beer instead of water, mostly for the fact that they noticed that folks would get less sick from it. But please note, that this beer was very thin. So rarely more than 1% alcohol.

Hygiene

Alright, let's be honest Hygiene is something people usually to not address in their fantasy settings at all. For a plethora of reasons. But let me talk about it either way.

Toilets often were outhouses or just holes in the ground. (Technically speaking outhouses often were just holes in the ground with some extra stuff.) Only few historical settings had a proper sewer system. If you were travelling, you would just dig a small hole, do your business, and then fill the hole back up.

If you needed to do your business at night, you would usually do it in a pisspot that you would empty in the morning

Contrary to popular believe: Yes, historical people did bathe. There were bathhouses in most parts of the world - and people would bathe in open waters. Bathing at home was less common, because it was just such a fucking bother. You needed to get water from a river, pond or well in buckets, needed to fill up a tub with that and then heat it. So... bathhouses were more sensible. But even if you did the work at home, the family would bathe in the same water one after another.

Outside of India people did not figure out shampoo until the 20th century. So rather than shampoo people would use oils to clean their hair.

Washing machines were obviously not a thing either. Instead laundry was done doing washboards and it was very exhausting work.

There was no central garbage disposal. Now, a lot of places relied on pigs on the street to clean up. (My city here has been called the "city of pigs" in medieval times for that reason, lol.) But stuff folks threw away might litter streets in cities. And yes, this might also include dead animals.

Very little is known with how people being curses with an uterus dealt with the more or less monthly problem. But it is assumed that people wore a special kind of underwear for this to soak up the blood. (In some parts of the world, women of course were considered unclean during their period...)

[garamdx]

: / / LOADING … OH GARAM / /

20021106, 05:58 AM

INCUBUS PHYSIOLOGY

SUPERNATURAL BEAUTY

DEMONIC HELEN OF TROY

: / / LOADING … AUTHOR'S NOTE / /

hello, everyone! my name is ryan (he/him, 28+) and i'm so excited to be here with all of you. 🤍 garam is a beloved muse of mine and while he's here to raise a little hell here and there, i hope that he'll smoothly fit in with all your muses. if you're interested in plotting, please 🖤 this post and i'll reach out to you as soon as possible. i have d//scord available by request, so lmk if that's easier! ngl, it's easier for me, so... there's that! 💜

: / / LOADING … BACKGROUND / /

born in bum-fuck nowhere south korea to a family of cultists.

he’s the disappointment, the “defect”, in his family.

his physiology is that of an incubus, much like the rest of his brothers, but his demonic abilities are basically non-existent.

garam’s beautiful to behold, always has been. that’s about it.

at 16, his lust aura made itself apparent. it… was awkward.

once he turned 20, he was banished from his home, and he arrived in seoul—specifically district x—to start a new life.

he seduced plenty of rich men to survive, but now lives on his own and works as an influencer; bewitching his followers.

he was recently diagnosed with impulsive bpd.

he’s currently being treated for it; takes it a day at a time.

above all, garam really just wants to be loved for who he is.

: / / LOADING … PERSONALITY / /

garam is someone who possesses immense passions. even outside of his mental health issues, his emotions are felt deeply; profoundly. sometimes they feel heavy, but other times, especially in blissful moments, they bring him such pure, unadulterated joy that making good memories comes easily. when he's fun, he's fun. he lilts unexpected, crazy things; he orbits around his loved ones; he learns everyone's secrets, their desires, and their aspirations, and if he's loyal to you, he'll make sure you receive every single once; he's like lightning. however, he's someone who doesn't make himself easy to know, and that's for a variety of reasons. above all, he just doesn't like when people are all up his ass about things that don't involve them. if he has something to tell you, then he'll tell you. if he wants to keep something to himself, he will. that said, what makes him hypocritical is, despite concealing parts of himself, he wants to know everything about you. literally everything. he doesn't give a fuck about what you ate for lunch, he wants to know who you'd die for. i'll warn you now, he's hyper-sexual. even if he's not pursuing someone, he loves talking about sex and debauchery. again, he loves the taboo and the things that people don't often open up about. that, and at his core, he's a fucking sex demon. he won't apologize, but i'll apologize in advance for his perversion. he was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, and he's been in therapy for it for a few months now. there's for sure been improvements, but it's still a daily struggle. he's vowed to try to be better, though. he doesn't want his past to affect him as badly as it does, so learning to cope/moving on is his top priority. there's one thing about him that'll be obvious upon first meeting. you will find him beautiful. unless you have abilities that make you immune, his beauty is obvious and striking. as he's homosexual, it tends to rouse much more intense responses by members of the same sex, but the opposite often find him appealing, as well. don't touch his horns without permission.

: / / LOADING … PLOTLINES / /

i prefer to brainstorm plots! 💜 talk to you soon!

[scarfacemarston]

You study prostitution in 19th century America, correct? If so I have a question. How much did brothel owners take as a percentage from the women who worked there? I know it varied by location but was there an average in the West? Did that include renting the room or was that extra?

I'm going to return with hard proof from a few of my books to back me up because I want to be accurate. Unfortunately, my house is being renovated, and I have to dig through my stuff. It's more so just double-checking my numbers. There are so many factors. This depended entirely on the state, the time period, the madam, the girl, and the brothel hierarchy. I have meta on the brothel hierarchy, the daily life of a sex worker, and a few other pieces if you're interested. Factors include: How decent is this brothel? Is this a saloon with a side brothel? A stand-alone brothel, a string of cribs (crappy rooms)? Are girls fighting for a spot in the brothel? Who is the girl? How old is she? What nationality was she ? Has she been a sex worker before? How beautiful is she? Does she have any struggles with addiction? Is she a mother? Does she other family? Are other brothel madams interested in her? Does she have any rivalries with any of the girls? Once those factors were decided: In general, brothel owners took huge percentages of wages. 20 percent was on the low end, with 50 percent on the higher end. However, I have heard certain brothels use 10-15 percent on the lower end. Again, I will return with a citation. The rest of the information I know by heart from giving presentations. How can you live on that? You can't. Not easily. In addition, you did have to pay for your room and board, your weekly doctor examinations, tip the brothel's protection, pay any fines that you incurred because of sex work(But sometimes the madam would pay that.). Additionally, a lot of brothels could sell you supplies like make-up and clothing, but at a huge markup. They could do this because a lot of stores would not cater to prostitutes or would do so at odd hours so the "respectable" clientele could avoid them. Sex workers usually had off time at odd hours of the day/night, so they almost had no choice but to buy whatever the madams provided. This also included food. So, you paid for the relative "safety" of the brothel, but escaping prostitution was exceedingly difficult and would require tight budgeting to do so - that's if one avoided addiction. Edit: Here are some meta posts I've written if you haven't seen them! The Ultimate Guide to Sex Workers in RDR 2

The issues with being a working girl Some of Abigail's views on her sex work. Remembering to humanize sex workers Recommended Reading

I have more somewhere else, but I'd have to look pretty far in my old posts. I might find them, though!