#the goodbye hit for me mostly because of my emotions already being engaged from the first movie

[thegirlwholied]

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but my biggest disappointment in Wonder Woman 1984 was... Steve. 

Yes he’s the perfect Wonder Woman boyfriend; yes I love how he backs her up in the fight scenes; yes I love Chris Pine; yes they have great chemistry and are adorable...

and yes the scene in the movie that most hit for me was their goodbye. 

But uh. I get that maybe the creative team wanted to avoid the complicated stuff and just have fun? But Wonder Woman (2017) showed you can have both fun & address the complicated stuff. 

And Steve Trevor, in that movie, bearing the weight of war, was part of the complicated stuff:

You don't think I get it, after what I've seen out there? You don't think I wish I could tell you that it was one bad guy to blame? It's not! We're all to blame! (I’m not). But maybe I am.

My father told me once, he said, "If you see something wrong happening in the world, you can either do nothing, or you can do something". And I already tried nothing.

1984!Steve is not complicated. He’s delicious. He eats Pop-Tarts. He is a Pop-Tart.

There’s a reason, when plots with time travel involve World War I, there’s usually That Moment. You know, the what do you mean, World War I. It’s probably a trope by now. But tropes exist for a reason and that one exists because it is one HELL of an emotional beat. You sent this man to the National Air & Space Museum, founded after World War II with an initial collection of mostly post WWI & WWII aircraft, and had him in DC within walking distance of war memorials, and had him in Diana’s apartment where she had a concentration camp photo... and you’re not even going to spend a beat on that?

The guy who we were introduced to, who drew Diana away from her island, talking about the ‘war to end all wars’, and we don’t get a beat? Who was worried about ‘weapons far deadlier than you can imagine’ and how ‘every kind’ of weapon now kills innocents, and the plot is set amid the specter of Cold War nuclear annihilation...and not a beat? 

I’m not saying it’s a plot-hole; you can handwave it with off-screen conversations or the lack of PTSD as ‘well, he did just come from heaven’. I’m not saying everything needs to be on-screen: we don’t need to know the details of Steve ‘trying nothing’, for example. 

But the movie is lesser for ignoring it, and Steve’s character is shallower. Hello, Pop-Tart. A perfect boyfriend, but one who, when he’s insisting any other guy could do for her (not exactly sounding like the guy who pointed out he was ‘above average’, and I’d buy he feels he’s not worthy but I’m not sure I buy his faith in other men being automatically more worthy?)... is not exactly demonstrating a lot of depth beyond, well, being charming Chris Pine, making crumbs in bed look appealing. He’s a dream! 

...honestly he almost felt to me like not-real Steve, versus the Steve who argued with Diana, who, yes, things were good with but also difficult with, but since the movie neither explored a) the question of ‘is dreamstone!Steve real’, pretty much just running with ‘yes’ rather than making us wonder if he was more conjured from Diana’s wish/memory versus his true self, but that is a whole different plot or b) how it’s a lot easier to love the memory of someone than the more-complicated real deal, but real is also better... that’s all moot.  

Yes, there should have been joy at more time with Diana and modern marvels (...though, uh, I question the choices of subway and escalator; they were in 1918 London, which would already have had escalators in its Underground). But in the first movie, for all Diana’s delight at babies & ice cream & snow, it’s balanced with recognition of the horrors of the world, which when seen through fresh eyes are so much worse than those taking them for granted, just as the joys are made new again. And so the echo aimed for, of Steve taking in 1984 with fresh eyes, was muddled for me, by its lack of depth. The movie reaches at commenting on ’80s greed & materialism & Cold War threats, but it almost doesn’t matter we’re in 1984, because it doesn’t use that right-there tool - the perspective from the past, with values pulled straight out of a more-despairing time - to add any color. It’s all pop, no tart. 

When I find myself dwelling on media it’s always because a) it was just that good, b) it was just that terrible, or, most often, c) it just missed being better, being great, and sometimes I’m not sure how they missed it - Wonder Woman 1984 just missed, for me, and this is the central reason why. Did I enjoy watching it? Do I love an Indiana Jones callback, and the Diana/Steve chemistry, and Kristin Wiig and Pedro Pascal? You bet. I enjoy eating a Pop-Tart, too. 

But it leaves me still wanting something with more substance. 

[queerwashingmedia]

Loki’s problem with queerbaiting: part 1

Sylvie and Loki and bisexuality

(Part of this analysis is also present on my main, @stephen9260)

When first word got out that Loki came out as bi, I was excited: Marvel is owned by Disney, and I saw what it had done in other media, so I knew there was no chance it was different with Marvel.

I thought I was wrong when I heard the news.

But I wasn’t. I really wasn’t.

Was bringing Sylvie in the mix a good move?

Sylvie was not a good choice. At all.

Not because she’s a woman, there would have been nothing wrong with Loki having a female love interest (when having done the right balancing instead of makimg him come out and never mentioning it again, not even in subtext), but obviously there’s just so many people that think of bisexuals as immoral, deviants, s3x crazed freaks, and in all honesty having your bi lead engaging in selfcest just reinforces this dehumanizing stereotype.

Also, her betraying him after building up a possibly good dynamic would have made sense if not for the way it was delivered.

The kiss just did not make sense.

The kiss was probably not one of any sort of actual affection from neither of them, so them kissing just didn’t make sense overall.

Would having a relatioship right now be a good idea at all?

Throughout the whole series Loki is mostly confused or on the run, he only has time to let himself go when he’s on the train (when the coming out scene happens) and in Pompeii, which doesn’t leave him with much time to get his whole thing going. Which brings me to the point that I don’t think him getting into a relationship in the series is a good idea character wise.

He’s having a great character development and getting a partner doesn’t make sense with the kind of growth he’s going through, it would be almost out of place.

Even if that were the case though, I feel like there is something to be said: whatever gender his partner would end up being, he would have needed at least a scene when he’s flirting with a person whose gender is different than his partner’s, especially if the partner ends up being a woman (which in the eyes of basically everyone considering how little effort they are putting in making Loki actually genderfuid,  would make the relationship straight passing).

(Under the cut is an analysis of the kiss scene for anyone wondering why I think it wasn’t romantic)

First I analized the lighting, to see if the colors had been chosen to make the scene look more romantic or not (spoiler: they were not).

Usually darker colors are use in violent scenes or, for instance, s3x scenes, or still any sort of interaction that is dirven by passion, anger, or similar emotions.

This tecnique checks out with the scene we are viewing.

The scene is not well lit, but the colors are not red or similar shades like they are usually in this situations. Instead, mainly greens, but also blues (expecially during the kiss per se) purples and some other colors were used, so my guess is that the lighting was supposed to mainly mimick the colors that came from outside the room (the timelines diverging), inside the room (for one the fireplace in the background gives Sylki a more warm, tender aura, which I believe was used to make her seem far from someone who would be prone to betrayal) and most of all the caothic energy that both of the variants, being dieties of mischief and chaos themsleves, emanate.

I already have my theories on Sylvies side of the story, the kiss being merely a distraction, not a last goodbye before the final betrayal or a true expression of her feelings before sacrificing them for the sake of her beliefs.

So I looked into Loki’s face and expression, not majorly during the kiss (they’re smushing their faces together, what could I even have seen), but after.

Unfortunately, we can’t see his face before Sylvie annouces her betrayal, but while normaly, in a scene like this, the character who has been betrayed and actually wanted and enjoyed that kiss has still a little hope on their face before we can see it being whiped out by despair, what I could see in those few second from beginning to end was sadness and disappointment and resignation.

It didn’t just turn from a half smile of newfound joy and calm to the realization of someone who’s being betrayed: from the second the camera was onto Loki we could see his face was still, from when we can see his poorly lit profile his mouth hasn’t moved an inch (and nor have his eyes, from what I can tell), thus his expression hasn’t changed.

So that is when the realization hit me.

Why his face was like this.

When Sylive lowered her swords, Loki could see that she was bluffing, he knew it wasn’t real.

“I’ve been where you are. I’ve felt what you feel”

These words just prove it further.

He knows she has trust issues (like he does), so of course her lowering her guard was not genuine.   And he was proven right by that kiss. That’s when he realized that unlike him, she hadn’t grown, she was still like the Loki the sacred timeline had intended. Loki knew it because in that moment he was reminded that while not being exactly like him, they’re the same person.

She’s the Loki of the past, the Loki that doen’t trust  anyone, she’s like him before entering the tva.  

She was still prone to betrayal.

She’s not the same as who he is right now, but she’s the same as who he was before the character development

[asgardianmagicman]

No Safety in My Arms - Chapter 2

A/N: Hello hello! I’m back with part two of No Safety in My Arms, so I hope you all enjoy!

part one here; read it on ao3 here.

warning(s): there’s an encounter between the reader & a man that’s somewhat aggressive. it’s not graphic, but I wanted to warn about it just in case.

        You hugged yourself as you walked back towards your apartment in the tower, still feeling pretty deeply shaken by... whatever exactly had happened with Loki in the conference room. You shut the door behind yourself, leaning back against is and staring into space, vision slightly out of focus. You startled slightly as you felt something touch your leg, but when you looked down and saw your black lab, Aksel, sitting there staring up at you, his work vest and leash laid at his feet. The sight made a sense of comfort well up within you, and you let out a short breath.

       "Okay, boy. Some fresh air will probably be good for me, anyways. But you already know that, huh?" You smiled slightly as you crouched down, securing Aksel's vest that read "SERVICE DOG: DO NOT PET" and clipping his leash to it. You pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head, then stood once again. Quickly grabbing your keys and bag, you opened the door and made your way toward the elevator. On your way, you passed Natasha and Bucky sitting in one of the common areas. They were adept enough at reading your body language that they knew when you were comfortable engaging in actual interactions and when you weren't, so they simply smiled and nodded in greeting, which you returned silently. The ride down to the lobby was equally as silent.

       In your haste to get outside for fresh air, you hadn't given any thought to where, exactly, you might go. You hesitated for a moment before leaving the building, looking down at Aksel. "Well, what do you think, buddy? Should we go to the coffee shop?" The black lab gave a small wag of his tail at your question, so you took that as a yes. "Alright, coffee shop it is then." With that decision made, you exited Stark Tower and started the trek down the road to your favorite little local coffee shop. Still on edge from the mysterious temporary silence from Loki, you kept your eyes locked forward, just wanting to reach your destination.

       Less than ten minutes later, you reached the coffee shop. You pushed open the door, relaxing as you inhaled the familiar scent of coffee beans and fresh pastries. You approached the register, a smile breaking out across your face as you saw one of your favorite baristas, Lynne, was working.

       "Hey you!" she chirped, her smile becoming a bit more genuine as you approached. "Your usual?" she asked, already reaching for a cup to write your order on.

       "And a chocolate chip muffin, please," you said with a nod. Thankfully, the coffeeshop was mostly empty, so the only noise you really heard was the sounds of the coffee machines and the occasional click of one of the few customers typing away on their laptops.

       "So, you doin' alright?" Lynne asked kindly, ringing your order up.

       "As well as can be expected when you work with Tony Stark," you agreed with a chuckle, handing your debit card over to pay for your snack and drink. Your statement made Lynne laugh a bit too

       "Well, don't let Mister Stark work you too hard, girl. We'd miss you around here!" Her words bring a slight warmth to your cheeks, and you knew she was genuine; kindness and a platonic kind of love flowed off of her, and it made your heart swell affectionately.

       "I'd miss you guys too. So would Aksel." Upon hearing his name, your faithful companion looked up at you and wagged his tail. Lynne grinned a bit brighter, leaning slightly over the counter to catch a glimpse of her favorite canine customer. "I'll make sure Tony doesn't run me into the ground, I promise."

       "Good," Lynne said, relaxing a bit. After a moment, she handed you your drink and a bag with your muffin in it. "You have a good rest of your day, babe. See ya 'round!" she chirped, winking playfully at you. You bid your friend goodbye, then left, making your way back to the tower. You were significantly less anxious than you had been when you left the tower, and for that you were glad. As you walked, you sipped from your drink and opened your muffin bag, smiling when you saw that Lynne had included a little treat for Aksel.

       She's a good friend, you thought to yourself. You closed up the bag again, continuing on your walk back home. As you approached the doors, you saw a couple of men hovering nearby, exchanging hushed words. You could feel irritation and fear coming from them as they looked between each other and the tower. Whatever it was they were discussing, you wanted no part of it. You kept you gaze straight forward, heading towards the doors and pretending the men weren't even there. As you reached into your bag to grab your key card, though, you felt a large hand grab your upper arm, and you jumped, every muscled tensed as you turned to see who was touching you without your consent.

       It was one of the men that had been hovering not too far from the doors. Why he'd grabbed you, you weren't sure, but you were very ready for him to no longer be touching you. "Can I help you with something?" you asked, voice tight. Aksel was glued to your side, eyes locked on the man touching you. He was trained not to be aggressive, but if he needed to intervene he would.

       "You live here?" the man asked, his friend not far behind him.

       "I don't see how that's any of your business," you replied. You meant for the words to be firm and angry, but they didn't quite hit the mark.

       "Damn, okay, so you're gonna be like that." If you hadn't been half-paralyzed with fear, you probably would have laughed at the man's irked and clearly entitled tone. Instead, you simply stared at him, waiting for him to get to the point. "I'm just trying to find out if that psychopath Loki really lives here now."

       "Again, even if I knew if that was true or not, I don't see how it would be any of your business." You tried to wrench your arm out of his grip, but he wouldn't let you go. His expression only grew angrier, and the sound of his shifting emotions sent your head spinning.

       "It's my business because I live in this city, bitch. The city he tried to destroy a few years ago." Whatever he was going to do or say next, you'd never know, because at that moment, Aksel threw himself at the man's legs, hitting him in the groin (though whether that part was intentional or not would forever be a mystery). The man swore, releasing you and he folded in on himself. You didn't give him or his friend any time to get ahold of you again; you clutched your access card, hastily swiping into the building and closing the door as quickly as you could behind you.

       Now that you back in a space you knew you were safe, the adrenaline coursing through your veins began to disappear, and you felt faint. Your head spun with the power of the emotions you'd heard from the men, your knees grew weak from anxiety, and your stomach began to churn. Aksel, ever in tune with your responses to stress, carefully herded you to the elevator and pushed the button. When the doors open, he once again herded you into the lift, once again pushing the button for you.

       You allowed your faithful companion to help you, but as soon as the elevator doors closed, your knees buckled, and you lowered yourself to sit on the floor, curling up into a ball, burying your face in your hands. Aksel licked what small part of your face he could get to, but you could tell that he was worried for you. When the doors opened, you felt Aksel step away from you, sticking his head out of the elevator and barking, trying to get someone's attention; if he had to leave you to fetch help, he would, but not unless it was necessary.

       Soon enough, you heard Bucky's voice, concerned by the fact that Aksel was barking. He peered into the elevator, swearing when he saw the state that you were in. At first, he approached, calling your name gently, but when you curled further in on yourself, he stopped, not wanting to make it worse. He stepped out of the elevator again, holding the doors open, and turned back towards the common area. "Natasha! We've got a situation."

       The assassin was there in a matter of seconds; she didn't know what was going on, but she'd heard Aksel's barking and knew that something must be wrong. She frowned when she saw you in the elevator, giving Bucky a nod before sitting across from you on the floor. Bucky released the doors, allowing them to close. He knew Natasha would be able to get through to you.

       Aksel calmed down a bit, returning to your side and wiggling into your space until he managed to rest his head on your lap. Natasha waited until the canine was settled before she started speaking to you.

       "Alright, Tenderheart," the redhead murmured gently, using the nickname she'd given you pretty quickly after you'd moved into the tower, claiming that you reminded her a lot of the Care Bears character. It made you smile slightly, though your face was still hidden in your hands. "You don't have to say anything about what happened, you know that. I just need some indication from you about whether you want me to take you to see Michelle, okay? A nod will work just fine."

       You considered your friend's words for a moment; you knew Michelle, the healer that lived in the tower alongside everyone else, likely wouldn't be able to do much for you besides give you a glass of water, and maybe a tranquilizer to help you relax, but even just being around her made you feel a bit calmer. You let out a small, shaky breath, then nodded.

       "Alright, I'll help you get there. Is it okay if I open the doors again now?" You nodded again, finally lifting your head from your hands. The sight made Natasha smile a bit at you. "Bucky's out there waiting, and Steve is probably waiting with him by this point. Do you want me to ask them to leave?"

       "No, they can come with us," you murmured, stroking Aksel's ears lightly. Natasha nodded at your words, then reached up and pushed the button to open the elevator doors. Just as she had predicted, both Bucky and Steve were standing a few feet away from the elevator doors, waiting for the two of you to finally come out again. They both visibly relaxed as they watched you stand and walk out with Aksel and Natasha.

       "Alright, boys. Time for a field trip. We're going to see Michelle." As she spoke, Natasha turned and headed towards the tower infirmary, everyone else trailing behind her, though they were all very careful to give you the space you needed. The walk was short, and soon enough you were being greeted by another redhead with a warm smile.

       "Hey, Michelle."

       "Hey there, sweetheart. If you wanna take a seat I'll bring you some water."

       You did as the healer said, thanking her softly as she brought you a glass of cold water. You sipped on it for a minute before you remembered your muffin and Aksel's treat. You pulled the paper bag from your bag, then carefully took the treat from the bottom. "Here you go, bud," you murmured, offering the little bone-shaped peanut butter biscuit to the lab. As he accepted it, you leaned back in your chair, looking over to where Steve was looking at Michelle, his whole expression soft and heart-eyed, and you shook your head; the captain was clearly head over heels for the healer, but you didn't think he'd ever admit it.

       "So... what exactly happened?" Steve asked after a few minutes of quiet, leaning against the wall and giving you his trademark "worried mom" look. You sighed, then proceed to explain what had happened outside the building. By the time you were finished, Bucky looked like he was going to start breaking things.

       "You want me to go after him?" the brunette asked, and it took you a second to realize the offer wasn't a joke. You frowned slightly, then shook your head.

       "No, Bucky. That won't be necessary," you assured him gently, offering him a small smile.

       "Alright. But you say the word and we'll show his sorry ass what being trained by Russians make you capable of," Natasha said, shrugging and crossing her arms. You had no doubt that, if you changed your mind, the pair of them would scour the entire state of New York until they found the man that had harassed you and made him regret it. It was endearing, if also a bit concerning. Steve simply gazed at his friends, remaining silent, though his expression did nothing to hide the fact that he'd happily join them in defending your honor.

       "I just want to know how they could've possibly known about Loki being here already. It's only been a few hours," you fretted, brows furrowed with worry. No one had an answer; they weren't sure how that could've happened so quickly, either. "Well, however it happened, it happened. But I don't see any reason not to give him a chance." You didn't know why you said the words aloud, but you meant them sincerely; yes, Loki had done some terrible things in the past, but you'd always had a feeling that they weren't his fault.

       "Michelle, thank you for letting me sit in here until I calmed down again," you said, standing and offering the healer a smile.

       "Of course, you know you're always welcome to come in here for that."

       You nodded, then made your way back to your apartment, Aksel right beside you. As you passed the apartment closest to yours, you heard the door open, and you looked up, slightly shocked to see Loki coming out. He didn't immediately notice you, and barely caught himself before running into you. The two of you stood there for a moment, staring into into each others' eyes. You noticed right away that his emotions were very soft, but not entirely silent, like he'd somehow managed to make them earlier. A blush rose in your cheeks as Loki's emotions drifted into something closer to curiosity and nervousness, rather than the flat neutrality they had been, and you broke eye contact, murmuring an apology before leading Aksel back into your apartment.

       You failed to notice the minuscule fall in the prince's expression as you left, nor did you hear his nearly-silent sigh.

[tarisilmarwen]

Tari’s Top Twenty OTPs - #12

OTP: Kili/Tauriel

Fandom: The Hobbit film trilogy

Kili: Kili is perhaps the youngest dwarf in the Company, brash and foolhardy and a little bit ignorant of the dangers of the world.  He and his brother Fili are heirs to Thorin and the throne of the lost Erebor, princes without a kingdom, and both have had to grow up a bit on their journey.  As the second-born, there is not as much pressure and weight on Kili’s shoulders as there is on Fili’s.  He’s allowed to be a little cheekier, a little more coddled and less responsible.  But he’s dreamed of seeing his people’s ancient homeland all his life, and desires to become the kind of man he perceives Thorin to be: noble, battle-hardened, a great proud warrior and hero.

Tauriel: At the young age of six hundred, Tauriel is already an accomplished warrior and holds the noble position of captain of the guard of the elven kingdom of Mirkwood, having been taken in by King Thranduil after her parents were murdered by orcs.  Tauriel has no love for any manner of foul creature and can be utterly ruthless in pursuing and taking vengeance upon the evils that are taking hold in the wood.  She has a strong sense of justice and moral duty, which sometimes puts her at odds with her king, whose isolationist polices frustrate Tauriel, and she is not afraid to criticize and question him.  Tauriel also has an inquisitive, gentler side.  She’s interested in and cares about things beyond the borders of Mirkwood, and is curious to learn about other peoples and cultures.  Above all, Tauriel is compelled to do what she feels is right, even if that means rebelling against her king.

Together: Though members of opposing races that typically mistrust, despise, and even outright hate each other, Kili and Tauriel are largely free of the typical prejudices that come between their peoples.  The racism of their forefathers is not yet ingrained into them and so they’re much more curious and intrigued by each other.  They can sit down and have polite conversations and swap stories about their travels and cultures and just generally find each other interesting.  Kili is the more besotted of the two, and a bit awkward about expressing it, also seeming to realize how impossible her returning his affections should be.  Tauriel is mostly confused, amused, and even possibly a little bit mildly flattered by his admiration, though it becomes clear later on that she’s also come to care quite strongly about the dwarf and his well-being, in some fashion.  They fall quickly, and hard.  Theirs is an innocent, fledgling sort of relationship, not quite fully considered and only in the beginning stages of its story.  It remains nothing but a sweet possibility in the end, as their relationship is cut short by the tragedies of war before they can fully realize what they mean to each other.

How I Got Into The Fandom: Being a movie-birthed fan of The Lord of the Rings I just sort of… inherited the Hobbit films as a fandom really.  I wasn’t chomping at the bit for the movies to happen but when they finally did you can bet I was right there flailing and fangirling and being super excited for them with the rest.

When I Started Shipping Them: Honestly I was kind of doomed to ship them from the start.  I’d heard the rumors about their little romantic plotline before the second film came out and, being that Kili sounded like he was going to be an absolutely precious dork about her and that I completely adore that kind of thing, I supported the ship’s existence almost by default.  Collected little bits of fanart here and there.  Nothing big.  And then I went and got to see Desolation of Smaug.  And Kili was absolutely precious about her, just staring at her in awe from the moment he laid eyes on her.  And as the movie progressed and Kili and Tauriel interacted they hit more and more of my favorite shippy tropes.  I was majorly into them even before the halfway mark and by the end of the film, with their last scene… well, suffice to say they pretty much had me completely.  The next evening was spent gleefully diving into the fandom with vigorous abandon.

Why I Love Them: I am super into guys being super into their lady loves and just completely adoring them and admiring them and thinking they’re awesome and not being emasculated by their badassery.  Kili and Tauriel have this adorable kind of Gender Role Reversal to their relationship: Tauriel is the stoic badass that swoops in to the rescue and Kili is the damsel in distress who just has stars in his eyes every time he sees her.  (The height difference helps cement that.)  Add in a healthy dose of culture clash, angst from the fact that they are Star Crossed Lovers from feuding races, and the tragic separation and end to their budding romance, and you have one super-heartwarming narratively doomed ship that will just completely break your heart.  Hurts so good though.

Three Favorite Moments:

1. “She walks in starlight in another world...”

Ngh, I could watch this scene forever.  The lead-up to this moment is awesome too, with Tauriel choosing to stay behind and heal Kili’s poisoned wound and Kili literally seeing Tauriel in sparklevision.  (Well, okay, not quite literally, there is a canon explanation that elves’ true forms are very shiny and full of light and those on the edge of death can see it.)

Once things have calmed and Kili is out of danger, he lays on the table semi-delirious and then, unexpectedly, calls Tauriel’s name.

Surprised, Tauriel just smiles and tells him to rest.  Kili, still not quite conscious, assumes he must be having a dream, and whispers reverently about how the real Tauriel is far, far away from him, walking in starlight.  He reaches for her hand, brushing her fingers with his, and wonders aloud if she could have ever loved him.

Tauriel’s expression pinches with emotion before we cut away.

2. “If this is love, I do not want it.”

After the Battle of the Five Armies is over, Thranduil comes upon Tauriel, kneeling by the dead Kili’s side and mourning him.

“They want to bury him,” she says miserably.

The contempt Thranduil held for Tauriel’s feelings is gone, and he can only feel pity for her now.  Pity as she begs him to take this emotion from her, cries out that she doesn’t understand why it hurts so much.

“Because it was real,” he tells her gently.

Numb, Tauriel lets her tears fall, leans down and kisses Kili goodbye, sliding the runestone he gave her back into his hands and weeping softly.

3. Saving him at the river

Kili, impulsive action-taker that he is, has taken an arrow to his thigh in his reckless attempt to open the sluice gate and allow the company to escape.

He collapses, and the orcs begin to descend on him.  But all of a sudden an arrow flies in from offscreen, killing the nearest attacker.

Kili’s head whips around and he stares in awe and wonder as Tauriel charges in, accompanied by a dramatic swell of her theme.  A worried expression on her face, she engages the orcs, slicing through them, only once distracted by Kili’s cry of pain.

[faveficarchive]

All the Colors of the World: Part 1

The Bard Brat

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Mel/Janice, Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: After meeting once again post-Macedonia, Mel and Janice come to terms with their feelings for one another, while also coming to terms with who they are individually.

Personal note: Vivian Darkbloom is probably my favorite author out of all of these that I’ll ever post. From an editorial point of view, I barely have to proofread. From a reader’s point of view, her style is playful without being ham-handed and her voice is clear and strong, and denotes a skill and talent not often seen among fanfiction writers. I fucking love reading her stories, and I hope you enjoy them, too.

It was a hot, late afternoon day in June of 1943. Melinda Pappas sat on the expansive porch of her home in Charlotte, eagerly awaiting the arrival of her guest, due any minute now, from the train station. As she fanned herself in her wicker chair, the Reverend Dupree, his wife, and two of their young daughters emerged onto their porch, to Melinda's left. "Good afternoon, Melinda," called the young Reverend. "Care to join us for lemonade?"

"Why, that's very kind of you, Reverend," drawled Mel, "but I am expecting someone very shortly..." and your two little brats look like they'd sooner drink poison than let me have any of their lemonade, she thought. The wife looked a little relieved as well; Melinda, beautiful, rich, aristocratic, was nonetheless viewed as terribly eccentric by the upper crust of Charlotte, due to her single status, living alone in her late father's home, her seeming lack of interest in men, and her scholarly inclinations.

The Reverend, however, believed that there was no harm in trying. Especially with such an attractive woman...he blushed as Melinda smiled at him. "I understand completely. Well, if your guest does arrive soon...perhaps you can bring her over for a nice cool drink."

Maybe if you offer scotch on the rocks, she'd like that, Mel thought. She was about to respond when she saw a yellow cab swerve violently onto their street and careen down the block, halting dramatically in front of her home. From their respective porches the Duprees and Mel watched the drama unfold. They saw the driver turn in his seat, red-faced, to yell something at his passenger. His door swung open and he stomped out. The rider in the back seat was, the Reverend and his family thought, a young man dressed in a rather rugged fashion: a rumpled fedora and a brown leather jacket. As the cabbie opened his trunk, a back door swung open and a loud female voice could be heard: "It's not my damn fault you got lost!" The figure emerged. The Duprees emitted a collective gasp as the man pulled off the fedora, revealing a mass of red-gold hair and a decidedly feminine face. Mel smiled at the sight, her heart even skipping a beat, as Janice Covington slapped the old fedora against her khaki pants.

The cabbie ungraciously threw her bag on the street. "Son of a BITCH!" roared Janice. Mel cast a sideways glance at her neighbors. She could feel them go pale with shock. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Be careful with that!" the red-haired archaeologist shouted.

"Too late now," sniped the cabbie. He stood defiantly, arms crossed. Angrily, she put her hat back on.

"Too late for a decent tip as well," retorted the archaeologist. She tossed a dime at him.

It hit his barrel chest and fell to the street. He shook his head. "Thanks," he sneered.

"GO TO HELL!" she yelled as he climbed in the cab and drove off. She grabbed the bag off the street and sauntered up the walk, shaking off her bad mood. Catching sight of Mel, and oblivious to the shocked Duprees, she grinned.

Climbing up on the porch, Janice dropped the bag, tilted up her fedora, and bellowed in her crassest Yankee fashion, "Well sweetheart, glad to see me?"

She was. But then she glanced over at her neighbors, flummoxed. Mrs. Dupree had tried to shelter the children behind her abundant hips. The Reverend's face was the reddest she'd ever seen, even redder than when he first saw her in a bathing suit so many years ago.

Mel remembered very little of her mother, who died when she was very young. However, one thin memory clung to her like gossamer: her mother, smelling of perfume, lowering her lovely face to Mel and saying, "Honey, the best advice I can give you, as a Southern lady, is this: When in doubt, faint."

And, on that hot July day, under the scrutiny of her neighbors and a woman she was, she had to finally admit it to herself, having the most illicit thoughts about, she finally took her mother's advice. The last thing she saw was Janice's face. Thanks, mama, she thought, as the world went dim.

*****

Without opening her eyes Mel could tell that she was lying on the divan in her drawing room; the soft velvet fabric that crunched gently underneath her was soothing. Tentatively, she opened her eyes, and saw Janice peering anxiously down at her. Then a panoply of emotions crossed Janice's face: the anxiety melted into concern, then relief, then a wide, relaxed grin. Oh Lord, I'm going to faint again, Mel thought. That beautiful face, lit even brighter by a smile, was more than she could bear.

It had been almost a year since Mel had met the young archeologist. They kept in touch with letters and the occasional phone call, but had not seen each other since their initial meeting in Macedonia. Nonetheless, to Mel's consternation, Janice Covington remained a dominating presence in her mind. She found herself thinking of Janice whenever her mind was not engaged in other matters; and even as she continued her work on the Xena scrolls, she could barely wait to tell Janice of her new discoveries. Often, sending off a letter to Janice was the first thing she did as her work progressed as she found out more about Xena, Gabrielle, and their adventures.

And it was just a month ago that Janice suggested a visit. She had discovered another scroll, she said, and wanted Mel to work on it. So the archaeologist packed a bag and came down South.

And now, Janice smiled down upon her. "Well, Melinda, that was a hell of a how-do-you-do," she growled pleasantly. Then Mel heard the reverend's voice behind Janice: "Melinda, honey, are you all right? Your...friend...and I managed to carry you in, my goodness, you are a big girl, I always forget..."

"How could you forget? She's almost six goddamn feet tall!" Janice threw the comment over her shoulder, then quickly leaned down and whispered to Mel: "It was mostly me who carried you, believe it or not." Mel grew dizzy again at the closeness of the beautiful young woman, and the thought that she had been cradled in Janice's arms...and, kicking herself mentally, she had not even known it.

The Reverend clucked audibly. "Really, Miss Covington! The language!"

"It's Dr. Covington, Mr. Dupree."

"Reverend Dupree."

"Get the point?" she shot back.

The Reverend frowned. Ignoring her, he reached down and patted Mel's hand. "Melinda, if you need anything, please do call. My wife has sent over some lemonade, that should cool you off a bit, and maybe you should take a cold bath."

Mel's eyes had wandered down Janice's khaki shirt front, and lingered on the unbuttoned expanse that revealed soft skin and tempting cleavage. She cleared her sandpapered throat. "Why...yes, Reverend, I think a cold bath would be in order right about now," she said hoarsely.

"Wonderful! I could draw a bath for you, if you like!" the Reverend offered too enthusiastically.

Janice glowered at him. My, she really doesn't like him, Mel thought. He means well, but he's just a bit silly. But then Janice doesn't suffer fools very well.

"Er, that's quite all right, Reverend, I'm sure Janice can handle it," Mel replied.

Crestfallen, the reverend offered a goodbye, and headed home.

"Jesus, I thought he'd never leave! He's got it bad for you, Mel." Janice reached for a cigar. Popping it in her mouth, she was about to light up when she looked at Mel and noticed that her friend was sweaty, disheveled, and still a bit green around the gills. Reluctantly she tucked away the stogie for a later time. "C'mon, let's get you something to drink, then I'll prepare a bath for you. How's that sound?" Mel nodded, sitting up. "Hey, don't get up," Janice said, rising from her kneeling position on the floor and heading to the kitchen. "I'll bring it to you."

Mel slumped back and sighed. So far concealing her feelings for her friend wasn't progressing very well. She had fainted the moment she laid eyes on Janice again, and her stomach fluttered at the thought of the woman merely preparing a bath for her. Yet Janice's friendship meant too much to her; Janice was strong, independent, and smart. And they had the same interests. Mel had always longed to have a friend like that, let alone a lover, a companion...no. She could not reveal this attraction. The risk was too great. Just because her father had understood didn't mean that Janice would. Her father was an exceptional man, well-traveled and urbane, who truly understood differences among people and cultures. Who never judged.

*****

She remembered that day he brought her into his study. She was 20 and home for Christmas, from Vanderbilt. Joshua Davis, her steady beau from high school, scion of one of Charlotte's oldest and most respected families, had proposed to her the day before. He looked dapper and handsome in his army uniform; he was already a captain. As a rare snow fell, they galloped around the town square in an old-fashioned, horse-drawn carriage and he asked her to marry him. She said no, keeping her eyes fixed on the delicate flakes that swirled around them, and the puffs of icy breath emanating from their mouths. "No, Joshua...I'm not ready yet."

"When, Melinda, when?" he urged her gently.

"I don't know." They rode home in silence. He helped her out of the carriage after it drew in front of her home, kissed her hand, and drove off.

It was a small town. News of her rejection of Joshua spread quickly. And a day later, when her father called her into his study, she was certain he was going to reprimand her, in his usual gentle yet stern fashion. But...it was strange, she recalled. He was awkward, almost shy.

"I take it...you turned down the young man?" he asked softly.

She nodded.

He, too, nodded, as if he had expected it. He stood behind his desk, and as he continued too speak, he paced a little. "Melinda...love is a strange thing." he stated flatly. Idly he plucked a large black volume from one of the shelves that lined one wall from ceiling to floor. His large hands cradled it gently.

She frowned, wondering where he would go with this.

He cleared his throat. "We never know whom we shall love, or what or why someone attracts us. This can be a frightening thing for many people. And when people are frightened, they react blindly with emotion, which prevents them from truly understanding the differences among people..." he sighed.

"Daddy...?" she asked tentatively, unease gripping her.

He smiled, and, as usual, it seemed tinged with a melancholy. "I know I'm rambling my dear. I'm sorry." He placed the large book in front of her and tapped the cover. "Perhaps this might explain things...of course, you may have already read it, you are always reading so much." He chuckled.

She did not have her glasses on, and she just barely made out the name on the spine: Havelock Ellis.

Her father placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it, a quick kiss from his lips bussed the top of her head. "Know this, Melinda," his voice deep above her, "no matter what, I shall always love you very much." Another squeeze, then, "Goodnight." He left her alone.

She spent the night reading through the book; it sprawled in her lap as she sat by the fire in his study. As dawn stripped away the night, this book stripped away her own blindness, and she burned with recognition.

When the morning came, she was awakened from a light sleep by her father, in his robe, handing her a cup of fresh coffee. Wordlessly she took it from him, and as she drank it greedily, as if she spent a night wandering in a desert, her eyes never left his.

His eyes were as blue as hers. They waited, expectantly.

She put the cup down with a clack. "How did you know?" she blurted.

Again, his sad, wise smile. "You are my daughter. I know you. And I've seen you in the world. You know many men, in fact you have many male friends, but their beauty did not move you. I could see it in your eyes. At a party, when you would walk into a room with Joshua Davis, all the women would be looking at him, the most handsome young man in Charlotte. Except you."

"I was looking at Muffy Crassdale," she whispered.

He rolled his eyes. "My dear, you can do better than that. I'm sure that girl hates you, you took Joshua away from her." He sipped his own coffee. "Besides, I am certain that blonde hair of hers is quite artificial."

"Father!" she squeaked, scandalized. It was inconceivable. She was sitting here with her father, talking about women...in that way.

For his part, he laughed. "This is funny, isn't it?" He gave his daughter a wry, loving look. "Think of it as something else we have in common, Melinda: An appreciation of women."

*****

She stood up, wobbly on her long legs like a newborn colt, and head to the kitchen. She wondered what her father would have thought about Janice Covington. Very attractive, my dear, she has potential, but don't you think she should be cleaned up a bit? She mimicked his suave voice in her head.

What to do about Janice...she sighed as she entered the kitchen, and saw Janice peering suspiciously into the pitcher of lemonade that the Reverend had left. "The Bible Brats brought this over...d'ya think it's safe to drink?"

In spite of herself Mel giggled. "Janice, you are such a heathen." Janice grinned, and placed ice from the freezer into two glass tumblers, then poured the lemonade. "How are you feeling?" she asked, peering critically at Mel and shoving a glass toward her.

Mel sat down and drank the cool beverage with a sigh of approval. "Mmmmm...much better. Try some, it's good."

Janice grunted, then took a sip. "Not bad. Of course, we may be dead in minutes..."

Again, Mel laughed, and Janice beamed with delight at making her friend laugh. Then Mel felt the intense scrutiny of the green eyes on her, though, and in a panic she gulped her drink.

"Sure you're all right?" Janice asked again, her face clouding over with concern.

"Yes, yes...I'm fine. Why don't you tell me a little about this scroll."

Janice downed the remainder of the lemonade, wishing that she had some vodka to add to it. "This one was sent to me by a friend in the Greek consulate. He smuggled it out. Didn't want it to fall into the Nazis' hands." Her thumb stroked the cool side of the glass, and once again she allowed her eyes to skitter over Mel's long, languorous form; the Southern beauty, with her tussled hair, flushed face, and rumpled white shirt, looked as if she had been ravished. She must be as beautiful as Xena once was, Janice thought. A sigh escaped her; she might as well deliver the disappointing news...well, the news was disappointing to her; she knew Mel would appreciate any find, any scroll relating to Xena--her scholar's mind was that fine and inquisitive. "Well, this scroll doesn't detail any adventures of Xena, as far as I can tell. In fact, she seems kinda secondary. It involves Gabrielle and the Amazons in some sort of way."

"Ah!" Mel murmured with approval. "Wonderful! I wanted to know more about Gabrielle's link with the Amazons; the scrolls we have only mention them in passing. It's odd. If Gabrielle was an Amazon, why was she born in Potedeia and raised by a non-Amazon family?" Mel rubbed her hands together with relish and anticipation. "We know so little of Gabrielle's background--"

"Well, why should we?" Janice interjected. "She was just a bard. Just a tagalong." This earned a dark glare from Mel. "Come on, I'll admit she was a talented storyteller and writer, but that's about the extent of it. She was basically Xena's Boswell. Nothing more."

"You neglect the fact that Boswell was an intriguing man himself, Janice," retorted Mel.

The archaeologist rolled her eyes.

"You remember what Xena said to you. In the tomb," Mel prompted.

"Of course. But she was just saying that to make me feel better..."

Mel slammed her glass on the table. The gesture startled both of them. "Stop that right now," Mel commanded, her voice dropping an octave. She leaned forward in her chair. Tiny hairs rose on the back of Janice's neck at her this thrilling, low voice, this voice that her friend had never used before. It was almost as if its dark, deep tones drowned Mel's accent. "Gabrielle meant a hell of a lot to Xena. More than you know." Then, the brooding expression lifting from Mel's face, she settled back in chair, blinking.

"Jesus Christ, Mel..."

"I'm sorry about that outburst. I don't know what got into me." Or do I? Mel thought.

"It's okay. But...you swore, Mel. You actually used a curse word."

Mel blinked. "Did I?"

"Lemonade's loosening your tongue, eh?" Janice teased. "Son of a bitch!" she swore gently, with admiration.

*****

After dinner that evening, Mel settled down in the study that was once her father's, and now hers. She sat at the huge mahogany desk, the lamp bathing the scroll and sprawling books with a golden light. Janice glanced at the bookshelves, while rolling around the ice in a glass of scotch. She picked a well-thumbed volume of Ovid's verse and sat in the leather chair near the dormant fireplace. But soon her mind drifted, and she fell into a light, dreamless sleep, that ended abruptly when she heard a soft yet distinct "oh my!"

Janice's lolling head snapped to attention. "What? What is it?" She looked at the clock on the wall. It was a quarter past eleven, and she had been asleep for three hours, much to her chagrin. "Jesus, Mel, why did you let me sleep so long?" She looked at Mel, who was staring intently, with open-mouthed awe, at the document before her. Instinct kicked in, and excitedly Janice joined her friend at the desk.

Mel looked nervously at the expectant young woman. For a frantic, delusional moment she thought she could lie to her friend about what she found; she did not know how Janice would react to it.

"Well?"

"Janice, I don't know how accurate my translation is..."

"Don't give me that bullshit. You're damned good and you know it."

"You're very kind, but really, give me a few more days..."

"You've had over FOUR hours now, you should at least have the gist of it!" Janice growled impatiently. Part of her was queasy with worry...Mel didn't want to tell her something. "Out with it!" she commanded.

Mel took a deep breath to calm the butterflies in her stomach. "This scroll begins with a love poem. It's rather...explicit."

Janice cocked an eyebrow. "Gabrielle wrote poetry too, eh? And dirty stuff at that--"

"Erotica," corrected Mel haughtily.

"Oh great," she muttered sarcastically. "So I'm half-impressed. Probably to some stupid teenager she met on the road, right? What's it called, 'Ode to a Pimply-Faced Stableboy'?"

"Er, actually no, Janice. It's addressed to a woman." Mel paused as Janice's face registered surprise. "And I think the woman is Xena."

*****

My desire for you is longer than the night

that stretches before us.

The fire of day has burned and Helios departs

but the flames within me rage

and your visage is burned brightly into my soul.

In the glow of firelight you strip before me

and I permit my eyes to do what my hands cannot:

they caress your body

and your face,

they are ensnared in your hair,

they glide over your muscled shoulders

and your smooth breasts

they ride over your rippling stomach

and cup your buttocks

they enter you

they pleasure you

they are drenched with your richness.

And then I do this again,

this time using eyes for mouth,

in my imaginary possession of you.

In this fashion, warrior, night passes for me.

*****

"I think it's my turn to say 'oh my,' " Janice whispered with astonishment.

"Indeed," Mel agreed, breathy. "It's very...well written, don't you think?"

"What about the rest? How far did you get?" Janice managed to ask, ignoring the warmth crawling up her body.

"Not very. From there Gabrielle writes of a trip to the Amazons. For a royal ceremony." Mel saw that her words fell on deaf ears; Janice was eerily quiet. "Janice? Are you all right?"

With a shudder Janice ended whatever revery she was in. Awkwardly, she rubbed the back of her neck. "Uh, yeah. Guess I'm more tired than I realized. It was a long trip, and now this..."

"Janice!" Mel said urgently She desperately wanted to right things again, to make Janice as ease. It was as if her own secret desire for her friend had seeped into the poem, into the words she had nervously recited to the archaeologist. And Janice must be shocked to know that her ancestor was a deviant...like me, Mel thought miserably.

"Huh?" Janice replied.

"You know," she stammered, "homosexuality was er, much more common and tolerated in ancient societies...they didn't know any better" --I can't believe I'm saying this-- "and after all, Gabrielle was a young woman, living a lonely life on the road, she was very impressionable, or so I've gathered from my readings of her scrolls thus far." An inner voice protested all this.

Janice smiled weakly. "Come on, Mel, I don't need to rehash History 101, or Psych 101 for that matter." She stood up, stretching. "I think I'll go to bed, if you don't mind."

"Of course not. The guest room is the third bedroom on the left, at the end of the hall. Alice"--the housekeeper, who had laid out the simple cold dinner for them--"took your things up earlier. There should be fresh towels on the bed."

"Great." She paused. "Thanks for everything, Mel. Good night."

"Good night," Mel replied. She watched the young woman saunter gracefully out of the study and up the stairs, the fiery red-gold head bowed, almost as if in prayer. "Sweet dreams," she added in a whisper.

Upstairs, Janice closed the door and virtually collapsed against it in exhaustion, "Jesus Christ," she moaned to herself, "these damned feelings are genetic." Again in her mind she pictured Mel, lovely in the lamp light, reciting the poem. She shook off a tingle of desire. "That goddamned bard brat."

*****

Normally, Gabrielle thought, they would keep to the main road. Because it was safer, for them anyway, not necessarily safer for those travelers who bore the steely gaze of the Warrior Princess. But this time they took a different route to Amazonia, a rough path that cut through a rather dense and magnificent forest. She wouldn't say to Gabrielle if it were a shorter route, or why she wanted to go this way in the first place, or how she came to know this road. But by this time Gabrielle could guess: Many winters ago Xena led a band of men (surely not an army, the road was too narrow and rutted for that, even Argo was having a time of it) down this road, on some clandestine raid, to pillage/conquer/destroy any number of villages along the way...blah blah blah. She stole a look at her friend atop Argo. It would only be a matter of filling in the details, wouldn't it, Gabrielle thought, almost cynically.

Suddenly the blue eyes were on her. "Are you tired?" the warrior asked, her voice rumbling from above.

"No, I'm fine," the bard replied. "It's good weather for walking. Cool, but sunny. Although we're not getting much sun through these trees."

A dark eyebrow rose.

"Not that I'm complaining or anything," Gabrielle amended hastily. "This is such a beautiful area, so lush and green, and quiet." She surveyed the woods, the peaceful verdant depths mirroring her own eyes. "Xena, what do you know of this rite-of-passage ceremony?"

"Not much more than you," replied the warrior. "It's supposed to occur approximately one summer after a new Queen's ascension to the throne. They're very secretive about it."

"That they are," the bard complained. "I have no idea what to expect."

Xena smirked. "That's the idea."

With a mock scowl, the bard decided to grill her friend. "Why did we come this way? How do you know this route? It's very untraveled."

"No reason..."

"That is such a lie. Warrior princesses never do anything without a reason."

This brought much mirth to Xena, as she repressed a guffaw. "Relax, bard. All shall be revealed to you in due time," she responded cryptically.

As the sky began to fade, they decided to make camp for the night. "We'll make the Amazon village tomorrow by mid-day," Xena estimated, as she settled down for the evening with her sword and whetstone. As she fell into the rhythmic sharpening of the blade, Gabrielle relaxed on her bedroll, a scroll unfurled in front of her. She tapped the quill against the paper. Xena seemed in a good mood, she thought; the warrior hummed as she worked the stone against the blade. Gabrielle allowed herself some surreptitious gazes at Xena, watching her graceful strokes, the tiny flexing of muscles in her arms, the blue eyes that glittered in the fire.

Suddenly the hissing of the whetstone stopped. "Xena?" Gabrielle asked quietly. Did the warrior hear something? Was someone approaching their campsite?

"By the gods, it's warm tonight," Xena muttered. She stood up and quickly shed her leather battledress and breeches, the armor having been discarded earlier. She used the leather as a seat and eased her nude form upon it.

Much to Gabrielle's simultaneous agony and delight, Xena had always been very comfortable and un-self-conscious about her body, and thought nothing of being naked in front of the bard. "Yes...it is very hot," Gabrielle gulped, even though goosebumps ran down her body. She flattened her hands against the parchment for a moment in the hopes they would cease shaking. She took a deep breath as the sword sharpening resumed, and picked up her quill, giving herself over to the words that would take her where she wanted to be.

*****

Before she opened her eyes, Janice smelled coffee. Real coffee, the good stuff she could find in Greece, or at least in a good coffee shop in New York before the war. Maybe I'm dreaming, she thought. Only one way to find out. She rose, washed up, dressed, and descended the staircase.

The rich smell grew stronger as she approached the kitchen. Mel, to her astonishment, was frying eggs. The coffee awaited her on the table. She sighed with pleasure.

This caught her hostess's attention, and Mel turned to her, startled. "Goodness Janice, I thought you'd never get up," she said by way of greeting.

"Good morning to you too," Janice replied sarcastically. Then she softened. "Mel, that smells like real coffee."

"It is."

"Where the hell did you get it?"

The raven-haired beauty shot her a mischievous grin. "I have my sources."

Janice smiled in turn. "I can accept that." She looked around the clean, orderly kitchen. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, y'all just sit down. I'm about ready here."

They settled down to a meal of eggs, buttermilk biscuits, coffee, and juice. Mel smiled at the small woman's appetite. "Would you like a tour of Charlotte today?" Mel asked.

"No," Janice replied through a mouthful of egg. "I want you to work on that damn scroll."

"Ah, I don't know why I even bothered to ask." Mel grinned again. There was a companionable silence as Janice made short work of the biscuits on her plate. Mel decided to risk the mood as she tentatively asked, "So I trust this means you're feeling...better about the content of the scroll thus far?"

Janice's busily chewing jaw stopped abruptly as she tried to formulate an answer. She decided to take the diplomatic approach and avoid either outright condemnation of the bard's lustful thoughts for her best friend, or praise of her admirable writing skills and no doubt good taste, for Xena of Amphipolis was frequently described by her contemporaries as a great beauty. "I'm not a prude, Mel. I can handle it. I'd like to see where the kid goes with it."

"Goes with what?"

"You know, see how she deals with these feelings. Does she tell the Warrior Princess? Does Xena find out somehow? Is it...even remotely possible that Xena may have felt the same way?"

Mel could have sworn she detected a tinge of hope in the archaeologist's voice. "I think it's...possible," she ventured nervously. "Even though Xena had a child, and many of her affairs with men were legendary, that does not preclude bisexuality on her part."

Janice snorted. "No, probably not. She was on the road a long time, it must have been difficult for her to find someone for...pleasure at times. So having the bard as a bedwarmer may have been a last resort."

Mel scowled. "’Last resort'?" she asked. "Why do you always think so little of Gabrielle?"

Having finished her breakfast, Janice pushed herself back from the table. "Force of habit," she replied, plucking a cigar from her breast pocket and clenching it between her teeth. "Since I think of myself in the same way." As she searched her pockets for a light, Mel snatched the stogie from under her nose.

"Janice Covington, you are a big pain in the ass." Janice stared at her, Mel instinctively clamped her hand over her mouth, then removed it. "See, you made me swear again! Janice, I'm going to prove you wrong about Gabrielle. And about yourself too." She stood up, determined, and started to clear the breakfast dishes. With a glance that was admiring, fearful, and sweet, Janice stood up and helped her.

*****

Water was dripping on her face.

Gabrielle moaned, semi-conscious. Another summer storm, her mind supplied. Well, I can sleep through it, can't I?

Not unless you want to get totally drenched, another thought supplied.

I could care less, her stubbornness threw in.

Wait a minute, desire spoke seductively. Xena will get wet too. Her hair will be damp and slicked back from her face...you love that look on her, don't you?

"I'm there," the bard mumbled aloud.

Hey, practicality piped up, if it's really raining, then why is your face the only part of your body that feels wet?

Her eyes snapped open. She was looking directly at a very familiar pair of boots that were not her own. "Good morning, Gabrielle," the warrior's voice said from on high. Slowly Gabrielle's vision trailed up the long legs, past the skirt (don't look up the skirt, propriety screamed inside her) to the armor-clad torso and arms, which held two large trout fresh from the stream directly over the bard's head.

"Ugh, fish water!" she spat, sitting up.

"If it's good enough for the fish, it's good enough for you," Xena said, heading toward the fire.

The bard stood up with a stretch. "Hang on, I can clean them."

"No, that's okay. I can do it. Go wash up."

Pleasantly surprised, Gabrielle removed a linen towel and soap from her satchel, and went to the stream. The forest opened onto a clearing where the stream gurgled beneficently. As she placed the towel and soap on a rock, she prepared to strip...and heard a rustling behind her. But before she could even think of what to do next, a bag was thrown over her head; it was moist with some chemical which made her sleepy, and as she slipped from consciousness she felt arms gently cradling her body in the air.

*****

Solari sauntered through the woods toward the campsite, where Xena sat on a stone, placing trout in a skillet about to go on the fire. Before she could even announce her approach to the warrior's back, Xena's voice rumbled at her: "Hades' balls, Solari, couldn't you wait until I fed her breakfast at least?"

The Amazon stopped dead in her tracks. "How did you know it was me and not Gabrielle?" she demanded.

"Look, you know the line..."

"I know, I know, many skills and all that..."

"So why did you even bother to ask?" Disgusted, Xena struck a flint against some wood. The fire didn't take. Growling, she stood up and spun around to face Solari in one fluid motion. "You didn't hurt her, did you?" It was more a threat than a question.

Solari released a breath of exasperation. "No, Xena. I used the plant you gave me. Lydia knew how to prepare the drug. Gabrielle never knew what hit her."

"All right then," Xena said tersely. "I'll be in the Amazon village by midday. By tomorrow morning I will expect to hear from you. Your runner better be fast...and Solari," she paused for menacing effect, "if I don't get a message I'll be coming along to break up this little ceremony, sacred or not. Got me?"

The Amazon rolled her eyes. "Xena, please, this will be over quicker than you imagine. I guarantee you Gabrielle will be in the village tomorrow, if not sooner."

This response seemed to satisfy the warrior. She nodded reluctantly.

"Hey, Xena?"

"What?"

"You gonna eat all that fish?"

*****

"Your father was certainly a well-read man," Janice commented as she completed yet another scan of the books in the study.

"Mmmm," Mel murmured. Her dark head was bent intently over the ancient parchment.

Janice shook her head. The woman was so thoroughly engrossed in the scroll, she could not even muster the barest of her Southern civilities. "Yep...let's see here...everything from Kant and Kirkegaard to Gone with the Wind and the Kama Sutra," Janice stole a quick look at her friend to see if Mel noticed the spurious volumes--the latter two--that her imagination had inserted into the collection. No response. She let her fingers trail over the smooth leather volumes, riding the rough ridges and indentations, until her fingers stopped suddenly: Havelock Ellis. Kraft-Ebing. Oh my. Dr. Pappas knew his stuff. Wonder if would've been able to diagnose me on the spot?

Janice cast yet another glance at Mel. Jesus Christ, has Mel read this stuff? She wondered. And if so, has she figured me all out? I am sort of a walking bulldagger at times...the clothes, the cigar...God, I have to get out of here for a while. Unwilling to break Mel's concentration, Janice opted to exit quietly, without a word, and go for a walk.

She got no further than the door's threshold when she heard Mel call her name softly.

"Yes, Mel?"

"Where are you going?" The scholar removed her glasses, her blue eyes touching Janice like a flame.

"Just out for a walk, to get some air. Do you mind?"

"No, of course not." She put on the glasses once again. Janice turned to leave.

"Janice?" The voice sounded darker, silkier.

"Yes?" The young archaeologist froze, her hand lingering on the doorknob.

"My daddy hated Gone With the Wind and he kept his copy of the Kama Sutra so well hidden I didn't find it until last year."

Without a word, Janice and her blush walked out.

[vietbluefic]

29, 27, 21, 13, 12,

29) Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like?

Oooh, I definitely have to say I’d love for more people to read “Sing, O Nightingale.” I’m really, REALLY fond of the trope of Befriending Monsters, I have a weird fondness for oldish/medieval-inspired fantasy, and of course I looooooove Namjoon and Jimin together.

27) Do you make a general outline for your stories or do you just go with the flow?

Both!! ALL of my stories already have their significant middle points and their endings planned! The “go with the flow” bit is for the actual events during the stories that lead from Point A to Point B, because while I have their starts and destinations planned out, sometimes the characters like to wrench the wheel from my hands and start careening lanes along the way, all while screaming like madmen. :’DD

21) Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire?

Oof, strap in. This is gonna be a long list.

@bagelswrites - The characterization and character analyses Bagel’s made of the Bangtan boys are god-tier. Writing is not only super engaging and descriptive but viscerally emotional, the sort that hits you hard and leaves you stunned afterwards; example A: their oneshot collections “When...” and “Things You Said...” I read the stories in both of these all in one sitting and to this day, I can STILL remember my emotional impact from several of them, left on me forever. (That one Taegi reveal...the car crash....goodbye, my soul, every time I even think about it.) I bow to the Bagel.

@bapofficial - THIS dude reeled me in with excellent characterization and character interactions, plus a really well-done Jongup limited-POV that mixes great, genuine humor with just the slightest touch of drama (which is hard!! Take it from me! Humor is hard!). And THEN I clicked on her Hunger Games AU and promptly fell into a world of agony and moral ambiguity where nobody gets a happy ending. Funny AND completely capable of ripping out my heart and stomping all over it? Bro what the heck. Subscribed.

@renaitrev - I went into their vampire AU thinking I’d be met with at least a few of the usual tropes and basically got a gymnastic Matrix-style cliche dodge. Literally by Chapter Two, people were getting suspicious which NEVER happens in vampire fics. The worldbuilding is steady as is the suspense, and when they come the reveals are quick and matter-of-fact to a satisfying degree. Most of all, I’m really able to get the feeling that there’s a crapton going on behind the scenes, that the limited POV can’t/won’t show. To me, this is an underrated yet EXTREMELY IMPORTANT factor in storytelling: the idea that these characters are living, breathing people who are bearing their own weights alongside our protagonist. Kelsey does this really well for me.

@nitilia - I discovered this writer by accident, one day when I’d laid down to take a nap. Reading helps me drift off to sleep sometimes, but I ended up completely unable to shut my eyes as I read nitilia’s oneshots “run away” and “Always There.” There is something very quiet, very melancholic yet also very powerful about their writing. It’s an undercurrent. I have no other way to describe it. I started reading, couldn’t stop reading, and then couldn’t stop thinking about both the stories afterwards. I think that very few people’s writing has made me feel the way nitilia’s work has.

SomewhatSassy (Scavenge4Dreams) - On the other side of the spectrum, you want FLUFF?! Or slightly lighter angst but mostly FLUFF?! Then SomewhatSassy is your person, please hit them up!! Their work is largely Taehyung-centric and is 100% adorable and good and pure! They have an unusual ability to come up with both the wildest and sweetest scenarios for a good ol’ fluff session to play out, and they capture the close-knit feelings and interactions between the members so well I’m pretty much tearing up by the end of every story. But if you’re like me and love the pain of a nice Angst, don’t worry. They got you covered there too, and unfortunately it’s just as FREAKING GOOD.

aerially - Oof, I think I’m starting to notice a pattern with the authors I like. So here’s another fella who can really rip your heart out. Aerially’s “my phone lights up with you” is one of tHE greatest chatfics I’ve ever had the pleasure to read, extremely grounded, so emotionally raw and gripping that I read through all 27 chapters in 4 hours. It’s also one of the EXTREMELY FEW pieces of written work that’s ever made me physically cry, it just hit me in a certain place. Their stories are lyrical and seem to aim to say something. I think they do so very well.

nicowememoney - Fluffy and hilarious!! Not as much of a Gen writer as others on this list but someone whose writing style I love nonetheless...as well as somehow the least angsty on this whole list?! Pure and smol and sometimes super meta too; I can’t count how many times they’ve lampshaded certain BTS fanfic tropes. Their work is cute, funny, and despite how many of their fic premises sound cracky, their writing proves extremely well-polished and thought/planned-out. As someone who struggles to inject humor that sounds good and real into my stories, I really adore their unique sense of hilarity.

SephrinaRose - THIS PERSON CAME LITERALLY OUT OF NOWHERE, DROPPED ONE (1) STORY, AND PROMPTLY BROKE EVERYONE’S SOULS. Consider this: canon compliant, canon divergence, realistic cancer portrayal, Yoongi-centric, major character death, and some darn great writing. Whenever I wasn’t in tears, I was doki-doki-’ing over their descriptions, their symbolism (which I am THE BIGGEST sucker for), and how all the characters didn’t feel like characters at all, but rather the real people they’re based on.

X-I-L-Verify (YOU!) - Palpable imagery, fun/heartbreaking (looooool) character interactions and dialogue, and voices that sound so fiercely vivid. Also, the multifandom elements! The exploration of love and friendships both between and within various groups!! Your contributions to the Dolls series, “Becoming Real” and “Reflection, Refraction” in particular made me lie down, try not to cry, and then cry a LOT over not just the relationships being built up but the detailing put into the magical world around them. Then you double down and go the extra mile to create GORGEOUS ILLUSTRATIONS for your stories too?! AAAAAAAH!!!!

13) Who is your least favourite character to write for? Why?

While I can’t say there’s really one character who’s my least favorite to write, I’ll admit that Jungkook and Yoongi are equally hard for me to capture in a way that feels right. I still have fun writing them, of course, but I feel like I have to work harder with them than with the others to get their voices sounding natural and realistic!

12) Who is your favourite character to write for? Why?

When it comes to wrangling these boys’ fictional personas, Jimin seems to be the one who’s just happy to tag along and do whatever I want him to! Taehyung and Seokjin are close seconds. So, if I had to rank the boys based on ease of writing, it’d probably be from easiest to hardest:

Jimin

Taehyung/Seokjin

Hoseok

Namjoon

Yoongi/Jungkook

[boogiewrites]

Don’t Call Her Annie 7 Memories & Monologues

Characters: Jim Hopper x Reader (OFC)

Word Count: 3500

Summary:  Annette Horowitz is Joyce’s younger sister. She hasn’t been the perfect sibling or aunt but after she finds out Will is missing, she finds herself crashing back into Hawkins to do everything in her power to help, driven by a need to prove herself. She hasn’t been around much in the past 20 or so years, but when she comes back home she finds old friends, old habits and old feelings she’d thought she’d finally escaped. Can she really change or is she just kidding herself?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 8

You can check out my other work on My Masterlist.

Warnings/Tags: Angst. Fluff. Intense Situations. Violence. Slight Gore. Language. Feelings (insert Crowley gif here). Slow burn.

A/N:  I'm tweaking their reality here, I know. But this fan fiction, so...I can do that. (Fun side note. This is the first piece I wrote for this series. This moment was what played in my head for months before I let myself write it and inspired the entire story. This is not the end...I hope you enjoy it.)

Tagged folks are at the bottom, if you’d like to be added or removed, just leave a reply and I’ll see it! Any positive feedback or messages are appreciated. Thanks!

Memory

One night after being grounded, but still getting wasted in your room you find Hopper outside alone. You were in your pajamas, which happened to be ones you'd worn before you hit puberty, so at this point, a robe would've been appropriate to have worn over it if you're getting out of bed. But at your level of sobriety in combination with your naive, aloof mind, you went outside in it anyway.  You can't remember why you had gone outside, or why he was there too, but you were a drunk teenager and that felt like a lifetime ago. You do remember he was upset about something. But mostly you remember that the look on his face when he became distracted and flustered at your body made you feel things. So naturally, in your drunken, pathetic rebellion you said something inappropriate. Neither of you said much to each other after that night for a while. Your crush, however, remained, if not worsened through your denial of it. Your young, naive heart thought you loved him.

Then Joyce got pregnant. It crashed your outlook, it made you feel scared for her, for your relationship as sisters which had become strained as you tried to force everyone away from you. You saw her with Lonnie. You hated Lonnie. You and Hopper both loathed him. This was something you instantly bonded over. You'd seen the way he looked at him, it was how you looked at him too. Like he was taking something that belonged to you. You started being able to hold conversations alone together again. You weren't the same girl you were the last time you'd been close though. Because after Joyce got pregnant and you saw the life she had now you wanted to run scared. You wanted out of Hawkins. You felt caged and didn't want what happened to her to happen to you. This would be a theme that would follow you around your entire adult life up until you hear about Will going missing.

You'd thought the reason Hop stayed around so long after Joyce got pregnant was because of how much he loved her. He wanted to leave after he found out, he found it hell to deal with, but he saw how you reacted to the news. He knew Joyce wouldn't be able to handle you anymore with a baby and an abusive husband. He didn't want you to get hurt in the wake of the consequences of Joyce's bad decisions. He felt compelled to stay and make sure you didn't get in too much trouble because he saw your life going that way unless someone was there to look after you. Once he thought you had matured enough, which happened surprisingly quickly, he found after he started trying to correct your behavior, he felt he could leave without the weight of it on his shoulders. Very shortly after he left, you did too.

Sure you'd not been the best aunt. You had come to holidays when you weren't too far away to make it. You sent cards and called for birthdays and celebrations when you remembered. Sure you hadn't been as close as you wanted to be to your family, but every time you'd tried to settle down for yourself or with them, you got itchy and ran. You loved them, deeply and dearly you had just let yourself forget how to show and say that.

And all that brought you here. To this moment. This was how you would show them how much they meant to you. To Joyce, to your nephews, to Hopper. 

October

"Why are you doing this?" he says slowly, his emotions in his eyes, his voice cracked. Shutting the door to the room across the hall he'd dragged you into without asking you first. He'd just grabbed you and moved.

"Because besides you, I'm the only one that can." you say matter-of-factly.

"Did you ever think they don't want you to do this? That I don't want you to do this?" his voice is hushed, he bares his teeth when he speaks to you unintentionally. How was he supposed to keep control when you kept breaking his heart like this.

"I have to." you say through gritted teeth, standing and wiping your face.

"Jesus, Ann! No, you don't!" his hands raise in the air in frustration. His nails digging into his palms as he tries to stay quiet and alert while also having this loaded conversation.

"If you think for one second, that I would even hesitate to die for them," you stutter, his shoulders wincing at your words. "then you clearly don't know me as well as you think you do, Jim." the tears sting your eyes, your stomach knots and you hold back.

His head falls down, he closes his eyes.

"You aren't the only one allowed to go and put yourself in danger you know," you growl at him, your hands planted on your hips, still mad about you and Joyce having to save him from his own recklessness in the tunnels.

He turns back to you, his hands on your shoulders, he takes a deep breath, "You know chances are you don't make it back, right?" he's never looked this intensely at you. You pull your mouth into a tight line so your lips don't tremble. A wave of nausea hits you.

"I know," you whisper, tears cresting out of your eyes and slowly rolling down your cheek. "It's worth it if you get them out of here." your voice cracks, you're having a hard time keeping all this in. He pulls you into his arms. You feel his face on the top of your head. "Promise me you'll get them out of here." your hands hold on tightly to his shirt, you close your eyes and rest your face against him.

"I promise." his voice was more somber, you feel a breath hitch in his chest.

You push away from him, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt. You and Jim share a weighted moment, just looking at each other. Neither of you had the words right now.

You reach to the doorknob and open the door after he moves out of the way to let you out. You look up and see Joyce standing there, her arms crossed, she's sobbing and practically leaps into your arms, this was going to be ugly. -----------------------------

He stands next to you while he helps secure everything on you, his face is hard and he hasn't said much. He put your earpiece in, checks the gun before handing it to you, and tightens the strap onto your shoulder. The rhythmic pulsing of the alarm light is the only illumination in the dark stairwell. This'll be the last time you see him. You'd said your goodbyes to everyone but him really. Well, the things you really wanted to say to him anyway.  

"I know you're mad. I'm sorry." your eyes follow him as he continues not engaging with you, as he checks you over again. "As cliche, as it is I want you all to try to not feel bad too long." you grab his hands and shake them until he looks at you. He meets your gaze from where he'd held it at the ceiling. "At least leave me with the illusion that you'll try to be happy again." you frown and sigh.  

"Alright. You're good to go." he motions to your gear with his head. You see he wasn't going to be honest unless you made a grand, sweeping gesture first. You grumble and take off the gun, he looks at you, confusion on his face.

"Give me your shirt, Jim." you hold your hand out, your shoulders low, your voice already tired.

"Why?" he shakes his head at you.

"Just give it to me." you groan. His eyes narrow at you, he takes off the flannel shirt layer. You walk over the glass panel still intact on the nearest door and you slip on the shirt. At first, you button a few buttons, admiring your reflection in the glass. Then you roll up the sleeves, and tie it at the waist and put your gun back on.

"That's just gonna slow you down, you know that. It'll get caught on something or grabbed or-"

"Shut up, Jim." you put your hands on his arms, your eyes tired.

"Look, I want you to come back, I know it's not realistic but I have to hold onto that as long as I can to deal with this. So if I let you go in that, I know it'll be my fault if it's what gets you killed and I can't have that added on top of everything else." it comes tumbling out of him, his shoulders falling as his words continued on. You were left with Jim. Class of '60 Jim. The golden boy of your teen years. You saw the same eyes, the same look on his face when he was truly exhausted.

"Can't you just let a girl die in your shirt, Jim? Jesus." you roll your eyes and let go of him, moving to the strap on your shoulder.

"Wait." he grabs your arm. "What?" his brow is bent but not angry.

"You really wanna know right now?" you raise your eyebrows at him with an annoyed attitude.

"Fuck. Well, I have to now that you said that." you almost smile.

"I didn't want to die not knowing what I looked like in one of your shirts." you admit much more easily than you thought. Your eyes move from side to side at your own surprise to the admission. You say it calmly, returning your eyes to his face after having no better way to share this information with him.

He goes through lots of expressions on a micro level, his eyes mostly read of surprise.

"Jim..." you chew the inside of your cheek, taking a big breath in. You decide to not hold back in the last moments you'd have here with him. You put your hands on the sides of his face and stare into his eyes.

You wouldn't have believed it if your older self could've told your younger self that your so-called first love would get even more handsome the older he got. The way his eyes crinkled and his cheeks folded as he smiled. The beard he'd be thrilled to have known he could grow eventually had come in. He grew even taller somehow, broader, stronger. You adored the soft middle he'd accumulated, you thought it matched his insides better than the rest of his rough outer appearance. You weren't completely sure if you wanted to be with him, you had thought you might over the past year. You didn't know if there was some happy ending for you two, probably not, especially not together. But you did know you loved him. Not just the smidge of romantic love that refused to leave your heart, left over from your teen years. But a fully thought out mutual respect that grew the more he revealed about himself. He was good, you'd known very few good men in your life and he deserved to be loved.

"There are so many things I'd love to tell you. I'll tell you next time I see you, okay?" you smile at him, genuinely.

"Annie..." he whispers, his face falling, he swallows hard as he holds in tears. You let him say your childhood name without rejection. But it doesn't come without its pain.

"But in the meantime, know I find it very fitting that you're the one here with me for this. I wouldn't want anyone else here with me right now." the corner of your mouth pulls back into a sad and reluctant smile. You let go of his face and sigh at him, taking it in one last time.

"Not even Joyce?" his voice is soft and quiet. You're surprised by his response.

"No. I don't need her for this. I need you." your voice is calm and confident.

He repeats your name. He grabs your face and his mouth opens, you never thought you'd live to see Jim Hopper's lips trembling at your expense. A few tears fall down your face as he moves in close to you. "Please, don't go." he hoarsely whispers. He couldn't help but feel the irony of his words, as you'd asked the same thing of him when he told you he was leaving Hawkins decades before. You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of his voice, it's painful. He keeps saying your name and each time it hurts more than the last.

"I'm going to be a pain in the ass until the end. Especially yours. Same as it's always been." you put one of your hands over his.

"I'm sorry." you feel him shake his head as he squeezes you again. "For everything. For when you were younger and now. I'm sorry you were drawn into this. You don't deserve this." he rushes out his apology, you feel his breath tinging across your scalp.

"But I do deserve it." you sigh, you felt it was true, deep down.

"Don't say that." he says into your hair. "You are," he composes himself for a moment, "You are a pain in the ass." he lets out a huff of a laugh and you follow. "But you're also irreplaceable. I know you don't see how important you are but that doesn't change that fact." you could hear the anger bubbling under the surface of his kind words. "I really wanted better for you, sweetheart, I'm so sorry I couldn't do that."

"I gave up on trying to hold things against you a very long time ago, Jim." you give him a tight-lipped smile. "I forgive you for whatever you've made up in your head to be guilty about. None of this is on you." you shake your head at him. You start to pull back and he brings your lips together. Sharing a few slow movements before parting. At least you could die without wondering what his lips felt like against yours now. You sniffle as he pulls away, neither of you could tell who started crying first because both your faces were wet. You try to quiet your loud breathing, slow your chest trying to panic, your heart wanting to explode from the overload of emotions.

You stretch and crack your joints, taking many deep breaths, you stand at the edge of the stairs. You look down into the darkness. You put your hands around the large gun, and close your eyes. You feel Jim standing very close to you.

"Please. Don't do anything stupid. Try to come back to us." he pushes his forehead against the side of your head.

"I always find my way back to you, don't I? Whether I mean to or not it seems." you don't look at him, your heart is beating too fast to handle any more surging emotions.

He doesn't respond. He squeezes your hand and kisses your hair again.

"Maybe we'll get this right in the next lifetime." one hand rests on your chest to steady your heartbeat. It stays because you feel like it's the weakest part of you right now, on the edge of bursting and breaking. "I'm glad we had the chance to be friends again. No matter what you'll tell yourself later, I'm okay with this ending." you want to clarify, you could only imagine the years of his life he'll spend carrying the guilt of your death on his shoulders, even though he shouldn't. You turn your face to look into his eyes. "I love ya, Jim." you say with a slump of your shoulders. It felt so good to say it. You wished you'd had time to sit and live in the feeling of relief, but you didn't.

"I love you too, Annie." His face softens as the words fall past his lips. "Too bad we couldn't have said it more often." his face screws up slightly. You nod and give him one last kiss.

He backs away and stands in the doorway to the stairwell. Your lips quiver and you clear your throat and squeeze your eyelids shut to clear your eyes of tears. You couldn't kill these things if you let your eyes blur. Time to tap into your muscle memory. You take the first step down the stairs.

Jim hears you humming softly to yourself as you head down the stairs, your steps a beat to your favorite song. He slowly backs away, trying to recall the tune, it was so familiar. He thinks he recognizes the song as your voice drifts too far from his ears to hear and he goes back to the surveillance room. --------

"It's getting a little crowded up here so we're going to have to take this slow." Dr. Owens voice carries over the walkie-talkie you have in one hand, the gun in the other. Your eyes are wide, your heart pounding in your chest. Your ears try to pick up every possible sound and its cause around you. The buzz of the overhead fluorescent lights was deafening.

You start walking. You try to control your breathing. Heel, toe, heel, toe you move down the echoing hallways. You follow his instructions. You do everything you're supposed to but that didn't mean anything in this scenario. You hide around corners, in closets, you hold your breath and try to focus. It all happens so fast.

"RUN!" you hear over the walkie-talkie, your eyes land on one of the monsters. As your heart drops into your stomach and you push with all your strength against the floor. Your feet hit the tile in fast pats that mimic the rising rate of your heart.

You break through another set of doors. You see the front lobby, you hear your sister.

"ANNIE!" she screams. You feel the whoosh of air as the monsters break down the doors right behind you. You only lock eyes for a second with Joyce. You lunge out of the way and you hear her scream. You see Jim aiming the gun and your heart is beating so fast you make desperate noises with every movement you make, pushing your body to work as hard and fast as it can. You scurry across the floor, losing your walkie-talkie in the struggle. You see at least 5 more of the creatures moving together out of the bursting door. You make your way to the nearest clear doorway, pushing through them without looking back.

You hear Joyce screaming incoherently, gunfire,  the sounds of the monsters growling and scurrying across the floor, more gunfire. When you hear the wood of the door you'd just ran through from the lobby split and crack, then you hear Jim scream. You involuntarily join them as you make your way blindly through the maze of hallways. You hear snarls and scratches coming from everywhere. You're dodging bloody bodies as you jump and slide your way farther and farther from the exit.

You see the metal door crumpled up against a wall, you dart into the room without thinking. You see the lift, you know it goes somewhere, you don't care where right now, you slam it shut and push the buttons and groan at how slow time is passing. As it lowers into the darkness, you hold the side of the basket, gasping for air, feeling your entire body shake with adrenaline and fear. A few hard sobs convulse your body as you descend. As you land you're grasping your gun again. You look around. It's quiet, you don't trust it. You feel air blowing on your neck and you turn to see dimly tunnels behind you. Your eyes adjust fully, seeing the cavernous expanse of the tunnels like Jim had been in when you and Joyce had saved him. The uneven pulsing floor underneath your feet made you stumble slightly. You didn't know why there weren't any of those things here, it didn't make any sense. You know this is your last chance to get out, you huff a determined noise and pick a tunnel to follow.

Chapter 8

The marked through ones I could not tag. Sorry!

@whatmakesmebeme-tblr @sleepylunarwolfh @elevenofmages@alahmorah @norcula @undiscl0sed-desir3s @atari-writes @jobean12-blog @missharleenquinzel-blog​ @kiwiphroot @ashphoenix105 @ambeazyyy @riotguuuurl​ @warriorqueen1991​ @misbehaving-f0r-days @divadinag​ @wefracturedmotivation @flamehairedwritings @earinafae​ @beltzboys2015-blog @gettinjoyful @lucifer-in-leather @nerdysuperchick @kathrinebutterlover​ @dragongirl420​ @fangirlinginspace @xxdragonagequeenxx  @the-bitch-gotham-deserves​ @hopperholland​ @lil-tea-cup​ @darthnerd25 @davidkharbours@mrslydiaholden @titpunch02 @thedaydreamerrrrr @yedi16 @jess2464 @scrunchinn @thatisthemagic @maddieisaboredable @bloom005-blog @mcxmarti @bitchinmouthbreather @cry5t4l-w4rri0r @lalalindsay25631888 @essie-star03 @madsch

[fairyshuuu]

Made of memories

Length: 2.5k Genre: Angst Warnings: Mentions of death

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 //

You always associated him with yellow. Bright and bubbly and warm. The color of the sun, or citrus, but most importantly him. Yellow always reminded you of his smile, his boisterous laugh, his smell. Now, you can’t help but associate him with black and red. Both of the colors, like a pair. Not that you can really separate the two. It’s all you see at the moment. Black clothes, black umbrellas, black purses, a black coffin. Red roses, held painfully tight in your small hands. Black and red, like a pair, etched into the memory of his hands around you, his lips on your face. And it hurts, more than anyone ever told you it would. 

A goodbye isn’t meant to be forever, but right now it is. The freezing rain taps on the ground, the casket, all around you. It doesn’t feel right, to have it rain at his funeral, but maybe now it does. Yellow is no more, just black and red. Your numb limbs walk forward when asked, up to the black coffin. You don’t see him, not anymore, but you know he’s there. You know he’s there since you had to say goodbye before. His pale white skin in contrast with the black. His lips blue, against the red velvet lining. You heard people whisper that he looks peaceful, a sentence that pains you more than anything. How can someone look peaceful when they still had so much ahead of him, when he still had a life to live? 

That’s not peaceful, it’s cruel. A cruel joke from the universe on you and mostly on him. It hurts to feel the wood of the casket beneath your fingertips as you carefully place the red flowers down. You want him to look peaceful, but you don’t think he does. He’s pained, pained for leaving you and everyone who so cared about him behind at such a sudden moment. You walk back to your spot, letting the other people put their roses down. His mother, his father, his brother, his best friends, one by one. They are all pained too. You know you are crying, though the emotions don’t reach your center. Not yet. 

When all the red is collected on the black coffin, the preacher speaks, something you can’t understand because you are just looking at his spot. The last spot he will ever lay. And it hurts, so much, more than anyone ever told you it would. After the ceremony, people slowly drip off, one by one, until it’s only you and his closest family. There is no sound, something that you find ironic considering the person they came to say farewell to, though it might be considered disrespectful if there was. You all stand there in silence, long after everyone is gone. His mother looks up to you after a bit, her eyes bloodshot from crying, and you wonder if you look like that too. 

She silently walks over, pulling you in a tight hug once she reaches you. Her whimpers are soft, barely audible over the biting wind. You two stay like that, your hands desperately clinging onto her, until finally the sun disappears behind the horizon. It casts a yellow glow on everyone, everything, and you let go of her figure to look at it. The last beams of light of the day are not red or orange today. No, the sky is a soft yellow, and you cry until the light disappears and your eyes are too swollen to cry. 

His mother, father and brothers, excuse themselves when the night falls, leaving you to stay behind alone, with the last person standing. He walks around the coffin, over to where you are and carefully places his arms around your shoulder. You know he worries, though he shouldn’t, right now. He looks like shit himself, eyes puffy and red, lips cracked and bags under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days. You don’t blame him, since you haven’t either. When his soft deep voice finally breaks through the silence, you feel almost relieved, since it allows you to focus on anything else than the painful longing in your chest. 

“Do you want me to drive you home?” He speaks softly, too unlike himself, but you nod anyway. You know he’s hurt, pained in as many ways as you are, everyone there was, but it doesn’t take away your own pain. He pauses for a second, turning to you completely, before pulling you close to him. His arms wrap around your back, your head pushed into his chest and you can’t help the tears that start rolling the second his scent hits you. 

Your body shakes softly in his hold, while his tall figure bends down a bit to hug you tighter. Your throat is raspy and painful as you speak. “You smell like him.” The words fall into the fabric of his shirt, while your hands find his waist, pulling him flush against you. 

He nods, a pained, shaky sigh from his lips as he holds you. “You too.” His tight hug lasts both too long and too short, the both of you parting carefully, as if you are both made out of glass, able to chip pieces off each other with wild movements. His arm stays wrapped around your shoulder as he leads you to the car, your body weight pressing against him. He opens the car door for you, holding the umbrella above your head until you are seated, running around to the driver’s seat. The rain has slowed to a slight patter on the roof now, the soft rhythm drumming in your head. He turns the car on, backing out of the parking lot and onto the road. The both of you stay silent for the ride, while your hand rolls your ring back and forth out of habit. 

The tears still welling over your cheeks. You are unable to stop them, or just too lost in thought to truly notice. He tears his eyes from the road for a second to let it land on your hands, before looking back at the road. His breathing is soft, and from the corner of your eyes, you can see him licking his lips, preparing to say something. You wonder it strange that you know all his little signs, since it has been a while since you were around him long enough to appreciate them all. Strange to think you knew him before you knew Baekhyun. It already feels like a century ago since he first asked you out on a date, but before that you had been friends with Chanyeol for even way longer. 

Your best friend, now sitting next to you, equally broken. He has known the both of you way before you knew each other, and you wonder if he’s hurting more than you are, though it seems hardly imaginable to hurt even more. “Are you going to be alright?” You know what he means, since you were never good at being alone at home when it was raining. You know this is what he means, he knows everything about you, yet you can’t hear the question as anything else than a genuine question about your sanity. 

You don’t feel alright. And though people say time heals all wounds, you don’t feel like you’re going to be alright for a really long time. Your lips shake slightly as you look down at your hands, at the ring, at the bracelet around your slim wrist. 

“I don’t think so.” He looks up at you, lips turned downward in genuine pain at your answer. His eyes travel your form, but you don’t see that because you are looking out of the window, eyes focussing on the passing light posts. He sighs, the sound loud in the silent car, driving home. It feels strange to think you still call it home, since Baekhyun isn’t there to share it anymore. The car slows as he drives onto the driveway, his grip strong on the wheel. Despite the house feeling too cold, too empty and too silent without him, you don’t want to leave, not yet. His scent still lingers in all of the rooms, on his clothes and the couch and the bed, and you want to drown in it for as long as you can. Chanyeol knows this too, though he just thinks you are making it harder on yourself, and you probably are, but you can’t leave just yet. Everything feels to raw, the stabs still bleeding, and the memory of him is like temporary stitches for your hurt.

“I don’t want to leave you alone in there.” He sighs softly, his eyes skimming over the front of the house too familiar. He means well, you know he does, he always does for you, but you want Baekhyun around you until he fades. And even then you still want to remember.

“It’s my home, Chanyeol. Thank you for driving me.” You close your eyes for a second as you feel his hand intertwine with yours, before pushing open the door and letting go of him. 

His eyes are big, puffy and hurt, for both you and him as he watches you walk to the front door. You wave just once as you push open the door, hearing his car start up again, before walking inside. The hallway is dark, but you move about in routine, taking off your boots and jacket and moving to the living room. The living room feels warm, and his scent wraps around you like a soft blanket when you sit down on the couch. You’re glad it is dark, since you can’t physically see the photo frames on the wall, of him and you, years and years of memories staring you in the face. You still know what all of them look like, but you’re glad you don’t have to see them. Not right now. 

You haven’t thrown away any of the memories yet. You’re not ready to move on yet, not by a long shot. You sigh and stand up from the couch to move to the bedroom, tugging your black dress down your arms and legs. You sit down on the bed in the dark gently, curling up in the sheets while the sniffles pass through your body. It’s been three days since he was here to warm the beds, warm and soft and there, next to you, pressed against your body while he kisses your cheeks, whispering sweet words into your ear. You rub the engagement ring in pain, desperately wanting to take it off but not finding the strength to do so. And when your tears cease to fall after what feels like hours of crying, you fall into an unsteady slumber, void of dreams.

When the morning comes, the sunlight hitting your shoulders, you stretch out while your hair falls in your face. You can almost still feel his body pressed against you, molding with your form, but when you look back, you are hit in the face with the painful reality once again. Dragging the sheets of of yourself, and walking into the bathroom to wash yourself like you are still used to. You are a morning shower person, Baekhyun is a night showerer. Or, was. You hold still in front of the mirror. Your face is pale, deep bags under your eyes, the dark blue-ish tone standing off even more with your unnaturally pale face. 

Normally you always have a healthy glow, one Baek used to love, but now you look more dead than you do alive. You take off your underwear and step into the shower carefully, letting the lukewarm water cascade down your back. You don’t want to take a hot shower, since it reminds you of him too much. He would always take steaming hot showers, begging you to join him. After a while, the water starts to feel cold, so you step out and dry yourself off, wrapping a robe around your body but leaving your hair loose, sticking slightly to your face. You sigh and let your hands find the collar, pulling it up over your nose. 

It’s Baekhyun’s robe, his sweet scent of peppermint shampoo still clearly there. It’s so strange to think that you won’t be able to smell him anymore when the scent fades. Strange, but one of the most comforting things was always his smell. It always made you feel so safe, so protected and so openly his, since no one else got to surround themselves with him like you did. Tears find their way into your eyes while you slowly walk out of the living room. You close your eyes for a second, holding onto the memory of his feet softly patting across the floor in the morning. His gentle humming while he made you two breakfast, or kissed your neck when you walked up to him. 

When your eyes open, you scan the room with a heavy heart. The light falling through the windows illuminates the entire place, lighting up the pictures on the walls, the books and random objects on the table, all of them stabbing you more and more until you can’t stand to look at it anymore. You tear your eyes away from the living room, instead looking at the kitchen. The sight of the stove off, no one there to greet you is almost harder to take. You start walking over to the kitchen counter, when your eyes fall on something standing on top of it. Your feet freeze to the floor, eyes locked on the white mug standing on the counter. A steaming cup of coffee. 

You blink once, choking back a sob as you look at the mug. This must be a dream. Another cruel joke the universe is playing on your senses. You lift two shaky hands to the warm mug, wrapping around it softly. A strange mixture between a laugh and a sob escapes your throat as you feel the heat of the mug, the actual feeling of the stone against your fingertips. You look up in confusion, while a tear rolls down your cheek. “Baekhyun?” He would always make sure your coffee was waiting for you when you got out of the shower, before kissing you softly. Only, this was impossible. So, who put this cup here?

“Good morning, angel. How did you sleep?”

If you guys want me to continue this story or turn it into a series, let me know and I will. I was doubting of cutting it off here or continuing it so it’s up to you guys. I hope you enjoyed reading. ~Sienna

[unlikelywallflower]

on coping with one thing after another, and dating again

I am sitting on the grass in the park that just so happens to be across from my therapist’s office, crying and trying to take deep breaths in an effort to stop myself from spiralling (what feels like) completely out of control. Bemoaning the fact that walk-in therapy is not yet a thing, I take the sign of where I happened to land to cry for what it is, and email her to see if I can make an appointment. Miraculously, she has availability that week, and three days later, I am sitting on her couch spilling it all out in between ragged breaths, fat tears streaming down my face. The last few weeks have been one. thing. after. another., and it all feels like too much. And I realize, sitting there, talking with this preternaturally calm and lovely woman who has, at different times, counselled almost all of my closest friends through some of our worst moments, that I have completely forgotten what I just realized and wrote about only weeks ago.

When my period came, I spent the evening in ritual, completing the miscarriage and the pain, suffering, and fear that came along with it. I felt at peace. And then, the “one things” started piling up. Without going into all the details, there were a lot of tests, scary moments, unexpected results, and unknowns, some of which have now resolved themselves, some of which have not. Each time something happened, my anxiety spiked a little, but each time, it went back down, it was over, and I told myself that I was okay. That is, until the test results that sent me spiralling and landed me in that park, while my friend drove across town to pick me up so I wouldn’t have to cry my way home on the TTC. I was not, it seemed, as okay as I had been telling myself I was.

In this session, my therapist is uncharacteristically direct with me: I can no longer afford to let myself spiral. I simply have to stop. This feels akin to being advised to stop breathing. I have lived with this anxiety in my body for so long, wrestled it into seeming submission so often, but just stopping? I know it is possible, have done so much work to cultivate the capacity to do just this, but at this moment, this lifelong pattern feels so habitual, I’m not sure I know who I’d be without it. I am driven to take action, and as long as I have some action to take, I feel some measure of control; when it seems there is nothing left to control, I worry, knowing full well that this accomplishes absolutely nothing.

And so we talk about ways to stop the habit—somatic practices to bring me back to my body, to my breath, to what is actually happening. These are not new practices (I taught yoga for six years, for goodness sake!), but it seems I am still not reliable for using them when I need them most. It feels like I’ve kept the Calm app in business these last few weeks, but it is working. I’m allowing the emotions up when they come up, and stopping the spiral (most of the time). When the next test results came back abnormal on two counts, and I was told I’m being referred to two different specialists, I did cry, but I also laughed, because at this point, it seems somewhat ridiculous. It feels like the universe is repeatedly hitting me over the head with a brick, asking me to learn this lesson, for the umpteenth time, of surrendering to uncertainty. It appears that I am out of actions to take, save for taking care of myself, saying yes to whatever circumstances come my way, and waiting. So that is what I shall do.

Amidst all of this, of course, I continued dating, because, you know, why not? It doesn’t feel like that will be any easier at any point further down this path. These dates included a super-progressive, kind man who after three dates, was just not that into me, not emotionally ready for a relationship with me (or perhaps anyone, right now), freaked out by my pregnancy plans, or all of the above; and a first date with an Australian world traveler who was very nice to look at but for whom my Toronto-bound community-focused self was not a match. And then, for the first time in the 2.5 years since I first met them right after Mr. Almost But Not Quite It and I split up, my matchmakers sent me a promising match: a slightly older man who really wants a family and seemed, at least on paper, to be everything I’m looking for and then some. A good friend Face-stalked him mercilessly on my behalf and got very excited, but I swore her to secrecy on all that she found, since I don’t research my dates ahead of time (preferring, instead, to wait until I can engage with the actual human being behind the profile). Given actual humans were behind this match, and one of my closest people already thought he was amazing, I got more excited for this date than I’d been for a while (while trying to stay in reality about it).

We agreed to meet for dinner, breaking my own no-meals-on-a-first-date policy, but I knew enough about this guy to assume we’d at least be able to make it that long. It was worth the risk: dinner lingered for three hours, including over an hour of talking musicals (yes, I was in heaven), and turned into dessert at a very weird and brightly-lit chocolate cafe with a surly server we managed to turn into a shared joke. I was entranced by his gigantic blue eyeballs (I’m a sucker for nice eyes) and quick wit, and had forgotten what it was like to have that good a conversation on a first date. By the end of the evening, I still wasn’t entirely sure, aside from the fact that we’d been talking that long, how he felt about it. But we shared a long and sweet goodbye and he asked about getting together again. So now I am waiting, mostly succeeding at keeping myself from future-tripping, and very much looking forward to the closing night of Open Roof Film Festival next Wednesday, where we’ll share our second date.

[starlettemagnechalastor]

Mun’s history

I grew up in good ol’ Texas, despite being born in Virginia. My mom divorced my biological dad and move to Texas when I was 2, so I really have no memory or connection with my biological dad.

She married my stepdad when I was 5. We moved into his house, and for many years, I always thought I had a normal childhood...

Until I started therapy MANY years later.

Being coerced into thinking back made me realize how fucked the marriage was.

The fighting, the emotional and verbal abuse, the religious indoctrination..

The bullshit gender norms my stepdad tried to force on me.

Example: Women cannot wear hats. 

So my mom and I wore caps and whatever hats we liked cause fuck him.

She was miserable in the relationship, they ALWAYS fought. Once, my mom told me he wanted a divorce because I was “too smart.”

I was 6.

And unconsciously, all the abuse of my dad (He often called my younger brother and I names, and would make us paranoid by scaring the shit out of us whenever he could. Once or twice? Fine. But don’t hide behind the walls all the time and jump out at us.), the worthlessness I felt because my religion taught me I was broken and filthy without Jesus (thanks grandma).

I admit, I attempted to take my life when I was 7. I tried to swallow a bottle of pills. We had a whole medicine cabinet and I was easily able to access the medicine. My brother caught on when I gave him my prized snow globe music box and told him I didn’t need it anymore. 

My mom burst into my room as I opened the bottle. 

She hid all medications and all sharp objects for months. But I wasn’t taken to a therapist.

No professional to help me.

10 years of age:  One day, my mom snapped and attempted suicide by shooting herself with my dad’s gun. He tried to grab the gun, and a bullet fired. It hit her side and broke their bathroom sink. Police woke me up in the middle of the night, and my grandmother was there in tears.

Middle school: I was forced into a christian school, my mom was paranoid over gossip of the public middle school. And of course, when the ENTIRE class was questioned about their faith...I hesitated. Which made me an instant target for severe bullying. From people pretending to have romantic interest in me, to physically assaulting me. I kept it to myself for my entire middle school life, until the day they busted my bike, which was how I got home. And despite the school saying the damages would be covered and I’d get an apology letter, that never happened. 

My mom moved me to a charter school.

The only significant memories I have of THAT gem was that they tried to get me to CHEAT on a TAKS test and that I was bullied for being a virgin.

I told my parents about the TAKS, they confronted the school staff...and they held me back.

So, repeating 10th grade in a public high school. 

My mom, over the years, has been in and out of the hospital. Which meant my brother and I were in a house with a man who was emotionally constipated and constantly harassed, berated, and insulted his children.

But constantly reminded us about how he’s so great for marrying a woman with two children.

My mom, when she was home, had a lot of medical problems. She had a small spine, so they had to remove a part of her hip to normalize the length, she couldn’t breathe properly on her own, she had to have a nurse coming over to check on her often, she had a pacemaker, she ended up with diabetes, she had seizures that were mostly triggered by flashing lights, and she had to have certain medications injected.

This woman, my mother, was the one who got me into art, who ALWAYS supported me. I think she knew I was transgender before I did, she gave me my first short haircut that had my FAMILY, all except her brother, call me a dyke. She was always there for my lows, knew I had self-esteem issues, she bred my artistic side where I could be FREE. 

12 years old, my uncle (the only other light of my life) got engaged to a pediatric nurse. Her name was Stephanie. They had a kid together already, his name was Aiden. Stephanie asked us to come to a family reunion to meet her family.

I didn’t see any red flags when I got there, but things started being weird when I met a few of the would-be cousins. 

One man, who looked like he was in his 20s, was REALLY handsy with me. He even lifted my leg and SPANKED me while we were hanging out outside. REMINDER: I WAS 12 YEARS OLD AT THE TIME.

Then I met this kid named Matthew. 

A monster in the making.

He wasn’t handsy, he was a chill guy. He was even invited to our house and we sat at the dining room table to watch videos.

THEN

And ONLY THEN

did he start groping me.

He went as far as shoving his hand down my pants.

And I was so confused, so disturbed and horrified, that I could only quietly cry and plead for him to stop.

I never told my parents, my grandparents, never told an adult.

I only told my brother when he brought Matthew over one day, many years later. I told him he was NEVER allowed in our house again, and my brother wholeheartedly agreed, thankfully.

And thank fuck I never had to see that jerk because someone blew the whistle on him to my parents. Someone caught him groping girl’s butts at the next family reunion.

Fast forward to 14 years of age

At the time, I didn’t know she had a drug abuse problem.

She was crushing medications she was to be taking orally, mixing them with water, and injecting them.

And I helped her do it, because I thought I was helping her get better.

I wanted her SO BADLY to get better.

I prayed so hard, being a devout christian.

I begged and PLEADED for her to get better so I could have my mom back, so we could be TOGETHER again. To have her bright smile and shitty ass jokes (After my mom came home from the attempted suicide, she would always joke about how she should’ve shot herself while holding a toy gun. Or called gangsters wimps for limping after getting shot. She was weird :) And I loved that about her), I just wanted my mom.

I was only a young teen, and I was starting to figure out my gender identity. I couldn’t go to my dad, I didn’t trust him like I trusted her.

I visited her constantly, she tried to teach me more about coloring and encouraged me to practice singing. She was my teacher ^^ And because of her, I clung to teachers and befriended them. My art teachers LOVED me, they did all they could to protect me from bullies that would throw erasers at me, ruin my projects, and draw on my posters. I loved all my teachers, they were kind and understanding and helped me get through the years while my mom was unable to.

My mom gave me all the love and support I could ever wish for. She never required me to be one way, but told me no matter if I was an atheist, satanist, if I was gay or straight, NO MATTER THE CHANGE, she would ALWAYS love me.

And it scared me when she ended up with a staph infection in her heart.

The surgery went well, she managed to recover. Doctors removed the infected valve with a pig’s valve. She came home, and I stuck by her side. 

I’d sneak in cigarettes when she asked.

And..my dad tried to turn me against my own mom with texts that I had no context to go by.

I can’t really remember the texts, but I remember feeling devastated. But I still did ANYTHING she asked. 

...I lost her when I was 16. 

The staph infection was back. She only had a 10% chance of surviving another surgery. 

My dad had to explain that to me, so I skipped school that day, December 8 of 2011, to be with her on her last day.

She wasn’t conscious. 

I remember sitting there numbly, not really paying attention to the tv in the room. My dad was in and out, as well as some nurses.

One by one, my great aunts, my second cousins, and my grandmother came to say their goodbyes. 

I overheard the nurse tell my dad that once they unplugged the machines, she would be dead.

But I think she was dead long before that. Brain dead. Her heart was pumping, but she wasn’t there. 

I broke down once my grandma told her sister that, after the nurse had unplugged the machine and left us alone, that she was gone. 

I could hear my second cousin break down too. He only got support from my mom, turns out he was disowned for being gay and my mom still treated him like a human being when nobody else would. It made me realize how much of a positive impact she was on the family, and we lost it. 

My school offered therapy, which I accepted. My therapist was sweet, she brought me snacks and she reminded me a lot of my mom with her tone and attitude. She helped me realize it wasn’t my fault my mom died, because I completely blamed myself.

I know now that it was due to her drug abuse, that the needles she used caused the infection.

But I didn’t know fully at the time. So when I did, I figured it was my fault. I helped her inject medicine she wasn’t supposed to, helped her with her abuse.

My dad pulled me out of therapy because he said I didn’t need it.

And in that SAME MONTH, when he found out I was considering cutting myself, he said, “If you’re gunna cut, do it right.”

Father of the year anyone?

Fast forward to her funeral.

Open casket. The last time I ever saw my mom in person.

My uncle, my mother’s only brother, sang a song in her honor. He was 27, a musician, and already had a son. Unfortunately, he too was a drug abuser.

I don’t blame him or my mom for their abuse, they hardly had a good foundation. My grandmother didn’t raise them. She was a horrible, vindictive, and petty person. She ignored her children in favor of strange men. My mom had to raise her little baby brother, and my mom had to deal with a woman who burned her clothes, broke her rock cds, and slashed her tires. Because Jesus.

I grew more attached to my uncle after my mom passed, he was the only other positive influence in my life. He was an amazing artist, he was like my mom in a lot of ways. He called me Nikki Six and laughed at my shitty jokes, he cried to me when my grandmother berated and insulted him or treated him like crap.

We were open with each other. He wanted to join the military, be a role model for his one year old son, Aiden. I still have the video where he sang an original song, Thumb Sucking Blues, while my little cousin tried to play along with him :) He was a small little guy, but literally had his thumb in his mouth the whole time :P

Aiden LOVED his dad. 

But because of his fiance’s drug use, he was taken from them. My mom was still alive when that happened, and we had supervised visitation with my cousin.

My uncle went to rehab to get clean, yet my grandmother continued to berate and degrade him.I supported him. I wanted him to be back home with US. My brother and I.

During this time...I got a phone call that terrified me. 

My biological dad called me.

And I panicked; I didn’t KNOW him, he was NEVER in my life, and after a few months of talking and TRYING to get to know him, he vanished. 

Turns out he’s been hiding for years to avoid paying child support.

But I wasn’t too hurt he abandoned me again. All we did was talk about anime we liked. I probably got my love of anime from him to be honest :P

My uncle eventually returned home, and all seemed great. He was a good father to his son, he got him back after his rehab (which I later found out it did fuck all for him because it was just another fucking church)

July 4th, 2012. I got a call from my grandmother because I was too tired to do fireworks that night. 

Police had found my uncle’s body in an alley way.

He died of overdose, according to autopsy.

SIX MONTHS after losing one person who supported me, I lost the other. 

He was cremated and my grandmother kept his ashes.

I was deist at the time, but I kept his bible, guitar picks, and the crappy religious coins he got from the “rehab.”

I have both my mom’s and my uncle’s bibles. 

I..fell into a hard ass depression. I kept reliving the moment my mom died, the moment I heard about my uncle, I...saw his body after the autopsy. Of course, they covered it mostly, but it still hurt SO much to see him lifeless.

I graduated high school and immediately went to college, just trying to get through the shit. I just...didn’t care anymore. I lost the only two people that supported me. Both lights, my artistic inspirations, my TRUE FAMILY, gone.

My brother moved in with our grandmother, he was fed up with dad’s abuse. I..was too blind to see how abusive he was. 

I took computer classes, he told me I should because it pays well. I personally found it fascinating on learning how to troubleshoot desktops, but programming was NOT my thing. I hated it.

I actually wanted to go into art, be an artist like my mom.

My dad?

“It’s not a REAL JOB.”

He shot down my passion for YEARS. I started college in 2014. 

After nearly a year of computer classes, I was convinced to switch my major to education because I’m good with kids.

Because to my dad, good with kids = I want to be a teacher.

Kids just like me, I’m not sure why. My cousin loved me, and my cousin on my DAD’S side of the family loved me. I had patience and kindness to kids, they’re little beans that just need guidance. I don’t snap, I DEFINITELY don’t lay a HAND on a child as discipline.

So, I went into education like he said. I was just...a robot. Too scared to pursue what I wanted to do.

But there was a shining light; the Coalition club on my campus. A Gay/Straight alliance club! I ended up as their secretary, designed stickers, kept schedules, and I met SO many amazing people in that club. I felt welcomed, I felt SAFE, I could be OPEN about my gender with them, since I was too scared to say anything to my dad.

When he found out I was involved with the group, he got pissed. He’d constantly pick fights with me about how I’m focusing too much on the group and failing my classes.

Funny thing; I had As and Bs on ALL my courses.

Pretty sure that’s passing.

But..he kinda bred me to be unable to handle confrontation well. Whenever someone yells at me or talks in a strict tone, I start to cry. 

So he’d always make me a sobbing mess nearly every day.

I locked myself in my room constantly. 

I had to quit asking him to take me to HEB for me to buy groceries because I couldn’t STAND him. I was too scared to be alone with him for ANY reason. I felt like he’d find something to make me cry and ruin my day, so..I would walk to a corner store to buy easy mac, eggs, bacon, maybe some frozen pizza if I could afford it. Most of my meals were pasta-related, it was cheaper than most items. Corner store pricing and all that ^^; 

I got a job in the work-study program as an AVID Tutor. Which helps students with their work from other classes. The students instantly clung to me, being the youngest teacher. 

That job didn’t last long ;v; Apparently a button up shirt and a long black skirt wasn’t teacher apparel??? I wore dress pants too, I fit the “female gender role.” But I was fired for not dressing professionally.

I ended up working at a subway in a flea market, and everyone was SO SWEET! They were fine with my gender, and I was even defended by a rides worker when a customer complained about me using the restroom.

I was deadass exhausted though. 

My dad forced me to do MAX college hours

While I also balanced a job.

The stress was KILLING me, but locking myself in my room where I could draw?

Being in a group that loved and accepted me?

It made life bearable.

But my dad eventually started getting after me about my job, that he DIDN’T consider a job because it was only on the weekends that it was open.

He started getting more aggressive with his fights. I would literally just WALK IN THE DOOR from work, exhausted because I have panic attacks (I had no idea I had panic disorder at the time), and he’d start fights about something. 

Be it because I was atheist or that he was pissed I was STILL in college (He’s a college dropout so I just think “.________________________. boi.”) 

A few months into 2016, I came out to my grandmother and my dad about being transgender.

My grandmother’s response? “You’re not transgender, you’re just fat!”

My dad? He didn’t really get it. He had to learn from his girlfriend because he sure as fuck didn’t listen to me when I explained it.

And he’d constantly ask about it, which didn’t bother me too much because I figured he was still confused. 

Then he started to dead name me.

MY ENTIRE LIFE, I was ALWAYS referred to with a gender neutral nickname. NEVER my first because I never liked my name. I hated it. I used to be called Nikki, now I just go by Nick or Nicholas :) Cause I love that name. 

HE.

In front of his LGBTQ+ friendly girlfriend.

referred to me with my FULL NAME.

And he did this TWICE.

I was too afraid to confront him, but his gf sure as fuck wasn’t. She was PISSED.

She put an end to that.

But things got worse after I sought out therapy to see if I qualified for HRT, Hormone Replacement Therapy.

And I did. 

My dad only got more angry when he saw the letter from my therapist saying I had Gender Dysphoria and that he recommend I take HRT.

He would, from then on,, badger me about my clothes, claiming it’s what 12 year old boys wear.

Despite I paid the internet bill AND his cable bill, he’d get after me for unwinding by playing games.

He spent a fuck ton of money on a new mustang to tinker with to make a drag race car, but not a new air conditioning system for a 50+ year old house with no insulation. So while he was away, and the temperatures rose (It’s texas, it’s ALWAYS hot), I was sweating and trying to keep cool with ice packs and frozen towels. But none of THAT mattered, because I’m irresponsible for playing video games after all my work was completed.

I didn’t tell him I was starting a youtube channel in an attempt to bring in extra money, because I was only paid a little over 120 a week.

But he’s bitch about pretty much EVERY aspect of me.

But I kept quiet, kept food in my room because I was too scared to leave my safe space in fear of him insulting me further. 

I literally asked for help on hiding food online.

After 2 more years of college, I got my associate’s in education and moved onto university for my bachelor’s.

I still didn’t want the major. But I didn’t really feel like I had a choice.

But this class I took, Child/Adolescent development, helped me realize how HORRIBLE and  ABUSIVE my dad is. 

I learned in that class about emotional and verbal abuse, and the effects it had on children and adults.

I began to stand up for myself, I’d argue back with my dad instead of letting him verbally abuse me with no repercussions. 

Anything I said? 

“Liberal Propaganda”

“Well, I put my religion first”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I thank my government teacher to this day for giving me the backbone I needed. She is a headstrong woman, refuses to be referred to as Miss, but prefers “Professor.” She had a PHD and she was passionate about her job and about human rights. 

It became a much more hostile home after I started fighting back.

He would challenge my moral compass, “An atheist should have no problem lying.”

He’d pick on my gender identity and choice of fashion, “You’re trying too hard to be transgender.”

And anytime I went to houston to see my brother and cousin? My grandmother made it worse. She’d pick on my hair, call me a devil worshiper, insult my weight (This woman forced me to eat more when I was on a diet, but I never called her out on it), she was as bad as my dad to where my brother took me to the mall to avoid any further argument.

In late 2017, my dad tried to pick on me in front of his friend, Bobby. Bobby was a long-time family friend, I grew up with his kids. He knew me since I was a child.

And his friend was NOT impressed with my dad, and HE accepted my gender and even tried to explain what he was doing was being a dickhead.

He didn’t listen.

It went on like that until early 2018. 

He called me out of my room and, once again, picked a fight with me because I’m part of an LGBTQ+ group, still in college, same bullshit.

But this time, he told me to pack up and leave, that I had two weeks to move.

I panicked.

I didn’t have the funds to move into an apartment with my current job.

I thought I was going to be homeless.

I called one of my friends in tears, and he asked his mother if I could take refuge there.

For a bit of context: I used to date him and I’ve met his family. His family had me over for the holidays, and kept me there for christmas eve and christmas day after I told my friend my dad BANNED me from celebrating the holidays with him because I’m an atheist.

And BOY was she PISSED. And his mom? Veteran Including his dad. BOTH are hard veterans that firmly believe in families sticking together. 

So the kicking me out?

It REALLY blew their gaskets.

They told me to pack all I needed and that they’d be there in two weeks.

Later that week, my dad apologized and said it was cruel to do that, but...

I couldn’t stay.

I couldn’t do it anymore.

I was tired of living in FEAR, you shouldn’t be hiding food in your room to eat because you’re too scared to come out. 

I told him I was leaving.

And what pissed me off? He tried to play VICTIM.

I moved out, and unfortunately had to quit my job because transportation issues. Ubers didn’t reach out this far and even if they did, it’d be like 30 bucks a trip.

With my wage? WHEEZE. Nope.

But a lady at the flea market gave me boxes and duct tape when I was packing to leave, just so I had places to put my stuff in. :)

I started counseling at A&M not too long after I moved into my new temporary home (I say as I’ve been here for nearly a YEAR ;-; and I feel bad but they’ve not kicked me out soooo....yay?)

And after a few session, my counselor told me to seek long term treatment, and she was helping me break free of my fear of asking for help and it’s thanks to her that I got to pursue the major of my dreams! I’m so thankful that I went to see her, because I went as SOON as I could to a medical clinic to talk to a psychiatrist.

I was diagnosed with PTSD, Bipolar disorder, and Panic disorder.

I was prescribed medication.

And little by little, I was getting better.

I had already had my Bendice tumblr for a while and the more I drew, the better I felt.

And the artist community?

It’s been AMAZING! 

I’ve meet so many AMAZING people, from great friends to my art senpais. I’ve been getting better and better at honing my skills, and I feel like I really can be an animator someday.

Now, people are probably wondering why I dumped all this out.

Well...I know I’m not alone, but others might feel how I used to. 

Isolated

So very Hurt

Alone

And miserable.

I don’t want pity, I don’t want “there there”, I want to show people that might be feeling alone that they aren’t. That someone suffered just like them.

Be it for being gay

Transgender

Depressed

An artist

No matter the “why,’ all pain here is equal. 

It’s not insignificant.

YOU aren’t Insignificant.

All the pain and suffering we’ve all endured?

Is valid.

And we’re not pussies or wimps for feeling hurt.

And we’re not alone.

Thank you to those who read my entire shit storm ^^; I’ll admit I cried while writing this, but I feel good now! 

I hope my words and my story inspire someone out there to take the steps they need to better themselves, to escape toxic environments.

Because that shit SUCKS.

[mikeyd1986]

MIKEY’S PERSONAL BLOG 131, November 2018

On Monday night, I attended a Yin yoga class with Aaron Petty at Level Up Yoga in Berwick. Tonight was a last class before Aaron heads off on his trip to Bali for 3 weeks to do an intensive training course. It was a 30 degree hot humid day outside but I really didn’t want to miss this class as I’ve been putting off my yoga practice again recently. It was unusually packed in the studio but being Aaron’s last class a few weeks, I should have suspected that. Thank goodness that the air-con and ceiling fans were turned up or else I would have been sweating heaps.

Aaron guided up through a series of yin style poses including caterpillar, toe squat, straitjacket pose and leg extensions with strap. I found these all to be particularly challenging with my pain and discomfort threshold being tested as well as my annoying anxious mind on rapid fire (Am I doing this right? Oh shit, my strap’s twisted. God this hurts so much! My legs look like a mangled mess). But I did my best to not get caught up in those thoughts and just focus on breathing and releasing. https://www.yinyoga.com/ys2_2.0_asanas_toe_squat.php

I also tend to get myself emotional during Yin classes mostly because there’s a microscopic focus on me and that can be quite confronting at times. Loving yourself is one of the most difficult things to do but also one of the most important things. Hence why I often find it so hard. It helps to connect with positive affirmations like “I deserve to be here practicing yoga. I am worthy. I do belong in this yoga community. I am not alone. I am accepted and welcome.” http://www.annieauyoga.com/library/2018/6/13/your-emotional-self-care-guide-in-yin-yoga

Saying goodbye to Aaron is still something I find painfully awkward to do. And it’s not just him either. It’s the internal pressure of knowing exactly what to say and when to hit the exit. But I made it short, sweet and simple. “Have fun in Bali.” Was there anything more to say? Not really. I’m not the type to ramble on about what’s going on in my life because that’s not how I roll. Still it was nice to see him showing that he cares and I’m excited for his trip away though I can’t pretend that I won’t be missing him. Namaste. https://www.aaronpetty.com/

On Thursday morning, I went down to Centrelink Cranbourne office to apply for the Disability Support Pension. This has been a long term goal for me this year and it’s taken me a few months to be prepared for it. There were quite a few obstacles in my way and several people who advised against applying for it but I stuck to my guns, making sure that I filled out all the forms correctly and gathered enough medical evidence, pay slips, bank statements, and letters to even bother trying for it. https://www.humanservices.gov.au/individuals/services/centrelink/disability-support-pension/eligibility/how-we-assess-your-disability-or-condition

When it comes to the Centrelink system, I feel like there are harsh, unfair and unrealistic expectations placed on individuals who actually need their services and benefits. You have to jump through so many different hoops and meet often ridiculous eligibility criteria just to even be considered hence why I wasn’t exactly in a rush to get this done right away. Still I have legitimate diagnoses of depression, anxiety and high functioning autism so it’s not like cheating the system or doing it to get on A Current Affair. https://www.humanservices.gov.au/individuals/services/centrelink/disability-support-pension/eligibility

So, in a way, I am doing this to prove the naysayers wrong and make big decisions on my own. But more importantly, I need the DSP in order to supplement my income which I continue to struggle with week to week. Of course people could argue that I should just get another job or increase my hours at my current job but sadly it’s just not that simple and it’s not like I haven’t tried those avenues either. It won’t be an easy road but I’m prepared to tackle and push through any bumps I need to get through. https://www.humanservices.gov.au/individuals/services/centrelink/disability-support-pension/claiming/claiming-form

Walking into the Centrelink office, I was already feeling quite nervous. No amount of green decor was going to settle my nerves. This was a pretty big deal for me, months of preparation and I didn’t want to fuck it up. I decided to bring my Mum along just in case I did crumble to dust. The best way to deal with this level of anxiety is to throw humour at it and what better way than to think about Centrelink memes. I waited around 30-40 minutes or so and then my name was called up.

A lady named Emma served me, who was physically disabled herself and appeared to have dwarfism. Thankfully she was really nice and just asked me for all the required forms and supporting documentation for the claim. I don’t think I could have been more organised, though she was giving the photocopier a good workout with all the paper she had to make copies of. I asked her “How long do you expect it will take to get a decision?” She said 6-8 weeks which I expected but now that it’s done, I feel a huge sense of relief now.

On Thursday afternoon, I booked my first appointment to see an Occupational Therapist from Everyday Independence in about two weeks time. Last week at the Disability Expo, I only had a vague concept of what an Occupational Therapist actually does and still don’t really know for sure. But I figured I would give them a shot and considering I have NDIS funding, I don’t have much to lose over it. I mostly want to focus on improving my self confidence, social skills, making friends and at some point, living independently. Hopefully the OT can help me achieve some or all of those goals. https://www.everydayind.com.au/our-therapies/occupational-therapy/

On Thursday night, I had my final Sleep Intervention Workshop held at La Trobe University Psychology Clinic in Bundoora. Prior to arriving, I received my actiwatch in the mail via express post which I’ll have to wear again for another week. This will basically be comparing the results from the first period and see if there’s been any improvement with my sleep. I engaged in my usual Maccas run though time wasn’t playing nice today. I literally had to scoff my food and coffee down (That’s NOT being mindful...oops!).

Tonight’s session was run by Eric and Alexa with Associate Professor Amanda “Mandy” Richdale joining in. Alexa guided us through a short mindfulness exercise which involved using the five senses: touch, smell, hearing, taste and sight, using a raisin. Next, they attempted to tie all the concepts and techniques that we’ve learned together as well as discuss the importance of having values to focus on. Basically trying to work on living a fulfilling life can in turn help to improve your sleep. Some of my important values include: accepting myself, loving others, creativity, imagination, embracing the moment and seeing possibilities.

We also did some short term goal setting which is perfect considering we are getting close to the end of 2018. I wrote down: catching up with friends and family, going out for dinner or drinks, losing weight and improving my fitness levels, going for regular walks, attending art exhibitions and galleries, producing artwork again and getting back into study. It was a good exercise as I usually don’t do it often enough as my mind gets caught up in other commitments and responsibilities. https://www.latrobe.edu.au/otarc

The last part of the session involved creating a plan for the next 6 weeks to make sure that we’re prepared when insomnia comes back. It breaks everything down into sizable chunks week by week and details many of the techniques that we’ve learned about during these workshops such as mindfulness and defusion of thoughts, feelings and emotions, building a new sleep routine and practicing acceptance. Eric then gave us each a $25 gift card for our participation in the study. https://aspergersvic.org.au/Research-Requests

Reflecting back on the last few weeks, it’s good to know that this is the first research study I have fully committed myself to. I didn’t let the physical distance, lack of motivation, low mood and energy levels stop me from finishing it off because I do believe that improving my sleep is something worthwhile to invest time into. It’s been a problem for me for at least 2 or 3 years now and that’s significant as it affects my daily functioning and ability to enjoy life. So hopefully it’ll have some long lasting benefits for me. https://www.apa.org/topics/sleep/why.aspx

On Friday morning, I started doing my Christmas shopping at Cranbourne Park Shopping Centre and Westfield Fountain Gate! Trust me to forget that it happened to be BLACK FRIDAY today so of course getting a parking spot was painful as hell. Also it’s this time of the year when my anxiety levels tend to increase more readily especially when it comes to impatient shoppers and drivers. The rainy weather outside certainly wasn’t helping matters either. It didn’t take long before I was getting stalked in the carpark.  

IT’S THE MOST STRESSFUL (WONDERFUL) TIME OF THE YEAR! I briefly met up with Mum and my hairdresser Katrina, dropping into shops like Kmart, Target, Dusk and some $2 variety stores before I knew that I was ready to collapse with my shopping bags. I’m also learning that it’s okay to break things up, that I don’t necessarily have to do all my Christmas shopping in one hit. I put limits on myself for how much I’m able to handle and it’s a good thing because the last thing I want to do is burn myself out before Christmas Day.

On Friday night, I went to my HIIT Boxing class with Cinamon Guerin at CinFull Fitness. Boxing is both physically and mentally challenging. It takes a lot of effort, focus, concentration and practice to learn all the movements, techniques and combos. I’m fortunate that this group of clients is endlessly patient with me because I do worry that I’ll drop the ball at times. Anxiety is an unwelcome heckler trying hard to get me to give up and I’m able to shove it further and further into the background now.

Even though these small group training sessions are tough, it always feels good to finish them. My fitness level is irrelevant. To me, it’s more about what I can do rather than keeping up with the others. It’s a shift that’s taken me months to learn and remember. As a few people have told me, your only competition is yourself. Push ups are still one of the hardest exercises for me and yet I was smashing them out tonight at my own pace. It can only get better and easier over time.

On Saturday morning, I voted for Gary Maas - Labor for NWS at Strathaird Primary School. Generally speaking, I usually vote for the Australian Labor Party as most of my values align with their policies. Workers rights, public transport, infrastructure, education, mental health issues and autism are the big issues for me this State Election and Gary Maas ticks all of those boxes. https://www.viclabor.com.au/mp/maas-gary/

I’ve noticed that the Liberal candidate, Susan Serey, has had her face plastered on signs and flyers all around the Narre Warren South area. I guess their logic is that using dominant visual exposure will help secure more votes but to me, this screams of desperation. I haven’t seen her put many proposals forward for this election so I’m far from convinced that I should be voting for her. https://vic.liberal.org.au/SusanSerey

When it comes to Matthew Guy, he seems like a typical Liberal politician. All talk and all business. Coming off like a shady used car salesman with his “plan” to get Victoria back in control. Just like Scott Morrison, he’s just not very likable to me. https://www.matthewguy.com.au/

Daniel Andrews has done a lot of hard work for this state especially in the areas of workers rights, public transport and infrastructure. He has begun work on the Melbourne Metro and West Gate tunnels, removed many level-crossings on various train lines and upgraded several train stations, invested in free TAFE courses, building more schools and TAFE campuses, recruited more police officers, increased employment rate and job vacancies. http://www.cesarmelhem.com.au/andrews-labor-government-economic-achievements/

He is far from perfect but his achievements far outweigh his flaws in my opinion. Plus he has many great optimistic plans for the future if he ends up being re-elected. https://thenewdaily.com.au/news/state/vic/2018/11/20/victorian-election-policy-comparison-daniel-andrews-matthew-guy/

On Saturday night, I attended my work Christmas party held in the Common Room at Berwick Inn. When it comes to most social functions, my first instinct is to run for the hills and this potentially could have been the case tonight. I guess I wasn’t anticipating the huge turnout and therefore how much the space was creating bottlenecks and human traffic congestion. It’s moments like those where I literally need my own space to breathe.

However it was really lovely to see many team members tonight, both who I currently work with and a handful who have transferred stores, resigned or retired. Still being an introvert and autistic, social situations will always be challenging for me. Not knowing what to do, who to talk to, what to talk about but I generally gravitate towards people I feel comfortable around. There also becomes a point where I get easily bored and restless.

I decided to wear a black Christmas themed sweater with colourful Santas, bells, trees and snowflakes on it as well as a classic red Santa hat. It’s probably the one stereotypical trait that I don’t tick as an introverted person: putting myself out there with my outfit. Possibly because I want to make an impression and get people’s attention in a good way. I left shortly after the Visions & Values awards were announced as energetically I was spent and needed to rest. But I’m glad I made the effort to come out even for a short while.

“S-P-I-R-I-T, it's great to see. We got it, the spirit. Hey, hey, let's hear it. Said we couldn't go the distance, yeah. Look at us, we're going the distance. They just wanna be us. They don't wanna see us.” Mariah Carey featuring Ty Dolla $ign - The Distance (2018)

“It wasn't really much at all, just a little sensitivity, yeah that's all. Here in my heart is where you should be, ooh you are. Giving me life and it's everything. Thinkin' 'bout when we were seventeen. Living like Babs 'cause it's Evergreen. Here in my arms is where you should be.” Mariah Carey featuring Slick Rick & Blood Orange - Giving Me Life (2018)

[furilia]

When you find yourself making the same resolutions every year.

New Post has been published on https://www.furilia.com/when-you-find-yourself-making-the-same-resolutions-every-year/

When you find yourself making the same resolutions every year.

Tuesday, December 26, 2017

Practicing these is the work of a lifetime, so you still won’t be perfect in a year. But I guarantee you’ll be a more peaceful parent, with a happier child.

“Dr. Laura….My new year’s resolution is to be more patient. But when I told my family, they reminded me that I made the same resolution last year. I feel like a failure, even though I know I’ve become a better mother over the past year.” — Christina

Many people don’t make New Years Resolutions, because they find themselves making the same resolutions every year. But that doesn’t mean you’re a failure. It means you’re headed in the right direction, and you aren’t perfect yet. (Shocking, I know!)

The bad news is, you won’t be perfect this year either. The good news is, you don’t have to be! Kids don’t need perfection from parents. What they need is a parent who accepts them with all their imperfections, models compassion and respect, and apologizes and reconnects when things go wrong — as they inevitably do.

This is tough work, because it’s about regulating our own emotions. That’s why resolving to be more patient rarely works. By the time we’re gritting our teeth to stay “patient” we’re already sliding into the stress response of fight, flight or freeze.

But if you want to become a more patient parent – and a happier person – it’s completely possible. Here are 5 simple resolutions to support you in creating a home with less drama and more love. Practicing these is the work of a lifetime, so you still won’t be perfect in a year — in fact, you might make these same resolutions next year! But I guarantee you’ll be a more peaceful parent, with a happier, more cooperative child.

1. Resolve to work on regulating your own emotions, so you can be the happy, patient, encouraging parent you want to be. Start by integrating daily sustainable self-nurturing into your life: Go to bed earlier so you’re better rested, eat healthfully to maintain your energy, transform those inner negative comments into encouraging ones, and slow down your pace so you’re not so stressed.

Most important of all, commit to managing your reactions. When your emotions are “dysregulated,” you’re in fight or flight, and your child looks like the enemy. So just say No to taking any action while you’re angry. Commit to calming your own upset before you engage with your child.

Does this sound hard? It is. Maybe the hardest thing we ever do. But that urgency to act is coming from your “fight or flight.” It makes your child look like the enemy. Taking action when you’re upset never leads to the results you want.

Every time you restrain your own “tantrum” you’re rewiring your brain. Each time your choose love, it makes the next choice easier. There’s no time like the present to begin. And you’ll be astonished at how your child changes in response, as you decrease your own drama.

2. Resolve to love the one you’re with. The one thing we know for certain about child development is that kids who feel loved and cherished thrive. That doesn’t mean kids who ARE loved – plenty of kids whose parents love them don’t thrive. The kids who thrive are the ones who FEEL loved and cherished for exactly who they are. Every child is unique, so it takes a different approach for that child to feel seen and loved. The hard work for us as parents is accepting who our child is, challenges and all – and cherishing him for being that person, even while guiding his behavior. The secret? See it from his perspective, empathize with his experience, and celebrate every step in the right direction. Maybe most important? Enjoy your child!

3. Resolve to stay connected. Kids only cooperate and “follow” our leadership when they feel connected. But separation happens, so we have to repeatedly reconnect. Remember that quality time is about connection, not teaching, so it’s mostly unstructured. Hug your child first thing every morning and when you say goodbye. When you’re reunited later in the day, spend fifteen minutes solely focused on your child. (What do you do in that 15 minutes? Listen, commiserate, hug, roughhouse, laugh, play, empathize, listen some more. Not enough time? What could be more important?) Stop working and turn off your phone and computer before dinner so you can focus on your family. Eat dinner together without screens and do a lot of listening. Have a chat and a warm snuggle at bedtime every night with each child.

4. Resolve to role model respect. Want to raise kids who are considerate and respectful, right through the teen years? Take a deep breath, and speak to them respectfully. After all, kids learn from what we model. If we can’t manage our own emotions, we can’t expect our kids to learn to manage theirs. Not always easy when you’re angry, so remember your mantras: You’re the role model, Don’t take it personally, It’s not an emergency, and This too shall pass!

5. Resolve to address the needs and feelings behind your child’s behavior. The most important time to stay connected with your child is when she’s acting out. All “misbehavior” is a red flag that your child needs your help to handle big emotions or fill unmet needs. Once you address the feelings or needs, the behavior changes. Parents who lead by loving example, redirect pre-emptively rather than punish (“You can throw the ball outside”), and set limits empathically (“I see how mad and sad you are. I won’t let you hit. Let’s use your words to tell your sister how you feel…”) raise self-disciplined kids who WANT to follow their guidance.

Sure, your child will make mistakes, and so will you. There are no perfect parents, no perfect children, and no perfect families. But there are families who live in the embrace of great love, where everyone thrives. The only way to create that kind of family is to make daily choices that take you in that direction. It’s not magic, just the hard work of constant course correction to get back on track when life inevitably throws you off.

So don’t worry if you’re making the same resolutions every year. That just means you’re keeping yourself on track by choosing, over and over, to take positive steps in the right direction. Before you know it, you’ll find yourself in a whole new landscape. Parenting, after all, is a journey — not a destination. For today, just choose less drama and more love. You’ll be amazed at how far that takes you.

Wishing you and your family a wonderful New Year!

****

Want to support yourself for real change? You still have time to register for the Peaceful Parent, Happy Kids Online Course that begins soon. If you didn’t get it in your stocking, this is the gift to give yourself for a better new year. Take a look at the raves from parents who’ve taken it to see if you think this self-paced course might be a good fit for you.

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[sending-the-message]

My Wife Thinks I Sleepwalk (Part 14) by TuckandRoll91

Life-Affirming Actions; That’s what mental health professionals call it. That’s why Sarah was smoking that cigarette to distract herself from the half-serious thought to take the bartender back to her hotel room. That’s why everyone was drunk. That’s why Addison’s cousin, Beth, was leaving with one of the guys from the Concert Choir.

In short, it’s why hook-ups and other bad decisions happen after funerals.

That’s why Uncle Chuck was sitting, and telling Claire bad jokes. It’s one thing that we all have in common. Everyone loses someone close to them, eventually, in life. Deep down, we know. It could’ve been me. Addison, I am so sorry you’re gone. But I am alive, and I feel the need to prove it to myself.

I walked back in the bar, straightened my shirt, made sure the pistol was secure, and saw her. That rage I felt for not being able to kill that son of a bitch quickly evaporated and was replaced by another animal emotion. From the floor up, I saw her curve of her calves, and wanted her legs wrapped around me., the shape of her hip, and needed to drive myself into her. Her waist, and wanted my hands, holding her fast against me. Her breasts, wanted them in my hands, my mouth. I wanted her back arched, and head thrown back, her bright, clear eyes closed, as we gave ourselves, in the purest form, to each other.

We hadn’t planned on staying in town tonight. I had my phone out, and was quickly reserving a room on the edge of town, as I crossed the bar, I leaned over, interrupting another of Chuck’s jokes, took her by the wrist and pulled her up, and kissed her. Not a soft, reassuring kiss like many others that passed between us over the past week. It had been six days. Doesn’t seem that long, but it was longer than we’d gone without taking at least a playful tumble since we had been together. I was telling her everything I needed, without words, as I pulled her against me. And She was telling me everything she wanted, with her hands in my hair, as she chewed, softly on my lower lip.

We pulled back, lest we clear a table and attack each other right there. I saw her light, and her fire, burning white hot, in equal measure, as she grinned a hungry little grin at me.

“We need to go.” I told her quietly.

“Damn right, we do.” She replied.

Life Affirming actions, or maybe the correlation between sex and violence. I don’t know and I didn’t care. I don’t think she did either, we both needed a little comfort, a little pleasure to salve all the pain.

Sometimes, most times, after a loss so profound, to feel alive, you need to die a little death, yourself.

We managed to keep most of our clothes on until we got into the room. But we did give our driver quite a show. He’s a professional, and kept his eyes on the road. Mostly.

I unlocked the door, Claire pushed it open, then pulled me inside. She was working my belt, as I worked my way down her neck from her ear to her collar bone. My belt, and the holstered pistol fell with a thump to the floor, then I unzipped her dress, as she was working down the buttons of my shirt.

She shoved me backwards onto the bed then stepped out of her dress.

A short time later, she laid on my chest, bare skin, to bare skin, and murmured, happily, “Needed that.”

“Who said anything about being done?” I asked as I raised her chin to look her in the eyes. She hit me with that feral grin, as I rolled her over to her back.

We continued this way, alternating between comfort and attacking each other like animals until around three in the morning.

Lying beside each other, exhausted, spent, having spent most of the evening as that one perfect being we could only become together, I thought about what Audrey told me after Addi’s graveside service.

I was watching Claire, tearfully offering condolences to Addi’s family, as the tearfully offered theirs to her.

Audrey could see it. The way I saw it between her and Addison.

She said, “Don’t wait,” trying to maintain some composure, “David, don’t wait, if there is something you need to tell her, Please, Don’t wait.” Audrey buried her face in my chest has I pulled her into a hug, whatever she was going to say next was lost to her pain, grief, and regret.

So as I lay there, in that hotel room, Claire beside me, I realized I never felt more at peace than when I was with her. We could weather anything together. And I knew. Sure, we’d only been together a year, but there is no logic in love.

“Claire.” I said, as she propped herself up on her elbow. “Marry me.”

Her eyes went wide, lit up, as she threw her arms around me, and kissed me, saying “Yes.”, without hesitation. She squeezed me tighter, her lips playing over mine, my cheek, “Of Course, David. Yes. Always, Yes.”

She was crying again. So was I. But this time, for a welcome change, it wasn’t due to pain.

“I’ve loved you since I laid eyes on you.” I told her, “I do love you, and I always will love you.” I never really thought of her as my girlfriend, I realized. Since our first night together, and I figured out that my Fiery red-haired Guardian Angel was our daughter, in my mind, she was always my wife. Soon she actually would be. As we fell asleep, I wasn’t worried about slipping, because I was exactly where I wanted to be.

The next morning, I called Dad, while Claire was in the shower.

“Hey, David, didn’t expect you to be up this early. What time did you guys get home last night?”

“We’re not home, yet. We decided to stay here for the night.”

“Oh, okay, let me know when you’re ready to leave, I’ve got the Cherokee fueled up.”

“Great, thanks, Dad.” I said. “But that’s not why I called.”

“Oh?”

“I need Mom’s ring.” I told him, on the edge of tears, of joy, this time.

“OH!” I could hear Dad smiling on the other end, “When are you going to ask her?”

“Already did.” I said, grinning a big stupid grin.

“And she said yes?” Dad poked at me, “Thought she was smarter than that.”

I laughed, “Look, just get it okay? And keep it to yourself, we want to tell her parents in person.”

“Okay, son, Congratulations.” He told me, “I love you, boy. I hope you know that.”

“Love you too, Dad. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

My mom was only thirty-seven when she died. But she had prepared a will. One of her conditions was that Gary actually read it to Adam, Dad, and I. It’s probably one of the few memories that Adam and Dad have that are as clear as mine.

“If I am to pass before our sons are married, Robert, you are not to bury me with my wedding band or engagement ring.” Gary read. “Adam, you are to take my wedding band for your wife. David, you are to have my engagement ring for the woman who will be your wife, so you may both know that you have my blessing, and my love. Care for them as I have cared for you. Love them with the good hearts, I know you have, so they may love you as I do, and more. She, whomever she may be, will be the most important person in heaven and earth to you. Treat her as such, and see the love you give returned, tenfold.” She included a sealed envelope with each, both addressed to “My Daughter-in-Law” and instructed Gary to lock them up until Adam and I asked for the rings. “Boys, these letters are not for you.” The will continued, “I don’t want you to ask this woman, whomever she may be, to read it. It’s for her, Mother to daughter. If she chooses to share it with you, that’s fine. If these instructions are necessary, please respect my wishes. I hope I am there to see you married, to get to know your wives, but if not, know that I do love them, as well.” Gary finished. “Signed, Audrey Marie Dempsey.”

The rings, themselves, were nothing special, purchased on an Enlisted Marine’s salary. But they were Mom’s, that’s what mattered. Dad had offered to replace them, with something nicer once the money came.

“You most certainly will not!” Mom told him, almost angrily. Dad was taken back. Mom softened a bit “Robert,” She was the only one that called him Robert, to everyone else, he was Bob. “It doesn’t matter how much they cost. What matters is you chose me, and I chose you.” I remembered her reaching out and touching his face softly. “That’s what matters.”

Dad picked us up at a private airfield outside of town, and flew us back to my hometown of [redacted]. We were going to stay with him for a couple days before we left for the Lake Cabin.

Sarah opted to stay, saying, “Addi wouldn’t want us putting our lives on hold for her. I understand why you two need to get away, But I’m staying. If that offer is opened ended, I could come see you this summer.”

We agreed, wished her well, made sure we had each other’s contact info, and said goodbye. Then I quietly tasked a security detail on her.

That night, I laid down next to Claire, in my old bedroom, exhausted, kissed the tip of her nose, and told her I loved her.

“How should we tell my parents?” She asked me. “I was thinking of just calling them. Mom loves you, Dad will not be happy.”

“I was thinking sometime after the birth of their grandbaby.” I grinned at her.

She laughed, then said, “You want kids? Like actually want kids.”

“Not right away, but yes, eventually. After we finish school, and get settled.” I said, “I mean, we got what, 20 years before we’re too old to keep up with a baby?” I looked in to her big, bright blue eyes and asked, “Do you want kids?”

“I never really thought about it until I met you.” She told me. “But yes, I’d love to have our baby,” She beamed, “Down the road, eventually, that isn’t a knock-me-up-right-now request.” She giggled, then kissed me.

I shrugged, “We could always practice,” as I rolled onto my back, and shot her the side eye.

She laid there for a moment, smiling at me, then said. “Hmm, practice does sound fun.”

We weren’t as urgent as the night before, it wasn’t so much a need as a want. Softer, slower, we took our time, together, and enjoyed each other, body and soul, for every second. Afterwards, we collapsed and fell fast asleep.

I woke up in a pasture, face to face, with a very confused dairy cow.

“At least I remembered to get dressed.” I said to the cow.

She mooed at me.

Mom and Dad bought the land when I was twelve. So I knew I’d slipped back at least ten years. I stood and got my bearings, careful not to startle my bovine companions on the top of the hill. Construction hadn’t yet started on my dad’s house, I looked toward the road, and noticed the leaves starting to turn.

Early fall It was a little chilly for gym shorts and a long sleeve Tee-shirt, but not unbearable. When I did the math and figured out the nearest Cache was 3 miles away, I grumbled sourly to myself. I noticed the ‘For Sale’ sign at the bottom of the hill did not yet have a ‘sold’ placard on it, So I started walking.

Heavy Duty socks with rubberized grips, do not do much good when you step in cow shit. Again, grumbling sourly, I peeled them off, and started off barefoot.

A short time later I arrived at the Cache. This one was a locker at a Self-Storage facility. I let myself in, scrubbed my feet off, with a bit of the bottled water there, and changed clothes. I stole a look at a newspaper on my way there and figured out it was early October, about a year before my mother died.

I had been thinking about her before I feel asleep, and her eyes on Claire’s face, my daughter’s face. I looked over at the motorcycle under a tarp in the back of the locker.

I’m in school, What the hell? I pulled the tarp off, revealing a matte-black generic looking V-Twin cruiser. Like the rest of them, built to be untraceable using aftermarket parts and pieces of wrecked bikes. Some bits Dad machined himself.

I rolled it out of the locker, after taking a bit of walking around money, and secured the Cache. I mounted the bike and flipped the switch to start it up. Just like the rest of them, it rumbled to life without hesitation. Dad knew his shit.

Without even thinking, I set off to the library where Mom worked.

I have come here, several times on other slips. I once “borrowed” a car from a guy that lived in my dorm room in the early nineties and drove it all the way back home before he realized it was missing. I usually just sit, and listen, to hear her voice, listen to her talk to her co-workers about mundane things, occasionally watch her re-shelving books, or whatever. My favorite is when I pop in during the summer, any summer, and listen to her read to the daycamp kids, the way she used to read to me when I was a boy. Hurts and heals at the same time I guess. I do miss her, daily, and now I was wishing she could meet Claire, wishing Claire could meet her.

Except, this time was different. I looked up from the book I’d taken off the shelf to not read, and she was staring at me. I could see the consternation on her face slowing dissolving into recognition. Her mouth dropped open slightly and she said, “David?”

I sucked in a breath as my heart felt like it would explode if I didn’t do something to relieve the pressure. Then I leaped out of the chair, that unread book falling to the floor with a tumble and clatter. Before I knew what I was doing I was holding on to her for dear life, as if I were the one drowning. “Mom.” I said, trying unsuccessfully, to hold back tears. I miss you.

She gave me a minute to collect myself, as she locked the doors, and hung the ‘back in fifteen minutes’ sign.

“How did you know?”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize my own son?” She grinned at me. “You come back here a lot.” It made sense, I recognized my daughter before I even knew she would exist.

“You seem to be handling this a lot better than I thought you would.” I told her honestly, glad I no longer had to lie to her.

“You and your father think you can keep your secrets from me.” She snorted slightly. “It seemed important to you both that no one else knew, so I let you think I didn’t. I’ve known from the beginning, David.”

I gave her a look.

“Your Dad talks in his sleep, Sweety.” I almost laughed. “How old are you, now?"

“Twenty-two” I told her.

“College?”

I told her that too.

“My son, an Ivy-Leaguer?” She said with obvious pride. “Guess we did something right.”

“Only everything,” I told her. “I love you, Mom.”

“David,” She turned serious, concern on her face, “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Nothing.” I smiled, then broke down, “Everything.” And I spilled it, I told her about Addison, the other time traveler, my daughter, Claire. Everything.

“You were there?” As her hand reflexively went over her mouth. I nodded. Mom rose up out of her chair, and wrapped her arms around me, kissing the top of my head. “David, it wasn’t your fault.” She told me quietly, “You did everything you could to help her. No one, not even Addison, would fault you for protecting Claire. You’re a good man, with a good heart. I know you feel terrible, but there was nothing you could have done. If something is supposed to happen, it happens.” She held me, as I cried like a little boy with a skinned knee, stroking the back of my neck, like she used to do when I woke up from a bad slip, and she came charging into my bedroom, like Mama bear, to chase the monsters away. The way Claire did when I came out of a bad slip. “This Claire? She’s special to you?”

I nodded. “We got engaged, last night.” Then I corrected myself, “Well, last night, ten years from now.”

She sat back down opposite me. “Oh, David,” She beamed, “Tell me about her.”

I did. I told her about her dry wit, her easy laughter, how she would dance around the kitchen, her poise, and strength, Her light and her fire. “Mom, she’s beautiful, in every way imaginable.” I finished, “I can’t believe I got so lucky.”

Mom was smiling at me. “Sounds like she hung the moon, just for you.”

This was a game we played when I was little. ‘Who hung the moon?’

You did, Momma, Just for me.

No, baby, you did, just for me

“No, Mom, you hung it. She’s just holds it up, now.”

Mom grinned at me, again. “Can’t wait to meet her.”

Then I realized: I have a chance. I can save her. I could undo all the times I lied to her and she instantly forgave me without a word, all the secrets I thought I’d kept. I could save her.

I took a deep breath, knowing I was about alter my entire life. I just hoped Claire was still there when I woke up.

“You can’t.” I said quietly. I could feel her slightly confused gaze upon. “Next year, on October fourteenth. You are in a car accident.” I choked up, As I was calling up one of those perfect memories that killed part of me every time I thought about it. “It was raining. A dump truck lost control and rolled. It lost its load. You swerved to avoid it, but it hit your car anyway.”

She was staring at me with wide-eyed shock.

“Mom, you.. you died.”

“Oh, David.” This is the kind of saint my mother was, I just told her how and when she was going to die, and her first reaction was to comfort me. She was up out of her chair holding me again. “Baby, I love you. You know that, right? No matter what, know I love you.” She was rocking me, like a child, as the tears flowed.

“Mom,” I choked, “I was in the back seat.”

She squeezed me, whispering soothing somethings into my ear.

“You were taking me to school because I missed the bus.” She clutched me tighter, as I shook and sobbed. “I woke up, and we were upside down in a ditch. The car was filling with water.” I shuddered, nearly wretched. “I tried, Mom. I tried to get you out. I wasn’t strong enough. I wasn’t fast enough. I couldn’t.. I couldn’t save you.” I was nearly blind with tears, hanging on to Mom, like a drowning man would hang onto driftwood. “Please, don’t leave me.” And then I completely broke down.

“Never.” She said.

I remember her hearing her call my Dad to tell him she was working late. She never reopened the library that day.

She held me until I cried myself to sleep.

I woke up, in my old bedroom at Dad’s. Claire was sleeping soundly beside me, her head on my shoulder.

Nothing had changed.

But the great yawning hole in my soul that was my mother’s absence was slightly smaller. Because I knew. I knew I had done my best, and none of the lies or secrets mattered, because they were forgiven as soon as they were told. She knew, she always knew.

Carefully, I slid out of bed, as to not wake Claire, and I went and found Dad. I told him. I told him everything.

He hugged me, and thanked me, and said, “God love that woman.” as he wiped away tears, and collected himself. “Well, It’s a happy day, indeed. My wife didn’t care that I hid little things from her, and I’m getting a daughter.” He offered a wistful smile. “Gary’s bringing your Mom’s ring.” He sipped at his coffee, “Go get yourself together, boy.”

Claire had insisted on making us breakfast, and had even set a place for Gary. I was watching her buzz around Dad’s seldom used kitchen, wearing an old apron he had dug out for her. It was one of the stupid ones that read ‘Kiss the Cook.’ I caught her around the waist and pulled her close. “I think I will.” I said, looking down at the apron.

When I pulled back she was grinning, sly, behind her cat’s eye frames, at me. “Thought you had enough.” She murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.

“Never.”

She gave me another quick peck on the lips and said “Later.” As she resumed buzzing and offered an arched eyebrow, over her shoulder, just to make sure I was watching her walk away. She was in a white formfitting sweater, and a pair of dark jeans that seemed to be tailored just for her.

I shook my head and went to the kitchen table. The doorbell rang at 10:07 am. Dad ushered Gary in shortly thereafter. “Good Morning, I’m glad we’re seeing each other under happier circumstances.”

I stood and shook his hand, “Look, Gary, I’m sorry about—“

“It’s okay, David.” He smiled at me, “I know you were under stress, and probably still are,” as he withdrew the ring box and the envelope from his briefcase. It had gone yellow with age, but still bore my Mom’s handwriting clearly on the front. “So I hope this doesn’t upset either one of you,” He said, looking between Claire and I, as she took off her apron and joined us at the table. “But I took the liberty of drawing up a standard prenuptial agreement.”

I opened my mouth to retract my apology and tell him exactly where he could stick it, when Claire shot me a look, and snatched the paperwork and proffered pen from Gary’s hands. She flipped to the last page and signed it without reading it.

“I’m marrying you. Not your money.” She smiled at me. “Now, Sign it.” She commanded.

I did, then opened the ringbox. There it was: A small, simple silver band, with a small, but exquisitely cut diamond setting, and birthstones, Adam’s and mine, that had been added later. “We can get it resized if we need to,” I said, “Or something else altogether if that’s better.”

Claire beamed at me, “David, it’s perfect.” She reassured me, as she held out her hand, a little giddy.

I slid my mother’s engagement ring on to her finger. It fit perfectly. I leaned in and kissed her, lingering for longer than was chaste, ignoring the camera flashes from dad’s phone. As I pulled away, she held up her hand, inspecting the ring, and said “Bob, you’ve got really good taste.”

I laughed, Dad laughed, Claire laughed.

Gary gave her the letter, and excused himself, while simultaneously thanking us for, and refusing the offer to stay for brunch.

She looked at it, then me, hoping for an explanation.

“It’s from my Mom.” I told her.

She made a little cooing noise and demanded “What’s it say?”

“I don’t know.” I answered. “I wasn’t allowed to read it. And you don’t have to tell me what is says, if you don’t want to.”

“To My Daughter-in-law” She read aloud as she broke the seal and opened my Mom’s letter. Her face slowly changed from expectant joy, to confusion, then to something between amusement and anger. “David, is this a joke?”

“What?” I was a little confused. Okay, more than a little.

“This is addressed to me.” She said, shocked.

Yes, I was even more confused. “It’s for you.”

“No,” She held up the page, “Me, specifically!”

Then I saw the header. It read: To Ms. Claire Sullivan clearly, in my mother’s handwriting. I rocked back in my chair, and gasped, “Mom!”

Needless to say: My wife doesn’t think I sleepwalk, anymore.

Part One: http://ift.tt/2uAVaOL

Part Two: http://ift.tt/2uWNQQd

Part Three: http://ift.tt/2tIazeU

Part Four: http://ift.tt/2w8aIcc

Part Five: http://ift.tt/2tPzJZ3

Part Six: http://ift.tt/2wgzgjg

Part Seven: http://ift.tt/2hqbgHQ

Part Eight: http://ift.tt/2hsjK1g

Part Nine: http://ift.tt/2utwFRJ

Part Ten: http://ift.tt/2veAuhp

Part Eleven: http://ift.tt/2wKu87f

Part 12: http://ift.tt/2w2g7pg

Part 13: http://ift.tt/2v6fSom

SubReddit: http://ift.tt/2u2sU6l

[knightofthepebbles]

June 4th

After Jake had spent the night talking about how he couldn’t possibly get up early and that any time before the clock hit double digits was an ungodly hour, I awoke to quiet kitchen noises sometime around 7 am. Sweet Jake had woken up early just so he could make us home made cinnamon rolls before we left. Such a kind person. And they were delicious.

Shortly after we went on our way to Livingston, where we would see your sister graduate. She was one of the valedictorians, and gave a very nice speech. Everyone cheered and screaming for her, but you certainly beat everyone at sheer volume, taking out your deep and deafening army yell.

You also made it your mission to find the boy she had a crush on, learn his name, and secretly catch him for a selfie on his way out of the gym.

“Austin Peterson?? MY names Austin Peterson!!”

You got the selfie, and back at your parents you managed to print it out, frame, wrap it, and write a sweet (with a double meaning) note to accompany it. Emily’s reaction was caught on video, and was priceless.

I watched you play soccer with Silas and fell in love with you a little more.

Leanna was also in Bozeman, and we were going to meet up with her after the graduation dinner, but she just so happened to be at the school too! Her cousin used to be a teacher there and her daughter was graduating. Leanna ended up coming over to your families house so that she could ride back to Bozeman with us, and we spent some time catching up. Your family was so sweet to let her come.

After a little while, we headed back to Bozeman. I had asked if Leanna would give you a massage (being a professional) and she did, a real deep tissue one. It really helped you out and I thanked her repeatedly. I wish you could get those more often.

It was then time for our night out. We got ready, which mostly involved the two of you mocking me for my indecisiveness. At least you two bonded quickly.

And this is where your troubles began. With the goal of getting smashed enough to forget you were leaving soon, you downed at least a quarter of the bottle of tequila we had brought back from Canada to pregame.

We took an uber downtown, which was absolutely dead. We walked into one bar that was inexplicably unlocked since it was completely black and closed down. We ended up landing on a pretty standard one which had the most people in it, which wasn’t saying much.

But we made the most of it, befriending the bartender and two other patrons: a local comedian and his father. You engaged in deep conversation with the wine-drinking father, who was confused about the relationship dynamics of our group. You explained to him that the lesbian was your girlfriend.

We had all taken multiple tequila shots by then, but you were a lot farther along than Leanna and I. You’re a happy drunk, however, and so it was still really fun.

That bar closed at midnight, so on we went to the next one. As we walked into the empty BarIX, I heard a lone voice-

“Allison? Allison fucking Ouradnik is that you??”

It was Britta! She had no idea I was in town, and we quickly started making up lost time. At least, as best I could since I was drunk. During this time, Britta’s boyfriend, the bartender, made us more drinks. You and Leanna were engaged in deep emotional conversation which I was intensely curious about and was planning to ask Leanna about later, since you were almost in tears.

However, at some point you alerted me to the fact that Leanna had disappeared to the bathroom to puke. I took off to investigate. She had already finished, but wanted to go home, so I went back out and got her a water to sip while we chugged our drinks and made our goodbyes. We were about to call an uber when Britta insisted on taking us home, not letting us pay, and feeding us cheezits.

And thank god too, because you and Leanna were fuckin donesies. As soon as we started driving, Leanna found a sweater to puke into. After that she was on the upside, but then it all hit you. And it was over. You started whimpering “Please don’t make me be in here, please”, “why did you let me get this drunk? I trusted you… o trusted you…”, and “Why are you making me stay in here?”, at which point you opened the car door and decided to walk.

Britta had to pull over and both Leanna and i had to coax you back into the car, which took quite a bit of work. (This is a very short drive).

I thanked Britta profusely, and then Leanna and both slung one of your arms over our shoulders and started walking to our door. (Britta couldn’t bring us any closer because you refused to get back in the car). At this point you’re in tears, asking repeatedly where everyone was and that we had to go back for them. We kept telling you that we were the only ones with you and that we were all safe, but it didn’t seem to help.

Once inside we brought you to the bathroom and started to undress you, but bending over to pull off your shoe did me in.

“Oh shit, it hit me. I need to puke I’m so sorry”

And with that I abandoned Leanna to handle you and quickly spun around for some quality time with the toilet. Leanna finished undressing you and helped you into the bath, where you puked quite a lot. She ran the faucet to wash it down the drain, which you hated. At this point I was able to leave the toilet again and sit by you and rub your shoulders as you cried, my poor love. Leanna and I chatted through this.

After one especially bad round, Leanna tried to turn the shower on to rinse better and you absolutely lost it. You started violently shaking and sobbing, and you curled up into a ball begging it to stop. We were horrified and quickly shut it off, and I kept hugging you and kissing your head until you relaxed a little. Poor baby, it was really scary.

At some point the room got a little too spinny for me, so I laid down on the bathroom floor. Leanna and I kept talking for a while, and then it was just her watching over us as we drifted in and out of sleep. She completely dried you off, re dressed you, and helped you into bed. I didn’t feel so up to movement, so she brought me a pillow and blanket, changed me into pjs too, and unscrewed some light bulbs so it wasn’t so bright. Goddamn angel.

At some point in the night I felt well enough to move, and got into bed with the two of you.

It was technically a disastrous night, but we all certainly bonded, and really, it couldn’t have gone any other way with your first meeting with Leanna. It was actually pretty great, and we definitely have stories to laugh about now.