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dragynkeep · 2 years

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I have been writing a story since July 2016 and one of the pairings has Scarlet paired with a woman. One year before the manga release where his sexuality was confirmed. No readers at the time had a problem with it since, 1) it was the readers that encouraged me to make this pairing, and 2) how was I supposed to know the writers would confirm an LGBT+ character in supplementary material? I had to be *told* he was gay because I didn’t consume anything outside of the show!

Only… now it’s becoming a problem. All the sudden new readers are side eyeing me in the reviews because of this pairing. I’ll explain why it’s a pairing, but it’s like they aren’t reading my replies. It’s gotten so bad I’ve disabled PM’s on FF, and I’ve gotten comments on AO3. I’m afraid to put any development on their relationship at risk of angering people, especially since it isn’t the main pairing. Any advice or feedback? I feel guilt that I previously didn’t. Rewriting the whole thing is not something I want to do, especially since I already rewrote it once to improve upon the prose, and also… it’s like, over 400,000 words. I don’t have time for that.

It’s really disheartening. I recently came back to finish this story because I know how frustrating it is to find a story you like only for it to be abandoned. But I just don’t feel… I dunno, appreciated? I know lots of my readers love it and my writing style, but these comments are seriously wearing me down. I’ve made it clear I don’t intend to ship Scarlet with any female character in other projects I start (I don’t intend to write him at all anymore, tbh, since I’m disgusted with his VA). Its obvious my Scarlet is nothing like books Scarlet, since I had to create a whole fucking personality for him. I’ve taken measures too. Addressed it in the first chapter’s notes. Answered every PM and comment before it became too much. This story is my baby. There’s this whole plot that is more than just who is with who and yet the new readers only care about the damn ships. I’ve never given grief to another writer because I didn’t like one of the relationships in a story I liked, so like. Why? Why don’t you write your own damn shipping story if mine offends you so much?

Aaand I got another one while I was writing this ask. One of the new readers got pissed that Yang wasn’t with Blake. I kept my rwde identity separate from my writer identity specifically to avoid this. Now my old readers are happy but the new ones sometimes are fine and sometimes give backhanded comments as they keep fucking reading. Makes me wish AO3 had a block option. And I really want to comment and just tell them to stop. Fucking. Reading.

It makes me want to stop again. But I also don’t want to, because I love sharing my work. Uh, so anyway, sorry this turned into a vent ask. I can normally handle hate comments fine, but to be accused of erasing a queer identity when that identity didn’t exist at the time of the pairing’s creation is frustrating and demoralizing. Criticizing my writing constructively is totally fine and I encourage it, but accusing me of being homophobic or participating in queer erasure when the damn show won’t even let the gay character exist beyond books that are subpar, or who let queer rep exist for maybe five minutes of screen time before they’re shuffled off? Like, what the fuck? Why am I being held to a higher standard than the damn show who profits off this shit and actively damages the community with their Bury Your Gays bullshit that they’re upset they didn’t go through with when it came to Pilot Boi? I’m terrified to reveal my pen name on this damn site because I don’t want people attacking my work, but apparently it was just a matter of time before I got attacked anyway. I don’t even want to associate my tumblr name with anything about my story out of fear, so that’s why I’m on anon. It’s just… URGH. That’s also part of why I admire you two. When I saw you posting AZRE stuff I was just like, “Wow, they’re not afraid to post their fic stuff on their rwde blog? Impressive.” I’m too paranoid to post my fic info!

I just realized I started ranting again. Sorry lol. I’m just so tired.

wow, straight up i’m so sorry for what you’ve gone through with this fandom.

firstly, some advice to give would be to put moderation on your comments, that allows you to screen comments before they’re registered as reviews on your work; you have the ability to change this at any time on ao3 but unfortunately i don’t know what more can be done on ff as neither of us have been there in over a decade. it really doesn’t put the creators first which is one of the pros of ao3 in my opinion that it does put author safety first.

secondly, a suggestion luke made was to also put a disclaimer in the actual description of the work if you feel like that’s something you want to do. obviously it won’t help those determined to be assholes but it might help some who are just not paying attention to the chapter notes.

as for scarlet & his sexuality, while other queer people may feel differently, this obviously isn’t a case of you being malicious & deciding to ship a gay character with a woman. we’d had scarlet in the general show for years before he was confirmed by a non canon manga to be gay & then further for miles to see that & decide that he wanted only that portion to be canon. that is not on you, it’s on the cishet writers for deciding that queer representation comes on a whim for them & then everyone else needs to bend to it when they spent years mired in ambiguity. unfortunately the same issue is with coco & other characters assigned queer throughout the show that is now putting artists & writers at risk with pieces they wrote before the confirmation & now don’t want to delete because obviously that’s a lot of hard work to just flush down the drain because mkek set their queer gun ray on another character.

& the reviewer who was miffed that yang & blake don’t get together can choke on a fat one; there’s no obligation for them to get together when the show itself can’t even decide if they’re in a relationship or not, despite milking fans for money about it. & even if they were canon in the show, it’s not yours or anyone’s obligation to then have them be together in fanfiction. the whole point of fanfiction is that it’s transformative works, they don’t have to be beholden to canon & it’s not on you.

to the reviewers & people in the rwby fndm who see that coco or scarlet are shipped with the opposite sex; don’t get mad at the writer / artist. get mad at the writers who took over half a decade to confirm these characters as queer & then threw them away to off screen land. fan creators are not beholden to the same level as the actual writers & they never should be.

& honestly just hot take but a fic about a confirmed queer character being in a mlw relationship is not the end of the world & it’s honestly not anywhere near actual oppression queer people face. stop crying about a fanfic & for the love of god shut up & get offline. this is the same mentality that led to a child being harassed last year by whole ass grown ups because they shipped poly cfvy. for fucks sake this is so pathetic.

you absolutely should do what you feel is best to protect yourself, thankfully there’s been little to no backlash for us over azre — which was surprising considering it’s a adam centred rwby rewrite — but what works for us might not work for others. if you feel comfortable though, absolutely dm us the link to your fic as i’d love to give it a read & toss some nice reviews your way!

#rwby #scarlet david #coco adel #mkek critical #owl.txt #answered #q #honestly im tired of queer rwby ultra stannies #they're so embarrassing

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creativeashproductions · 3 years

Text

Banjo Riff // Platonic!Reggie Peters

IN WHICH: Luke rejects Reggie’s ideas for country music one too many times leading to the friendship fracturing and putting the bands future in question. Luke, with the help of his girlfriend the reader and his friends scramble to make it up to the bassist.

Warnings: Swearing, hurt!Reggie, Luke being an ass, fighting, angst, and fluff

Words: 3.2k

A/N: This idea has been sitting in my notes for MONTHS now. Song referenced is Lay Here With Me by Maddie & Tae (featuring Dierks Bentley)

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

If there was one thing Sunset Curve, then later Julie and the Phantoms would rely on, it was the battle between Luke and Reggie. Since the conception of a band between the friends, Reggie had always wanted to play a country song. He had learned how to play the banjo in preparation, but Luke rejected both the idea and songs as always.

"You said our sound was vintage '80s and '90s rock music Luke. The band evolved into a pop-rock sound-"

"Because our band changed from Sunset Curve to Julie and the Phantoms. I love you, man, but there's no way we're going country." Luke finally snapped with a heated glare on his face. Luke didn't mean to snap so severely, but it happened.

Luke watched as Reggie's face completely dropped into the kicked puppy expression that tore everyone apart. Instead of making light of the conversation, Reggie mutely nodded in response before turning to grab his bass for the band practice. Luke's stomach dropped at the rather odd behaviour, but Luke blamed his response on his current writers' block.

"Let's start with Flying Solo." Luke proclaimed, hoping Reggie's favourite song would cheer him up. Alex's curious gaze bounced between the two other males in the band just as Julie wandered into the garage.

Before Julie could even question the tension, Reggie had started the beat on the pad stationed on the keyboard. The young female immediately jumped into the first rehearsal song with ease. Every attempt Julie was about to question Reggie's uncharacteristic quiet, the bassist started a different song.

"What's his problem?" Julie questioned as Reggie packed up his stuff and practically sprinted out of the studio. He'd rejected the offer of a pizza movie night.

"Luke here decided to be an asshole again." Alex's tone of voice was sugary sweet in comparison to the glare he sent his guitarist.

Luke flinched at the furious expression on his bandmate's face. It wasn't a secret Julie and Reggie gravitated to each other in sibling bond. The two had been friends since infancy through their parents; Julie was there when the Peters started fighting. Reggie was there when Julie's mom passed away.

"Don't kill me!" Luke pleaded, scrambling around the piano from the intimidating Puerto Rican who had a solid punch. Julie's anger faltered at the guilt on the boy's face, "I was frustrated, and I shouldn't have taken it out on him!"

"What did Reggie do to deserve it?" Julie asked from the other side of the piano, acting as a barrier between the teenagers.

"He asked about the band doing a country song," Luke admitted with a grimace. His hazel eyes dimmed once more.

"What is your issue with country music? Your girlfriend is literally a country singer Luke!" Alex cried, stepping in between the two feuding bandmates.

Rock n' Roll Luke Patterson had been dating a well-known country singer for close to two years now. Luke had always been adamant that country wasn't all it was cracked up to be, but if you looked in the false bottom of the console in his car, you'd see a different story. Beneath the Eagles, Nirvana, AC/DC, and Gun N' Roses CDs, you'd find countless CDs of his girlfriend. He even had a playlist with a name that concealed the music in it.

Luke was a secret country fan, but he'd take that to his grave before he let anyone other than you know that.

"I don't have an issue! I don't think our band would benefit from branching into that music genre!" Luke argued with his bare arms crossing over his chest. Both Julie and Alex were about to respond when the studio gained another inhabitant.

"Would anyone like to explain why Reggie stormed into my house holding his songbook? He literally dropped it in my garage and tried to light it on fire?" You asked from the double doors with said book in your hand.

All three out of four members of Julie and the Phantoms recognized the book with a country landscape. The sight caused all their stomachs to drop at the obvious symbol of Reggie's hurt feelings.

"Funny story-"

"Luke Patterson...did you hurt his feelings about his love of country?" You asked through clenched teeth. Your response was Luke wincing at the anger blistering in your tone, "Did you ever think that country music is his comfort music? Fix this, Luke. Reggie, of all people, doesn't deserve your frustration."

You turned on your heel with Julie following in the attempt to find the forlorn bassist, most likely being hard on himself. You checked the beach house Reggie's dad had gotten in the divorce to no success. The school auditorium was empty, and so was the stable where Reggie worked part-time for the horses. You had returned back to Julie's house to sit on the porch to brainstorm.

"Isn't this the week he's with his mom?" Julie questioned with a furrowed brow. You could only shrug as Julie pulled up the calendar she shared with Flynn.

Reggie's parents had somewhat amicably divorced two years ago after attempts of reconciliation through therapy. Reggie had sat down with them to tell them how he felt with them fighting, if you recalled. They decided to do a trial separation for a few months and, in the end, had mutually agreed to divorce.

"I think Mr. Peters is taking care of his mother in a different state. She broke her hip, and now she's being moved into a retirement home." You offered the girl the encapsulated sunshine in just her smile.

"I suppose we'll try the Carter-Peters home." Julie breathed, bouncing on her feet to your car parked in front of her house. Julie's fingers tapped the screen in a chat thread she hadn't touched for months.

Your keen eyes easily read Carrie Wilson's name at the top of the thread that had been dormant since the end of their friendship. Apparently, Julie received little help in the frustrated sigh she released and the increasingly violent tapping of her screen.

"As usual, Carrie is no help," Julie announced with disgust in her voice. She squeezed the hand you placed on her knee before your hand returned to the wheel.

"One day, you'll have to tell me what happened between the two of you."

"Old news. Happened just before you moved back from Nashville." Julie once more avoided talking about the issues.

It was the same response every time you questioned the friendship that had fractured in the few years you'd been in Nashville. Before you left, Carrie and Julie had been attached at the hip, and when you came back, they were at each other's throats. Well, mostly Carrie was because Julie had too big of a heart to stand up to her former friend.

"Well, the beat-up van is still there." Julie caught the van, more of an eyesore, to be honest, sitting in the three-car driveway. The van was shared between Reggie and Flynn as a joint gift from their parents when Reggie's mom moved in with Flynn and her father.

"We both know Reggie-"

"Would walk to work through his problems. The number of times I've found in walking downtown…" Julie trailed with a shake of her half up half down hairstyle she left uncovered by a hat. Another symbol of her finding herself outside the grief that had concealed her.

"Oh, thank god." Flynn moaned from the front porch with her headphones resting on her shoulders instead of her ears, "He's been playing his old bass that makes that odd high pitch squeak noise. I couldn't take it. Get him out!"

You opened and closed your mouth with the inability to find the words, but Flynn knew already, "Doors unlocked. He's in his room."

"Thanks." You informed the fashionable teenager before brushing passed into the house. Not much had changed since Reggie had moved part-time into the house; his parents shared custody.

Flynn was right; the sound of that screech was like a bread trail to the last bedroom in the hallway to the left. The door opened a smidge to reveal Reggie sitting in the dim room with just his bedside lamp on. He was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Hey, Reggie." You breathed from leaning against the door jam, "I'm not sure what Luke said but don't give up on writing. Your songs mean something, Reginald."

"Then why doesn't Luke even read my lyrics? He barely read the title of my last one before tossing it aside!" Reggie whined before taking on a caricature of Luke's voice, "'Home is Where my Horse Is'? Reggie, stop putting your songs in my book!"

You couldn't help the snort at his interpretation of Luke, "That's a...uh...an accurate voice?"

Reggie didn't even crack a smile.

"Okay, maybe don't push Luke's buttons but imagine turning this hurt into songs!"

"Okay. Can I be left alone?"

"Sure." You sighed, turning to leave the room again, "But first. Don't get rid of this Reg. You have good songs."

You left Reggie's songbook on the dresser by his door on your way through the Carter-Peters household. Flynn sighed in relief when Reggie didn't continue using his old bass and even waved as you and Julie pulled away from the curb.

Reggie's eyes had stayed on the songbook you left on his second-hand dresser as if it would get up and bite him. All he could see was Luke rolling his eyes when Reggie had opened the book to show him a new song he'd written. Reggie was tired of only being known for playing bass.

"I brought you some leftover pizza." Reggie wasn't aware he'd been staring at the songbook for hours by then. He was only aware of Luke when he offered a peace offering in the form of Reggie's favourite food.

"I-"

"I'll go grab a soda from the fridge." Luke retreated just as quick as he had entered the bedroom. Seeing Luke was like rubbing salt in the open wound, and once more, Reggie's emotions flared.

Reggie was already at the fire pit in the backyard when Luke had argued with Flynn overtaking one of her sodas. The soda that had dropped on the back porch as Luke saw Reggie's fingers about to drop the songbook in the crackling fire.

"Reggie!" Luke shouted, ignoring the cold spray of soda on his bare arms. The hazel-eyed guitarist shoved Reggie away from the fire.

"What the hell, dude?" Reggie groaned, rolling onto his stomach to push himself to his sit on his knees. His blue eyes seeing Luke stomping the ignited corner of the songbook that had caused them issues.

"What the hell were you doing, Reggie?" Luke demanded with the songbook held tight in his grip. The glare on the messy-haired teenager directly pinned on his best friend, "Why would you try to destroy the book?"

"What's the point of having something our band won't branch into?" Reggie shrugged, moving to sit with his knees pulled to chest, "I've tried to keep the peace but Luke. I'm starting to understand why Bobby left the band."

Luke's heart clenched at the honesty Reggie was revealing, "What do you mean?"

"Screw the blood pact." Reggie grumbled, recalling the oath Alex, Bobby, and he had done to keep the truth from Luke, "Bobby didn't leave because he got an early acceptance into Juilliard."

Luke's eyebrows furrowed together, "What?"

"Luke...you tend to get possessive over the music we make. You brushed off Bobby's opinions, and we all didn't want to hurt your feelings. You've had a shitty time with your parents, but like Bobby, I feel like you don't appreciate our talents."

"What? Dude, you're killer on the bass! Alex's insane on the drums!"

"We know that. Maybe Bobby should have told you the truth on why he was leaving. I don't think you noticed but

"Luke. The songs we perform are all written by you. It was fine, but then when Julie joined, all of a sudden, you were okay with someone else writing with you. But you've never even looked at the songs I've written."

Luke silently listened as Reggie rambled on about how he, along with Bobby, felt underappreciated by the guitarist.

"And now you've been bit by the writers' block bug, but I think the band should take a break. Get our heads back on straight. Before we destroy the band, destroy our friendships." Reggie told his best friend with tears rolling down his face, "Just a week or two."

Luke's mouth hung open as Reggie circled around him to enter the household, but the telltale sound of the lock engaging broke the teenager. But Luke wasn't one to give up, so he created a group chat with Alex, Julie, Flynn and you. A single text that had all of them meeting at the studio.

"He quit the band?" Alex demanded, taking the songbook from Luke's hand, "What the hell?"

"One second he's in his room, and the next he's about to burn that! I may not like-"

"Luke, have you even read a single song he wrote?" You asked your boyfriend with your arms resting down on your knees. The boy in question half-heartedly shrugged with his eyes on his battered shoes.

"How are we gonna fix this?" Julie asked with a frown marring her pretty face usually lit up with sunshine. Her question was left to waft in the forlorn atmosphere in her family's studio.

"Give me that." You demanded towards the band's drummer with determination lit up in your eyes. Alex hesitantly handed over the songbook to your grabby hands.

The other individuals in the room watched as you settled into a chair with a stray acoustic guitar you'd left. Your eyes focused on the notes Reggie had placed around one of the unfinished songs. The soft melody was played a few times before you noticed Alex creating a beat with his drums.

"If I just tweak the song to make this piece the verse instead of a chorus." You mumbled under your breath with a pen scratching the paper. In a different colour, you jotted down the lyrics of a song you'd been working on previously. It was a song you'd struggled with the ending.

Alex huddled around you to add his own notes for the drums, "Definitely a song with a soft backing beat."

"Perfect. I just joined what he has with a song I'd given up a while back. The two songs are the last two pieces of a puzzle." You informed the drummer. Both of you unaware as Julie, Luke, and Flynn watched your brainstorming.

Luke felt out of sorts not being included in writing a song, but he thought it was suitable to not work on it. It gave Luke insight into how Reggie felt not being included in songwriting.

"I have an idea." Luke interjected with a grin, "Reggie's always wanted to see a real ranch. Do you think your uncle would be okay with us staying at the ranch?"

Your eyes flitted up to the mischievous hazel of your boyfriend's scheming gaze, "My uncle adores having people on the ranch. He'd enjoy teaching Reggie the ways of ranch life out of a city."

"How are you gonna get Reggie out to Nashville without it being band business?" Flynn questioned from her position on the couch, "He did just ask for a break from the band."

"Uh...I could pretend to enter a music competition." You offered hesitantly as you'd never actually performed on a stage for the group. You'd kept your personal life separate from your successful career as a country musician.

So you conspired with your friends to make amends with the bassist.

One Month Later, Nashville

The beat-up van pulled into a parking spot in front of a building. The band had seen the building in pictures on your Instagram. Alex, Luke and Julie all shared a look Reggie couldn't catch with his mouth wide open at the city.

"So, where's this competition?" Reggie inquired with his steps in line with Julie. The distance between Reggie and Luke is still noticeable.

True to Reggie's word, the band had come back together after two weeks of a break, but the bassist and guitarist's friendship was still fractured. A particular cloud of awkwardness followed each attempt; Luke tried to branch it together.

"Uh, not here. Y/N invited me to tour the recording studio she uses through her label." Luke offered to the confused bassist. As usual, Reggie barely cast a glance at the guitarist.

"C'mon!" Alex called out from the open doorway with the new addition of you by his side.

Luke was quick to nearly tackle you in a hug and a lingering kiss on your lips. The band all made sounds of feigned disgust. Even Reggie joined in the usual banter within the group.

"Hey, Reggie, do you want to see how us country artists do it?" You quipped with your arm interlocking with his. The cold leather of his jacket raising goosebumps on your arm as you dragged him to the recording booth.

As soon as he was comfortable on one of the spinney chairs by the producer's side, he watched like a hawk. The band had never been in a real professional recording studio owned by a label. It was interesting to everyone, but mostly they all watched Reggie's reactions.

"I was working on this song." You spoke from inside the booth. With a nod, your producer began playing a portion of the song.

"Is...is that-" Reggie was cut off by as Luke interrupted him.

"Your song? Yeah."

Reggie stared at his best friend, "What?"

"You were right, Reggie. I didn't appreciate what you could bring to the band, and I'm so fucking sorry about that. You have excellent songs even if I'm not a fan of country music." Luke genuinely informed his best friend with his hands clasping his, "I want you. Both you and Alex to have a bigger role because we started this band together. We all share responsibility."

"So for now. Alex and I finished one of the songs you had written. I was wondering if you'd like to make it a duet? Release it as a single with a full writing credit."

Reggie absolutely beamed in response to your question. He was in the recording booth beside you in mere seconds.

For the week the band stayed on your uncle's ranch, Reggie was in the studio with you going over the song. It is a song you released as the leading single for your upcoming studio album with Reggie and cemented his career. It wasn't the last time you did a song with Reggie. In fact, he set himself up as a sought after country songwriter.

"Holy shit!" Luke shouted as soon as Reggie told him the success of one of the songs had brought interest to Julie and the Phantoms, "I could kiss you! I'll never doubt your skills!"

Reggie and Luke's fractured friendship healed with the promise of a yearly visit to the ranch in Nashville. Plus, Reggie impressed Luke and Alex with the banjo riff in a country song the band released on their third studio album featured by you. Reggie would always be thankful he had the chance to record ‘Lay Here With Me’ with you.

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djmarinizelablog · 3 years

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hi! read your last ask and you said that you took up creative writing classes so you might have a wider knowledge about this but i was wondering when u mentioned different writing styles (like minimalistic, hightened imagery, linear vilennete and all of that) could you maybe explain the difference and what they really mean and maybe examples in our own levihan nation and writers? this might be asking for too much but i was pretty lost and i'd like to know more about all that. however you are def free to ignore this too!

Did you just ask me to write a comprehensive poetics essay, Anon? (I love writing about writing lmao)

Super long post ahead, and I’ll be citing certain fanfics that I’ve read so far and those that I think somehow exemplifies all the different writing styles I mentioned in the previous post.

First off, the ones I listed beforehand (minimalistic prose, heightened imagery, poetic language, linear narrative, non-linear vignettes) aren’t the only types of writing styles. There are more if you consider the variations of tone (humor/comedy, sentimental, macabre, noir etc), narration/perspective (first person, second person, third person omniscient/limited), and language (dialogue-heavy or action/scene-driven). And the nice thing is that you can actually use of one or two of them in your work---or all of them, if you’re feeling bold.

As Hange always loves to do: “Let’s experiment!”

--------

I’ll start with minimalistic prose. It is what it is: short, clear, and concise. Think less is more. You have an economy with words where you disregard most adverbs and focus more on the context to make way for meaning, thus allowing the readers to create their own interpretations of your writing. I think the method here is to write your intended draft first, and then cut the unnecessary words to flesh out the scene even more.

Notice how @stereobone wrote this paragraph of Black Dog (an Eruri fic):

Isabel's voice wakes him, brother, brother, has him sitting upright in bed and grabbing for the knife under his mattress. He braces himself for the attack before he realizes there isn't one. There is nothing in the darkness but him and his heavy, panicked breathing. Levi's heart feels like it's trying to beat its way out of his chest. He drops the knife on the mattress and shuts his eyes and tries not to think about Farlan's bloody resigned face before he was eaten. He tries not to think about how he left them. How it's his fault.

It’s very simplistic in language; the paragraph lets you focus on Levi’s innermost thoughts while he deals with an external action (ie, having nightmares). The author hasn’t unraveled the rest of the plot yet, but you already know where the tension is coming from.

Next is heightened imagery. If you’re familiar with the different figures of speech (metaphor, simile, personification, hyperbole, etc), then this is where they all come into play. I think the challenge here is being able to balance it well with the text itself and make sure that the imagery actually clarifies the context of the paragraph instead of convoluting the intended meaning.

Here’s an excerpt from A Dangerous Game by just_quintessentially_me:

Hanji watched Levi, standing there, head bent and bloodied handkerchief pressed against his arm, and was reminded, irrationally, of a night years ago. When her parents had taken her to the circus. [. . . .] Holding her parent’s hands, she’d gaped, head craned back as she watched the spectacle, a cacophonous mixture of sound and color. At the center of it all, she’d spied a boy. Among the twisting colors and tricks, he alone, was still. [. . . .] The boy was high above, balancing on a platform atop a long pole. In front of him, stretched an audaciously thin rope. Below, no net waited to catch him.

[. . . .]

When Levi looked up, his expression was set - like the boy before the tightrope. And she knew, with sinking certainty, he was going to take the step. Into thin air.

Gray eyes met her gaze and held it.

“Yeah. I’ll go.”

At the door, Kenny smiled.

See how the powerful imagery of the boy on the tightrope was able to fuel the tension in that moment among Levi, Hange, and Kenny?

I think poetic language is akin to heightened imagery, except that the former is more focused on the actual language. It’s very lyrical, wherein you can actually hear the lulling song of the sentences in a rhythm. One of my favorite works that does this is Deep sea baby by @smallblip. Here she makes use of various setting and scenery to create this entire atmosphere of Levi and Hange’s relationship:

Hanji knows whatever life they've led, this is her favourite.

The one in which her and Levi see the sea for the first time together.

The one in which she’s the Commander, and him, her Captain. And between them, a river of words left unsaid threatening to break the banks.

One day they must cross the ocean, but today they visit the shores again, without the kids this time. And Levi learns why when he watches her peel at her clothes. Her harness comes off first, then her blouse, then everything else, like a little dance for an audience of one. Levi tries not to stare, but he’s already seen her by candlelight in the dead of the night. And yet she never fails to take his breath away.

She makes her way to where the white foams dredge the past up the shores of the present.

"Come on Levi! The water is warm!" she says, and he hears it like a call to come home- where the heavens collide with the sea.

He takes off his clothes and folds them in a neat pile beside Hanji's mess. He swims out to join her.

It’s hauntingly poetic, the way the author is able to connect the metaphor in “a river of words” to the actual body of water right in front of Levi and Hange. Good poetic language is able to tighten up the texts together while keeping the sentence structure flowing with apt figures of speech.

When it comes to narratives, it only comes down to linear or non-linear. See how @lostcauses-noregrets does her opening statement in Trains (also an Eruri fic):

Levi hates trains. To be fair, Levi hates all forms of public transport, but he reserves a particular loathing for trains. They’re dirty, noisy, smelly and worse, filled with people. People who, heaven forbid, might attempt to speak to Levi, engage him in conversation. Levi’s worst nightmare is being stuck on a train with some friendly fuck who wants to pass the time making small talk. Admittedly it’s not a problem he has to deal with too often, his general fuck off demeanour deters all but the most aggressively friendly and hopelessly inebriated. But that doesn’t stop Levi from hating trains.

It’s a short fic and it’s very dependent on the linearity of events happening. But with that banger of a first sentence, the beginning already gives you enough of an idea of Levi’s pet peeve in the story, which in this case, is trains.

Here’s another hot and steamy fic called keep him waiting by keobuns that shows a linear narrative:

He’s sitting with them in the back of the lab, nursing a cup of tea — it’s still pretty full, and even cold now, for he was far too distracted listening to Hanji talk to properly drink — when he sees it. Hanji’s too preoccupied with overexplaining the same Titan experiment they’ve gone over a hundred times to notice his stare. They just continue on and on and on, gesturing with their hands, pointing with their fingers, flexing their wrists…

Ah. Levi has to bring his teacup to his lips to hide the way his lips tremble. Hanji has incredibly nice hands.

The entire story just revolves around Levi simping for Hange’s hands and how it all goes down from there. But you as a reader are kept wanting more with every paragraph and every sentence that the author constructs (and trust me, it’s not just the sexual tension between Levi and Hange that keeps us going).

Now, as much as I love the straightforwardness of linear prose, non-linear writing brings a different round of ideas onto the table. It can create recollections from flashbacks, heighten the perspective or interior turmoil of a character due to trauma or grief, or even just re-invent what-if scenes that the characters have imagined themselves.

Gnossiene by @thatalmondgirl is one of my all-time favorite Rivetra fics. In this excerpt, you will see how she switches between the past and the present, and how it affects Petra’s POV as a conflicted character:

Contrary to popular belief (fuck Auruo) Petra actually didn’t cry easily.

Alright, she could admit that at some times, she was...emotional. It was far from a weakness, but even she could admit that they sometimes got in the way and walled off all rational thought. Anger, frustration, sadness, hell, even happiness. The only one she could easily compartmentalise away was fear, which probably stemmed from her military career. Even so. It was never easy to separate all the others from her actions, think from a clean slate like the Commander could do, like the captain. [. . . ] Petra groaned, splayed out across her bed. She drew her arm across her eyes, willing the tears to go away. She’d already blown through her tissue box.

“Petra, a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.” Mama sat on the end of her bed, with Petra on the floor between her legs. Even though Petra argued firmly that she was old enough to brush her own hair, Mama had insisted. Unfortunately, Petra wasn’t old enough - and probably never would be - to disagree with her mother.

“I know, Mama.” Petra grumbled.

“I don’t think you do. Else you wouldn’t be crying, would you?”

[. . . .]

“But a man shouldn’t complete you when you complete yourself. Maybe he’s an extension to your house. So you’ll be sad if the extension is compromised or burns down. But you still have the main house. And if it’s strong, the main house can still be standing even after the worst storm.”

Aside from Mama’s crazy metaphors that sometimes didn’t make sense, her message hit home. Even if it hit home years later.

See how it switched in between the before and after?

An off-shoot of non-linear writing are vignettes (a layering of scenes separated by section breaks) wherein this writing style allows writers to curate scenes in terms of fragments, creating some kind of mosaic for the readers once they finally see the big picture. Nakimochiku’s I’m leaving, are you coming with me? stacks up scenes of interactions between Levi and Hange, enough to depict the kind of relationship that they have as young lovers in a school setting. You can string these fragments together, rearrange them in a different order, but in the end, you will still get the author's clear goal of highlighting how Levi and Hange’s relationship develops over time.

Those are the styles that I mentioned in my previous posts, but as I’ve told you, there’s more to writing than those, so I’ll give a short run-through of other methods in writing.

Whether it’s dialogue-heavy works such as from my window to yours, or action-driven scenes like Carnivores (a Levi x Reader fic by CaptainDegenerate) that propel the story forward, we as readers should be able to follow through the actual storyline that the authors intend to take us.

A third-person limited (we listen to Hange’s thoughts in Clockwork by @tundrainafrica) vis-à-vis an all-knowing/omniscient narration (the moon is dark by @sayonarasanity alternates the perspective of Levi and Hange) should be able to make us understand why the author chose this particular kind of point-of-view in order to tell the story.

And lastly, having a solid and consistent tone throughout the work (the macabre of Even Humanity’s Strongest could make mistakes by Rimeko versus the sweet sentimentality of Flowers for You by @fanmoose12) should be able to set the atmosphere that the authors want us to imbibe as we read through their works.

So there’s your crash course on writing and reading. Enjoy? :)

#levihan #writing #fanfic #fanfictions #fanfiction #ao3 #djmarinizela #mine

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adhd-wifi · 4 years

Text

Jiang Cheng’s Deepest Personal Struggles

I spent more time on the title than I did the actual post.

Note: Wei WuXian is also very present in this meta, because Jiang Cheng’s entire story and development is so heavily tied to him that you literally cannot separate Wei Ying from him. And I thought Lan Zhan was bad.

Personally, I find Jiang Cheng’s traumas and internalized issues so much more interesting than his siblings’. Wei WuXian’s issues were much more dramatic and intense, but not uncommon in fiction, while Jiang YanLi’s issues were not explored in canon. With Jiang Cheng, we see so much of his development and how it is mostly negative in nature. However, even though Jiang Cheng’s development is negative more than positive, it’s very interesting to see how it affected him and how he does maintain his old personality even despite what he’s been through, which makes him the most realistic character out of the three siblings in my opinion.

In other words, I fucking love Jiang Cheng as a character so fucking much even though there are times in which I would gladly throw a book in his face and if you tell me he’s a badly written character I will break into your home at 4am on a Tuesday night and rearrange all your furniture before stealing all your spoons and leave a 27-page essay on why you’re wrong in their place.

(I won’t actually do that. I’m lazy. But not lazy enough to not write this long ass post I guess.)

So Jiang Cheng’s issues are extremely obvious to us, the audience, even more than WWX’s, despite WWX being the POV character. (This is probably due to WWX being a bit of an unreliable narrator, ignoring his own problems for JC’s sake, but we’ll get to that in another WWX post.)

We know the main problem is how he was raised, with JFM and YZY as parents. Between the two, we see that JFM’s neglect and favouritism towards WWX was actually much more impactful and damaging to him than anything from YZY. JC wanted his father’s approval and love, and while YZY berated him for being worse than WWX, JC at least felt like his mother cared about him in some way. YZY’s abuse was still extremely damaging of course, and she definitely contributed to JC’s problems by constantly yelling about how JFM cared more about WWX in front of JC. Still, the main problem was this: JC felt like he wasn’t loved by his own father, and then felt like his mother spent more time being angry at WWX than caring for him.

WWX and JYL also weren’t as there for him as they maybe should’ve. Yes, they actively showed more love and support to JC than their parents did, but the problem between the siblings is that WWX and JYL were unable to give JC what he specifically needed, and also JC lacked the communication skills to tell them what he needed. Of course, this is none of their faults. The three of them were raised under the same abusive parents and all had their own ways of coping with their traumas, as I’ve mentioned in my previous posts (WWX version, JYL version). Something both WWX and JYL had in common despite their difference in character and responses was that they tended to internalize things and smooth out the conflict present in their family, but while JC did also internalize things, this coping response didn’t work for him as it did with his siblings (well, it’s not that great, but they don’t struggle with it the way JC does). When you realize that both WWX and JYL are more reflective of JFM’s nature, but JC is closer to YZY instead, it makes sense. Like his mother, JC is someone who needs to vent and get his emotions out, but he doesn’t get that chance. Or rather, he FEELS like he can’t, because no one else does except YZY, and YZY isn’t exactly a prime example of healthy venting (Pls Madam Yu your children are crying.) It’s hard to talk about JC without bringing up how he compares to others, especially WWX, since that is the core of his problems and insecurities in the first place. So let’s talk about that.

JC’s competitive nature is mostly the result of his abusive home, but also because he’s the youngest sibling. Youngest siblings in general tend to be taken less seriously than their older siblings and thus often end up with the need to prove themselves more. This, combined with his parents’ lousy parenting, just made a recipe for a self-esteem disaster that blames others over himself. In WWX’s case, his self-esteem problems are “I’m the burden, I’m to blame”. In JC’s case, the problems are “They keep comparing me to others, I’m not as good as they are”. So, with JFM seeming like he doesn’t love JC (at least not as much as WWX), and YZY always berating him for not being as good as WWX, it’s really hard to fault JC for having an inherent idea of “WWX is to blame for his suffering”.

Despite this, JC had also actively spent his life fighting this idea of his. He loved WWX and very rarely let his jealously show at all. Even during the time WWX had been recovering from fighting the XuanWu, and JC was angry and frustrated at his parents fighting in front of them all again, and voiced his concerns about how his father didn’t like him or his mother, leading to WWX comforting him and making the promise he would eventually break (along with my heart but it’s okay I didn’t need it anyway ;-;). This is after JC walked from Qishan all the way back to Lotus Pier without stopping, desperate to save WWX as fast as possible. With his inherent idea of blaming WWX for his problems, on top of not being recognized for such a valiant effort for his brother, JC was in the perfect position to take it out on WWX. But he never actually said it was WWX’s fault, even though we knew he believed it at the time. Yes, he blatantly told WWX that he was upset about his efforts being ignored, but JC’s wording at the time didn’t contain a single line of actual blame towards WWX. (WWX probably heard it different, but those are his problems, not JC’s.) Considering JC is someone who doesn’t think about his words when he’s angry or frustrated, it says a lot about just how much he tries NOT to blame WWX, because he still truly, genuinely loved his brother. As children, JYL told WWX that JC was secretly very happy to have a new companion, even though WWX was the reason for his dogs being taken away. And then we see baby JC crying about being unable to find WWX when he tells him to go away. Yes, there’s probably some fear of punishment from JFM, but if that was the only thing he feared, baby JC didn’t have to promise to chase dogs away to protect WWX for the rest of their lives together. JC loved WWX just as much as WWX loved him, he just has a very, very different love language from his brother.

And then...the fall of Lotus Pier happened. And all of that came crashing down, burning away along with their home. JC finally blamed WWX for what had happened, years and years of pent-up, painstakingly internalized jealously and blame exploding at once. Because no matter what WWX did before, no matter how much trouble WWX caused before, it never cost them THIS much. WWX coming into their lives had never been any REAL trouble, and JC had been able to forgive everything else, because he loved WWX, and because WWX kept him from being lonely. But now his parents, who he desperately wanted the love from, were gone. His home was gone. WWX kept him from running in and taking revenge. WWX was the only person there when he let his emotions take over, and WWX happened to be someone he could blame. So what else could JC do but blame him?

“If WWX hadn’t saved Lan WangJi, if WWX hadn’t provoked Wen Chao, if WWX hadn’t won the archery competition, if WWX hadn’t come into their lives...”

JC’s default response to grief and trauma is anger fused with bargaining. He finds blame in someone or something and focuses on the “What-Ifs”, because that’s what he was raised on. That’s just what he was used to, because JC could never vent like he needed to. WWX and JYL, his only real sources of comfort, never truly listened when he did actually say something. WWX would tell him “You’re better than you think”, while JYL would tell him “That’s how things are, but don’t worry”. While these were said and done out of good intentions, JC’s needs are never really met or even fully acknowledged. No one addresses or even really listens to what causes the problems, often knowing the cause but almost blatantly refusing to really talk about it. Again, this isn’t their fault. Both older siblings had their own coping mechanisms that clashed with JC’s, and their entire family have CLEARLY never been taught proper communication skills, so no one really knew how to communicate in the way they needed to. However, it’s still true that this affected JC the most, given his character. He NEEDED someone to listen to him, he NEEDED the validation that his feelings and person mattered, but he never got it.

And yet...the sad thing about this was that JC himself clearly gave up on trying ti get it himself after Lotus Pier was gone. He let his emotions rule him, seeking revenge against the Wens with every intention of slaughtering them as they did his family during the Sunshot Campaign. We see his loss of morality and hypocrisy when he shows how he was perfectly willing to let WWX, as the Yiling Patriarch, stay by his side as long as he was the enemy of the Wens despite how much he used to be against WWX using resentful energy. We see the innocent child who had only wanted the love and approval of his family become a vengeful man burdened with trauma and the responsibilities of a Sect Leader at too young an age during a time of war.

JC was clearly traumatized by Lotus Pier, and to me, it seemed that he had manifested a fear of seeing his home fall a second time. We see this especially in his passiveness towards the other sects when he was put on the spot during the times WWX “caused trouble” as the Yiling Patriarch, and how much more reactive and unstable he was when talking to WWX before WWX decided to leave the sect. JC had been desperate to keep things stable, safe, that he was willing to abandon the debt he owed towards Wen Qing and Wen Ning. He didn’t want to make enemies of the other sects, because his family and old home were gone. When WWX brought up JFM’s teachings, JC was obviously really affected by it, and I think that’s why he accepted WWX’s duel right then.

One thing I would like to say is this: At this point in their relationship, WWX absolutely wronged JC. Yes, it’s fully understandable why WWX did so, with his horrible misplaced guilt and unwillingness to drag JC into his choices any longer. But JC didn’t deserve this. He reacted badly to WWX after Lotus Pier, but we know for a fact that he was overwhelmed with grief and pain when he did, but despite how much he’d changed, it’s obvious that JC still loved WWX (still should’ve apologised tho). JC didn’t need to try and protect WWX, but he did. Some might argue that he did it for JYL’s sake or to keep power, but I doubt that. If that was the case, he wouldn’t have argued with WWX the way he did, screaming “I won’t be able to protect you!” if he only wanted WWX around for power or for JYL. JC did try, but WWX didn’t. WWX saw their relationship as a debt he owed to JFM and the Sect, and with the transfer of the golden core, he saw that debt repaid. Not once, however, did WWX truly consider JC’s feelings about it, too caught up in his own guilt and thus deciding what he thought was best for his brother. Again, it’s understandable, given what he’s been through. But after the war, WWX was definitely the main reason they fall apart, not JC. Not the mention the whole golden core transfer itself. WWX made the decision for JC, then refused to tell him and let his little brother abuse him as YZY did until they finally separated, WWX willingly breaking the promise he made to JC himself. WWX didn’t even try to reconnect, using the excuse of “the Wens needing him more”. Can you imagine how that must have felt for JC? He didn’t know what WWX did for him, so to him, he could only see his brother abandoning him for almost no reason. WWX was his closest companion his whole life, as well as the person who shaped him the most throughout his childhood. His life and character were dependant on WWX, both positively and negatively. WWX could live without JC, but JC couldn’t live without WWX, and he knew that.

When JYL died, the trauma of Lotus Pier returned, and once again, JC was consumed by grief. So he did the exact same thing he did back then: Blame WWX. And this time, he no longer had a good reason to give WWX leniency. After all, WWX pushed him away. WWX didn’t care about him. WWX chose the Wens, strangers, over him. WWX neglected him just as his own father did. JC’s complicated feelings towards his beloved brother had finally morphed into hatred, and WWX had let it happen. So WWX died, and JC no longer had a physical target to blame. But he needed something, someone, to blame, because that’s how he copes. It’s unhealthy, it’s damaging, it’s cruel, but it’s his coping mechanism. It’s the only way he knows how to deal with things because he never had a single chance to learn to cope in any other way. Thus, he hunted demonic cultivators and tortured them, but his hatred could never be resolved because he would never be able to receive the closure he desperately needed.

Then WWX came back, and JC learned about the golden core transfer.

If you’ve ever had someone sacrificing their time for you without needing to, for example a friend staying up for three days straight to finish a birthday present on time while on a busy and hectic schedule, you’d probably know the momentary guilt of “OMG you didn’t have to do that!” while being grateful to them. Now imagine that guilt times almost 20 years of hating the person who did something so selfless for you while also knowing you mistreated them for a portion of that time. JC was absolutely devastated to know what WWX did for him, because what the hell, the man he hated and blamed, the man who pushed him away and abandoned him for a bunch of strangers from a sect that destroyed their first home, did something that was essentially cultivator’s suicide? For his sake? Because he actually cared for JC despite everything he did? But also, with WWX’s core instead of his own, didn’t it also mean that he was still Not-As-Good as WWX, because he never truly achieved anything great without WWX’s help in some way? The main, EXACT, cause of his insecurities and problems in the first place? Bruh I can’t blame him for having an existential crisis here. I really can’t.

At GuanYin Temple (admittedly I’m basing this off CQL cuz I haven’t gotten there in any other adaption so I don’t know if this scene actually took place there or not), when JC shouted at WWX for everything, JC was finally given a chance to properly vent and finally have someone listen. Yes, WWX being shouted at isn’t favourable, but honestly, I think WWX truly deserved it from JC here. JC was finally able to say things against WWX to WWX’s face, and most importantly, have the last person he grew up with that he used to truly love and treasure tell him his feelings were valid. But even with this, I still find it fully believable and probably even narratively better that JC and WWX never fully resolved their relationship (as much as I want them too, for my heart’s sake) by the end of the story. Because even knowing what WWX did for him, honestly, how on earth could JC trust him again? JC was too hurt for too long, and besides, they were incompatible in the first place. WWX and JC’s personalities and coping mechanisms and all that simply clashed with each other too much for them to go back to being brothers like they used to be. But at least there’s now closure between the two, and Jiang Cheng might be able to finally move on from the past he’s trapped in.

Like I said in the beginning, I find Jiang Cheng the most interesting as a CHARACTER out of the Yunmeng Siblings, and I haven’t even finished what I wanted to talk about with him. Gonna do a post next time about his relationships with others aside from WWX, specifically with Jin Ling probably. Also I don’t actually think Jiang Cheng was neurodivergent to begin with, but that’s also another post all on its own. Anyways I hope y’all survived this long ass post LMAO.

#jiang cheng #jiang wanyin #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #chen qing ling #cql #my hcs #my posts #my ramblings #my metas #mental health metas

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kaetastic · 5 years

Text

YOUR EMPTY WORDS

pairing: Deceased!Regulus Black X Reader

summary: Regulus passing had left Y/N with creeping memories. Despite her attempts to warn his mess of an older brother, she had failed. Finally, her dead lover’s brother had met her once again.

word count: 3.2k+

warning: angst, mention of death, tears, denial, grief

note: NOT MY BEST WORK. Sorry, I haven’t been posting lately, I just finished my exams and though I read- my writing wasn’t that active. I’ve been feeling so empty with a hole inside of me, I feel like something’s wrong but I don’t know. Anyways, enjoy and take care 💕💓

A muffled force on the front door vibrated through the petite house. The faint fragrance of her freshly batch of sticky dough filled the air, a low hum produced by the oven as it heated the contents, a melody created by the ticking of the small timer that rested firmly onto the heating glass; the familiar smell coated her heart with joy as a short play of her past previewed itself in her head. The gluey lump connected her fingers like frail bridges that were pulled down as if a heavyweight stepped onto it. Her eyes glossed away from the counter that had been sprinkled over with flour, scattering as it prevents the ability for the dough to stick itself onto the area.

Nudging her head to peek below the overhead cabinets through the set of the wooden counter, shadows of feet blocked the sunlight as it plays a light show. The window had been closed with a curtain. That is how she liked it. It was no use if she had poked her head to take a quick glimpse of those who stood in front of the house for it was blocked by a tall-standing hedge. She cursed at her frequent memory loss of forgetting to remove it. How she always thought of doing it, to only end up not doing said-removing.

“Just a minute!” She yelled out, frantically shaking her wrists over the sink, drips and strands plopped away to slam itself onto the walls of the vessel as it screamed a splatter. With a soft rinse, the leftover grease glazed her fingertips; nothing the apron couldn’t handle. The hurried wipes on the covered fabric left drag of her wet hands left a mark, like tracks of tires on a sludge of snow.

Shuffles of feet dragged across the vigorously clean floor with no left visible speck of dust, hard work clearly pays off. She cleared her throat, muttering short syllables words under her breath- wincing when it sounded too high. It was not often for her to have visitors nor guests, due to her detachment from society. She wore a widened smile, displaying her twinkling teeth. It lost. Corners of her lips quirked down like wilted flowers; pent up anger sipped through her. The discontent she had managed to stuff in a box jumped out as if the lock had cut open. The grip on the handle tightened at the face she wished she hadn’t met. The resemblance between him and his brother was too similar, she hated it. How dare he? Bringing up his face anytime he wanted. She gritted her teeth as her nostrils flared red, the prominent veins pulsed in her neck.

“I see you’ve taken the liberty and pack up all your chivalry to finally talk to me. What a delight isn’t it? Well, it was nice to see you,” Her hands flicked to slam the door shut with no hesitation, as if she had planned this a long time ago. Slight pride in her ignited at her wise choice. The only sound that echoed through the house was those emitted from the kitchen, the whooshes from the passing vehicles and the silence that placed itself between the trio and her. Not the sweet sound of the door meets the frame. Pent up rage prodded itself, if she was alone- with her own emotions, she could’ve fallen down on her knees and begged. Begged for the return of her fallen lover. However, it was accompanied. Sorrow didn’t come alone for it walked side by side with anger. The feeling she had to face all by herself to overcome the darkness that cowered over her.

In the corner of her eyes, she noticed another pair of heads that stood behind him. But the redness painted the background of Sirius. Maybe, just maybe- if he had come sooner, or if he was there to reassure of the loss of someone from both of their lives, she wouldn’t be so pressed or uptight about the situation. The sight of him sickened her. Narrowed eyes, she tried to ignore the poking words that desperately wanted to fall off her tongue. It took her a master to accept silence while her endless days of sleep as voices spoke to her, it had no mercy. The world had no mercy.

The tension between the two was so prominent, the passersby would glance at the woman who had her hair flared up with raging fire. The ball of aura that surrounded the pair waved thundering electricity. Even the youngest who wore round glasses pointed it out. He looked so familiar. But she couldn’t lay her finger on it. “What are you doing?” She stressed out every syllable, the grip she held on the door could’ve formed a dent, possibly cracked it in half if he managed to push her to the edge. Glancing at his foot that sat in between the frame and the door, preventing her ability to make a quick escape; a scowl formed on her lips.

Sirius’s untamed and wild hair matched well with his personality, crazy and on the verge of being labelled as a psychopath, or what the wizarding world has already named him as, a murderer. Or it was due to the fact it was windy. Nonetheless, she was sick of him. The brother of the man she loved had never bothered to check with her during the days all she wanted to do was let go. It was selfish for her to say that someone should’ve visited her regularly. But she had no one left.

Disappointment and frustration laced the air; a twinkle of content glittered in the space between them, “Please, hear me out Y/N.” She scoffed, she couldn’t help but be amused by his stubbornness and determination. As if she would do so. Arms crossed, she quirked an eyebrow at the wizard.

“What is there you could possibly say? Hm?” The papers of his face splattered on every wizarding walls she has walked by was being sharpened; ready to slither his throat. “Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be in Azkaban? Where you belong?” Sirius could not help but feel the drumming of his veins, a frail crack formed over his heart, that was emptied out by the hellhole he was forced to live in. Leaving nothing but blood pulsing out and all the joy he felt dumped out, sucked in by the grey creatures. Mouth gaped open, he was ready to speak out, to defend himself when someone had done so before he had the chance.

“Wormtail- Peter, I mean, was the one who killed those muggles, not Sirius.” With his string chord of a voice, he sliced the tension. Remus sent him a reassuring smile when he whipped his head back to face his long-life friend, his nearly only existing one. Harry glanced at the adults who stood in front of him with confusion stroked in his eyes, wondering with killing curiosity that terribly suffocated him.

Sirius cleared his throat to face the person he desired to sit with and talk about the thing that has been bugging him ever since. He couldn’t help but notice the glimpse of those who walked past, judging their choice of outfits for the sunny yet windy day, “Please Y/N, I beg of you. Let us in and we can talk.”

His voice irritated her. If she had to compare it to a sound, it would be like the screeching of fingers scratching a blackboard. Ever since Hogwarts, his voice was of nothing but whining, “Sirius is still considered as a vigilante, please?” If only the little kid wasn’t present, she would’ve slammed the door.

With a huff, she plopped herself onto the couch, the seat groaned at the abrupt addition of weight. Arms crossed with her back leaned onto the couch, her eyes narrowed towards the uninvited guests. She wouldn’t be in this situation if she would’ve just shut the door onto his face, just like he did with hers… and Regulus’. Although the unstable walls shivered, she had to be reasonable. Because that was how she had to cope with her farewell of her only lover.

An ear-pitching screech from the timer rung through their ears but Y/N seemed unfazed, not flinching a muscle. The youngest of the group glanced at the open kitchen, towards the, what he hoped would be the silence breaker. As if she could feel the annoyance that twitched in him, she raised an open hand in the air- twirling her fingers without turning back to even glance at what she was doing. Harry stared in awe. The sight of floating utensils flew from one side of the kitchen to the other, some moved around, clashing with the metal sink before soft rinsing of water washed the dirty tools. ‘Magic is brilliant’ thought Harry. Even though being a wizard himself, he couldn’t help but feel his heart rise with light amusement. Harry watched as the door of the oven opened ajar- a tray pulled out, littered on it were treats and baked goods worth salivating for.

The still Hogwarts’ student flinched as a tray made its way to rest on the coffee table that separated the group. Somehow wary if she would poison him, Sirius reluctantly leaned forward to grab one of the filled glass. His sips laced with the sounds that echoed out of the kitchen as if someone was actually partaking in working in the kitchen.

Remus couldn’t help it. He had already scanned the room. He hoped no one saw. He wasn’t nosy, just curious; he liked to call it as so. It felt like home. It was her home. There were marks that seemed sentimental or lovable. Cabinets with glass as a transparent material allowed the displayed items to show itself, a twinkling gold ball glittered into his eyes, Remus winced at the abrupt beam. She was never part of Quidditch. He remembered he had seen her sit on the field many times when teams were participating, he had never saw her on a broom. So he jumped to the right conclusion, it wasn’t hers.

The throb of his heart was something he couldn’t ignore when his eyes landed on a framed photo of a grinning couple, who seemed to be the happiest on the world… as if nothing was against them.

“So? Speak.” She knew she was being harsh, she knew she should’ve controlled the slash of her tongue. But if someone was to avoid you for years, when all you wanted was to sit with them- to converse with one another. To set a base, a foundation, she wasn’t at fault if she said her frustration got the worse of her. Sirius nodded, he cleared his throat as his mind formed the words he desperately wanted to speak out.

“Well, first off, I- uh, wanted to say sorry..,” A scoff fell of her lips at his words. That felt empty and worthless at such time. His eyes twitched, worry angered in his chest. Not wanting to misunderstand him, he did not hesitate to continue his words. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you- when my brother left. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, I was a mindless idiot!”

“I’m sure you still are.” Sirius ignored her comment.

“I was selfish… for two years you tried to talk to me, but all I did was ignore you.” His head fell down as his shoulders hunched in disappointment, forehead resting on his palm, massaging his temples in an attempt to eradicate the stinging tension.

A slight tinge of satisfaction grew in her chest when she heard the words she had been hoping for, dreaming of. The whole time she thought it would be over, the closure to her story, it wasn’t. It did not feel like the end of a chapter, it wasn’t her closure. There were too many words caught in her heart, all stuffing the chambers which bled., “How about your brother?”

Sirius snapped up to face her, confusion laced his eyes, the windows to the soul they say- if it was true, all anyone would be able to see were the joy memories he had, taken away by the monsters that walk on the floors of the prison, “Huh?”

The corners of her lips quivered at the thought of having a murderer sitting in her house, “Have you ever thought about him? His death? Have you ever mourned for his fall? You haven’t!” Remus was quick to shoot up to try his best to hold her down, his heart ached when she trembled, sobbing her tears that she had been familiar with ever since.

Although he had to maintain as the emotionally stabled one, the years he spent in Azkaban felt forever, it got him, “I have! He is my brother!” He couldn’t help but feel accused on as a finger was pointed at him. It was like the past all over again.

“You chose your friends over him!” It was true, ever since Sirius had been kicked out of the Blacks family- she had never seen him try to talk to his younger brother. The only time they conversed was the day after Sirius ran away to the Potter’s, she could still feel the silence had echoed through the great hall. It was merely a short one. But other than that, they were like strangers; who once had been so close, where the lingered strings were snipped off, the only connection that held frail between them.

Sirius had his own pride too, he was exhausted of being the one to blame ever since the accusation of the murders, without a thought, he yelled back with no attempt to cower the anger away, “He chose the dark side! How about you? You’ve walked willy nilly across the school, stuck to him! Surely you’ve too!”

Remus snapped his head to his friend, who panted with popped out veins, jaw clenched with crashed eyebrows. The body he held in his arms twitched, if it wasn’t for him- she would have crashed down and slumped onto the floor like a sack of potatoes. Her body goes limp. She tried to find comfort in it. The tremble in her voice flipped the cards of hearts upside down, “He was 18, and we were engaged. Where were you?”

His mouth fell to falter open at the overwhelming words that had summarized everything. The sentence that he had formed in his head now diminished at lost. Where was he?

“While you partied away from the house… he left. And though I tried to talk to you… it seemed like all the love you had for your little brother, didn’t even exist,” Silence now covered the house, no sound made by the kitchen as a heart ached. “Yes he chose the wrong side, but he did something you will never be able to, Sirius,”

Harry rested his gaze on her, “He was a man of his own words.” The two figures who were present understood none for only the two did. It finally struck him after realizing what she was going on about, Sirius’s eyes widened with sorrow, at the promise he had made with his little brother. Like a swirl of memory, hurricanes of grey twirled to his past, ‘Sirius! When we grow up… could you be my best man?’ The lightness that was familiar to his chest rose. ‘Of course Regulus.’

His face dulled, dragged down with no reflection in his eyes. ‘It used to be so simple.’ Ear pricking honks from the road echoed through the cracks of the house. No one spoke. The student finally raised his voice, still unsure if it was the right time to speak out for the reason they had paid her a visit, “We came to ask you… if you could help us with this…”

Time stopped. The pulse of transportation in her veins halted when they couldn’t believe what was truly left to display for her. Her lips met each other in confusion, but a sense of shock sent through her spine as her fingers brushed over the scrunched up piece of paper. The creases that were harshly folded seemed neat but the valleys between each quarter formed a river. River of her tears at the familiar handwriting. Her loud sobs filled the hurried air, quick to rest beside her was Remus who was ready to embrace her, softening her fall to the couch.

She thought the pain was over even if his belongings rested on her walls. She thought if she had a mutual understanding with the farewell. Who could’ve thought the sight of his writing stroke a heartstring?

“Of course I’ve seen him, I’ve seen him in front of me… I remember it like it was yesterday, cold and empty. In his presence, all I could call him was ‘My Lord’, words I wished I had never spoken.” The mumbles that fell of her lips were only audible if you say right next to her, the reason why Harry was glancing at the two men with confusion. He stroke them beams of signals, hoping they would get it and pass the message on. However, they never really bothered as they were so focused on her story.

“Did you… get the mark?” Y/N’s head looked up with slight reluctant, unsure if she should tell the story.

“I didn’t… he did. We had a fight and we stopped talking for a while, but, we always found each other after every petty thing,” She wore a faint smile that glinted with joy at the past memory, his face had been painted on the walls of her mind; she was afraid he would be nothing but a vivid dream. So she thinks about him often. “You-Know-Who didn’t mark me as he knew of my value. I had nothing, even though I came from a pureblood family,”

Harry met her gaze, “I had no one. When Regulus left, I had no one. I was alone,” The corners of her lips twitched at the tug of her heart. “He was so young when he left,” Her eyes fazed to the piece of paper between the student’s fingers. “He- he told me of his plans… but now, it’s just hazy. I don’t remember anything,”

Disappointment engulfed her heart as their eyes lit up with hope, glinted with content if they were able to get their next goal, diminished into pouts. “I’m sorry, I was of no help.”

Harry’s eyes softened onto her fingers which would not stop but caress itself, her anxiety was exuding and prominent, “Thank you, for sharing your side of the story,” Remus grinned, hoping it wasn’t seemed force, it would be the last thing he would want her to assume. His fingers clasped her shoulder, reassuring her. “If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to owl me.”

Although she had lost, she had gone through the harsh levels of grief, denial and the depression that cowered over her- leaving her numb and empty; her vessel dumped with bouncing emotions, she had no one to talk about it to. No one. But now, she did. If she lingered the emptiness and the anger she held against Sirius- she would have to live with it. She wanted it no more. Y/N deserved happiness.

#regulus black x reader #regulus black #regulus x reader #harry potter imagines #harry potter oneshot #harry potter #angst #harry potter imagine #hp imagine #hp imagines #hp oneshot #hp oneshots #harry potter x reader

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autumnslance · 4 years

Text

29 Letter

“There you are, kupo! You’re a hard man to find!”

Thancred took a deep breath and slid his dagger back into its scabbard when he realized it was just a moogle suddenly bobbing a fulm from his head. “Apologies for that,” he said, not clarifying. He wasn’t even sure if the fuzzball realized how close she had come to losing her pom.

The moogle bounced, unperturbed. “The important thing is I found you and can do my duty!” She cheered, waving an envelope in his face. “Our deputy postmistress was very specific that this be handed to you personally, no leaving it in secret!”

Thancred blinked and took the envelope, uncertain what the moogle was talking about--until he saw the handwriting on the surface, the familiar slants and swirls of the letters of his name.

Of course; Aeryn had once gotten herself wrapped up in some postmoogle’s woes and ended up running a few dozen errands for them and the Seedseers. He recalled teasing her about the hat they’d given her for her help; she had proceeded to wear it for a time after just to prove she wasn’t bothered.

He had actually found it adorable on her, but wasn’t about to tell Aeryn that, not back then (even if Moenbryda had been merciless in her own teasing of Thancred, despite all protestation it wasn’t Like That; ah, he missed Moen).

“Right, thank you for the delivery,” Thancred said--before realizing the moogle was gone, or at least invisible again. He sighed and made his way to the old monk cell he had claimed for quarters in the wreckage of Rhalgr’s Reach.

The mood in the encampment was still subdued and somber, the last of the hasty funeral rites having been completed. Rebuilding was proceeding slowly and with a great deal of caution, Alliance soldiers supplementing Resistance personnel to keep guard and restock. Thancred was here to take over for Y’shtola--soon to be moved back to the Rising Stones--and for those who had gone to the Far East to cause trouble for the Empire there in the meantime.

Thancred sat on the narrow bunk where he’d tossed down his bedroll, leaning against the wall to open the letter. The ink was a dark blue, the paper an unfamiliar but fine texture. For a long moment he simply scanned his eyes across it, noting the familiar loops and lines of Aeryn’s handwriting filling the page, each letter neat and exacting, almost as if printed. She had apparently had a strict teacher at one point, who had taken offense to her negligent, childish scrawl, and so she had practiced to make her letters faultless out of sheer spite.

Come to think of it, annoying Aeryn to the point of rebellious compliance seemed to be a fair tactic.

He returned to the top of the letter and began to read in earnest, hearing the words in her voice.

“By this point you’ve received at least one of Alphinaud’s exhaustive formal reports that’s no doubt strained your eye already, but I still wished to share with you my own view of our travels and arrival in Kugane…”

He had indeed read Alphinaud’s report, as he always did, and given a much shortened summary to the General and Y’shtola. Most of Aeryn’s details were the same, if written with more of a mind to entertain than inform, with a few different details here and there, though nothing contradictory.

He reached the end of the few pages she had sent--it was also much more concise than Alphinaud’s reports--and he frowned as he looked at the sweeping peak of the “A” at the start of her name. Simple, informal, and practically elegant. He returned his gaze to the top of that page to finish reading properly.

“Our talk in the Rising Stones before we left for Doma was all too brief but I enjoyed it greatly. I’ve (the ink blotted a little here, as if she had tapped her pen in thought before committing to the next carefully written words) missed our longer talks and if you’ll forgive my saying so that felt comfortably like one of them. Too much has happened over the last year, but I wouldn’t mind more talks like that again in the future.”

Thancred thunked his head back against the wall, taking a moment to watch the sun’s ray shift in angle and color through the little slit window, as it made its way westward.

He had missed those talks as well, and recognized his own fault in their ending, once he had returned from the wilderness. He was beginning to realize it wasn’t just frustration at his changed condition, nor anger and grief over Minfilia’s fate. He had heard the stories about his colleagues’ time in Ishgard, read reports, listened to the gossip and rumors...and had been jealous.

Jealous of the brief relationship Aeryn had with a good man who had been lost. Jealous of those who had been there for moons and now vied for her affections.

Absolutely, utterly ridiculous, but there it was. It had abated recently, between everything else that had happened, and then with those rare moments Thancred and Aeryn had the chance to talk and just spend time together, almost the way they used to.

And now here was her letter, penned separately from the reports, delivered directly, requesting more.

“Don’t read too much into it,” he muttered to himself. Yet even as he finished the letter, he couldn’t help but feel...almost giddy. Which was even more ridiculous.

His eye lingered over the closing:

“Til next time, Aeryn”

There was evidence of yet more hesitation, of beginning to write one thing, scratching it out, and replacing it with that simple, innocuous little phrase.

He would write a response; there were many things he had noted as wanting to tell her about anyway, from the amusing to the macabre that she would find of interest. And it would mean another letter in return…

Gods, he really was acting like a besotted schoolboy. Perhaps a talk with Y’shtola was in order, before she returned home. That would be a douse of icy logic on his mindset and get him back to a reasonable perspective.

In the meantime he folded the letter back into its envelope and tucked it into a pocket in his vest.

#Final Fantasy XIV #seaswolchallenge #Stormblood #Thancred Waters #Thancred x WoL #Lyn Writing #Shippy nonsense #Aeryn Striker

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pitviperofdoom · 4 years

Text

AA daemon ficlets are just really comforting and fun to write. So here’s another!

Maya’s POV is really weird to write because she’s a 170-year-old witch so like she’s still Maya but she also says dope shit sometimes.

---

The glass between them frustrates her.

It seems to Maya that whenever they talk face to face, there is either glass between them or the threat of glass hanging over their heads. And now she is free but the glass remains, because he has taken her place in that cage.

Because Redd White has put him there.

Aunt Morgan often speaks longingly of the old days, days that Maya is too young to remember well—when a witch could slay a man for an insult and no one batted an eye, much less put her on trial for it. Normally her aunt’s bitter words make her uncomfortable, as they once nettled Mia, but now…

Now part of her wishes she could turn back time two hundred years, just so she could put an arrow in Redd White’s heart herself. For Mother, for Mia, for herself, and now for Phoenix Wright.

He puts on a brave face for her benefit, his smile bright and reassuring even though it has to hurt, with his face bruised and ugly scratches across his nose and one cheek. The smile and the marks are nearly enough to blind her to the darkness beneath his eyes. But even if she couldn’t read his face, his dӕmon is too big to hide.

Mother knew how to read dӕmons, including human ones, because as queen it was a useful skill. She taught Mia before she disappeared. Now she’s gone and Aunt Morgan says humans aren’t worth their time, so it was left to Mia to pass on what she knew to Maya. Dogs are expressive dӕmons, she’s found, and Wright’s Dawn looks like she’s been caged for days, not mere hours. Her head is low, her tail between her legs, and her white fur is ragged and unkempt.

“Please tell me there’s something I can do,” she says. “You need evidence, don’t you? I’m not a lawyer, or a detective, but I am a witch. If there’s somewhere I need to search, or retrieve something, or question people—well, most people don’t say no to witches.”

“No,” he says firmly. “No, don’t do any of that. That’s what got me in here, and it’s what got your sister killed.” Maya swallows her anger and grief at the reminder. “Besides, I know a few things about White that I didn't before, and that’s what tomorrow will be about. He’s going to ‘prove’ me guilty by going up on the witness stand and lying. All I have to do is pick apart his lies until the whole story falls apart. Hopefully, I’ll get him to crack that way.”

Maya nods. She knows about that part of human legal customs, because Mia told her about it. It was one of her sister’s secrets to success. But it doesn’t feel like enough. “Isn’t there anything I can do?”

“Cheer us on tomorrow, I guess,” Dawn replies.

“I can do that!” she says eagerly, almost too eagerly. Aunt Morgan would be appalled at the display. “I can stand beside you in court, can’t I? Now that I’m not a prisoner anymore?”

He blinks at her, surprised. “W-well, I guess? You could act as my co-counsel, but…”

“I’ll do it,” she says fiercely. “You stood with me when no one else would, and you sacrificed your own freedom to give me mine. This is the least I can do for you, short of killing Redd White with my own hands.”

One of the officers shifts uncomfortably, and Wright splutters. “Okay, definitely don’t do that,” he says. “Because then you actually would be guilty of murder, and there’s not much I could do about that.”

“I won’t,” she says, offering a reassuring smile. “I don’t want to make this any harder for you. Even if I do think it would make things easier…” Wright gives her a pained look. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding. I’ll stand with you in court tomorrow, and maybe I can find a way to support you properly.”

“It’ll be fine.” Phoenix smiles again, wincing when it bothers his bruises. “Trust me.”

She wants to believe him, she really does. But Dawn’s tail is still between her legs, and the fear shines through in their eyes. There is no promise of victory, only tenuous hope.

Maya returns to her sister’s office that day, because there is little else that she can do but wait. As she approaches the building, she comes across a familiar face leaving it. In an instant she is wary, because the first thing he did upon meeting her was arrest her, and now that she’s free, she isn’t sure where that leaves them.

“Um... hello, Detective,” she says, and he startles like a big, ungainly rabbit.

“Oh! Y-yeah, hello, uh, Miss Witch! Detective Dick Gumshoe, at your service!” He stands rigidly before her, wide-eyed. At his feet, his pit bull dӕmon pants nervously and tries in vain to tuck her stubby tail.

“Can I go in?” she asks. “I won’t disturb anything, if you’re still looking…”

“By all means, Miss Witch! Don’t worry about disturbing anything, we’re finished here and the crime scene’s been cleaned up!” He shuffles out of her way, and she realizes that he’s afraid of her. And why wouldn’t he be? He accused her of her sister’s murder. A little over a century ago, that would have earned him an immediate arrow through the heart.

“It’s Maya,” she says, taking pity on him. “Maya Fey. Thank you.”

“No problem, Miss Fey! Sorry for yesterday, just doing my job, very glad to see you’ve been released! Have a nice day, ma’am! C’mon, Bobbie, let’s go.”

He and his dӕmon make a hasty retreat. Maya watches them go, then walks into her sister’s office. She sits down by the window where Mia’s body lay, and doesn’t move until her legs are stiff and achy, and the sunset casts long shadows throughout the room.

There’s a plant in the corner, still green and healthy, but the soil is dry to the touch. While she waters it, Zech flies to the desk to have a look at the computer. The distance tugs at their bond—another reminder of the ritual they haven’t completed, and that Mia won’t be there when they do.

When she’s satisfied with the plant’s condition, Maya goes to her dӕmon’s side to find the computer on and Zech scrolling through it. “What are you doing?”

“Just trying to answer an earlier question,” he tells her. “Since Phoenix already knows about Redd White, and we know that White’s dӕmon is—”

“A water moccasin,” Maya says. “Also known as a cottonmouth. I remember what Mia said.” On the screen, an encyclopedia article on the Felidae family slowly loads.

“I figured that was self-explanatory,” Zech says dryly. “So I thought it might be helpful to glean what we could from Mr. Edgeworth’s dӕmon. Starting with what she is. Maybe it'll give Phoenix an edge.”

“Makes sense.” Maya sits down in her sister’s chair, doing her very best not to think of it that way. “Let’s see what we can find.”

And they do. It doesn’t take them nearly as long as Maya feared, and she shares a triumphant look with Zech before sitting back and turning the machine off.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Zech says, feathers ruffling eagerly. “And rare, isn’t it?”

“Among humans, yes,” Maya replies, tickling his ruff feathers. “Almost unheard of, with witches.”

“Obviously.”

She’s not sure if it will help. But Mia says that court is a battle fought with information, and if Maya cannot fight with Phoenix tomorrow, then the least she can do is arm him.

Phoenix looks worse, somehow. He doesn’t look like he’s slept much, and beneath his battered smile, Maya can see that he’s scared. Dawn hardly looks any better. Her fur is still poorly groomed, her tail droops, and she presses close to her human like she’s afraid they’ll be separated.

“I’m fine,” he assures Maya when she asks. “I mean, if you think about it, however this trial ends up, I did what I said I’d do. Win or lose, you’re still innocent.”

She scowls, even though Aunt Morgan has always told her that it makes her look childish. “That’s not good enough,” she argues. “You’re innocent, too.”

“I know. And you know that, too. That’s what matters right now.”

“When this is over, everyone else will know it,” she reminds him.

She’s not sure how to describe the way his face softens at that. For the first time since yesterday, his dӕmon’s tail gives a tentative wag. “Thank you,” Dawn says softly.

“I’ve hardly done anything,” Maya answers, a little flustered.

“No, really,” Phoenix says. “You… it means a lot that you’re standing with me. With us. It really does. It’s just, we know what it’s like to have everyone against you but one person, and—” He hesitates. “I guess… thanks for being that one person, this time.”

“We haven’t done anything you didn’t do for us,” Maya reminds him.

The moment ends when Dawn goes rigid, and Zech lets out a warning croak, and Maya turns to find Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth approaching them, with his long-legged cat dӕmon stalking at his heels. This time, her hunter eyes pass over Maya and Zech to settle upon Dawn instead. Edgeworth’s eyes are likewise on Phoenix. Maya may as well not even be there.

“Wright,” Edgeworth says coolly.

“Edgeworth.”

Are lawyers always like this? If they were witches, the spells would already be flying. Human justice is a strange thing, if those who uphold it are at war with one another.

“I received a call from the Chief Prosecutor today,” Edgeworth says. He is straight-backed and composed as he speaks, his voice calm and conversational. At his feet, his dӕmon’s tail flicks from side to side, and her claws slide from their sheathes. Steady, serene, and ready to pounce.

“Did you?” Phoenix asks. He’s not quite as good at sounding calm.

“Apparently, anything that the witness says on the stand today is to be taken as the absolute truth,” Edgeworth goes on. “And the judge’s verdict will agree with it.”

“The judge, too?” Dawn yelps, pawing at the ground. Phoenix curls his hand into her bristling fur, either a calming gesture or a warning one.

Edgeworth ignores her. “I’ve been assured that any objection I make will be sustained, and any evidence I present will be accepted without question.”

Dawn starts forward, pulling against her human’s grip. “And you’re just fine with that, are you?” she growls.

“Dawn,” Phoenix warns her, tightening his fingers in her fur.

She pulls herself free to round on him, teeth bared. “Phoenix, the entire court is in White’s pocket and he’s telling us to our faces, I can’t just—”

“Save it for the courtroom,” he tells her shortly. His eyes haven’t left Edgeworth.

The prosecutor finally deigns to look at Dawn, if only for a moment. “I suggest you keep better control of your dӕmon, Wright. For an outburst like that, you’d be held in contempt. Though I suppose that would save everyone else a great deal of time.”

Phoenix shifts, in such a way that it’s almost a flinch. “So you’re saying I’m guilty, then,” he says, his voice tight. “End of story?”

“I’ll do whatever is necessary to obtain a guilty verdict.”

Maya sees red.

“How dare you.” He may be a head and a half taller than she is, but she is almost one hundred and fifty years older, and still young enough for her grief to boil over into fury. “Just yesterday you were convinced that I was guilty! Have you changed your mind so easily?” She feels Zech’s claws dig into her shoulder. “I’ll bet you don’t even have a shred of evidence that Phoenix is guilty! All you did was listen to that man’s lies and decide that your job was done!” Her eyes blaze. “Do you even care about finding my sister’s murderer, or would you rather cage another innocent and tell yourself it’s victory?”

The cat hisses at their feet, and Zech rasps out an answering challenge.

Edgeworth’s expression darkens, but he doesn’t back away. “Innocent? Can you even say for certain that he is? Or that anyone is?” His eyes return to Phoenix. “Criminals lie to escape justice, and they slip through the cracks thanks to cheap tactics like the ones I’ve seen you employ. All I can hope to do is have every defendant declared guilty.”

Phoenix holds his gaze for a moment longer, while Dawn growls and Maya swallows another furious outburst. But when Phoenix speaks, there is no anger, only sadness. “You’ve really changed, haven’t you, Edgeworth?”

In an instant, Maya’s rage plunges into ice-cold water. She looks to Phoenix in shock, and sees the answer to her question written all over his face.

It’s more than just the animosity between opposite sides of a conflict. There’s history there. As cold and aloof as Edgeworth holds himself, there is something deeply personal in this.

“…Don’t expect any special treatment,” Edgeworth says, and turns to go. His dӕmon glares balefully at them before turning to follow. The time for parley is over, it seems.

Except, it’s not.

Dawn steps forward. Her voice, laced with a growl, echoes in the lobby. “Thea.”

Halfway across the room, the cat dӕmon freezes. Edgeworth pauses as well, turning back to urge his dӕmon onward.

“Dawn,” Phoenix murmurs, but she doesn’t listen to him. She steps forward as far as their bond will allow, standing tall with her tail held high for the first time since Maya saw them in detention yesterday.

“Come on, Thea. This is wrong and you know it.”

“The only thing I know,” the cat replies calmly, “is that you are the defendant, and that makes it our job to find you guilty.”

“You’re being played,” Dawn growls. “I know you’re not in his pocket too, but you have to see that!”

“I don’t have to listen to this.” The cat takes another step toward her human.

“What happened to you and Miles?” Dawn demands. “Don’t you see what you’re doing?”

Edgeworth's face turns thunderous. The cat’s tall ears turn back, flat against her head, and she whirls around and storms back to face Dawn with a snarl. “What did you expect, Dawn?” she spits. “That we would throw away everything we’ve worked for, for—what?” Her lip curls back scornfully. “Childish sentiment?”

Dawn’s tail drops, and her white coat bristles with fury. When she finally speaks again, her voice is harsh with disappointment. “It’s not about sentiment, Alethea. I just thought you were smarter than this.”

Maya can almost hear the cat dӕmon’s claws scrape against the tile. Without another word, she whips around and stalks after Edgeworth.

Beside her, Phoenix’s hands shake. They don’t still until his dӕmon is within reach again, offering her fluffy coat to curl his fingers into.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“I know.”

“I couldn’t just—I had to say something—”

“I know.” Phoenix straightens up, his face set. “We’d better go in.”

This is their last chance for a private word. Maya catches him by the sleeve before he makes it to the door. “She’s a hybrid.”

He looks at her, confused. “What?”

“There’s a breed of cat called the Savannah,” she explains. “Though, it’s not really a breed in the truest sense. It’s made by crossing a domestic cat with a serval—that’s a wild cat from Africa.”

Her meaning dawns on him, and his eyes widen.

“I’m not sure if it helps,” she says. “Maybe it doesn’t. But hybrid dӕmons are said to indicate some kind of… split. A contradiction or duality in the soul.” She squeezes his arm in what she hopes is a reassuring way. “So, you could be right about him. He’s a hunter either way, but he may be more conflicted with himself than he lets on.”

The hope in his eyes is nearly enough to make her cry.

#ace attorney #aa daemons #tales from the pit

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neo-kajatrash · 6 years

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Basic summary and current situation please, If it's a problem then no. Thanks for your time. Same confused anon.

Hi again! I am so sorry I was very busy traveling for a week so I didn’t have time to answer until now. Thank you so much for asking I’m glad you wanna know about them ^^ I’m assuming you’re talking about Rusty and Copperwell mostly–and if I got into all my gobs this would be a very long answer, heh. But here’s the summary of these two. And just to clarify, they live in the WoW universe.

I’ve tried to make it short, but there’s a ton of information about them (also that I’ve left out,) so this might be a little long. Also if you wanna see progression of their story through art, here’s their gallery folder on DA: https://www.deviantart.com/neomi-trix/gallery/63049231/WoW-Goblins

Copperwell’s mother was a prostitute who fell for a retired hitman and tried to settle with him, but as soon as she had her second child with him, he left. Those two children were Copperwell and his little sister Maxine. (Copperwell is their last name–he has a first name but I haven’t revealed it yet, except in the roleplay that this is all from.) While he was still a kid, his mother found Rusty abandoned on the street at a couple years old and decided to take him in. Rusty never went to school or learned anything because no one bothered to teach him. The only thing he learned was sign language because he’s mute, and he quickly got very good at it. The three of them grew up together on Kezan, and it was nice for a while.

But when Copperwell was in his late teens, Rusty in his early teens, and Maxine was still a child, their mother left for a mysterious expedition and never returned. Copperwell got a job as an accountant for a rich goblin so he could support himself and his siblings, living in the same small house. Rusty soon got a job working in the kaja’mite mines to bring in money too, but after a few years he was was laid off when the goblins started getting more trollish slaves (partly headcanon there). Rusty had already broken up with a short-lived relationship and moved on to another, but she was very cold and abusive towards him. She didn’t care about how he felt, she didn’t bother to learn any sign language to speak with him, and she was generally just rough with him. Copperwell had many hookups during this time, but never a lasting boyfriend.

It wasn’t long after that when Kezan was destroyed by the cataclysm. The three of them were able to flee, but when the Alliance attacked their ship for no reason, Maxine hit her head and drowned. Rusty was the one to pull her to shore, they buried her there in a shallow sandy grave with the others, and after that day Copperwell was never the same. Rusty had to pull him around and feed him for a week or two as they were struggling to survive on the Lost Isles, but soon Copperwell picked back up and helped Rusty and the others as they all did. Here is where Copperwell got extremely skilled with a gun, especially as a sniper-type, and Rusty perfected hand-to-hand combat.

Rusty found more misfortune when he was wounded by an Alliance soldier and taken to the Gallywix Labor Mine on the Lost Isles. He worked there for a long time alone, and that’s where he received the scars from lashes on his back. Copperwell finally found him there when the island was about to explode, and hurried to drag him to safety–but as he did so, they ended up tumbling down a cliff and Rusty had his ear ripped to shreds. But they finally made it to Thrall’s ship to Kalimdor, alive and together.

Once they arrived in Aszhara and Bilgewater Harbor was being built, they lived there (after living in Booty Bay for a short time). Copperwell was determined to make a new name for himself in this new world of theirs, and using Rusty’s brute strength and emotional vulnerability, he built himself up with his own predatory loaning business, and lives in an estate with staff that cook/guard/maintain it. Rusty believed he had nowhere to go but to stay with his brother, the one person he trusted and who could speak to him (Copperwell knows sign language too). He ended up working for him as a lackey/bodyguard, calling him “boss” more than anything. But Copperwell constantly abused his trust by treating Rusty no better than a servant, making him sleep in a very small cold room, making him fight others very often, sometimes punishing him by starving him or not allowing him to heal himself after a scrap, always talking down to him, not letting him get out at all or have any social life whatsoever, and always raising a hand to him to the point where Rusty just expected to be hit/kicked out of frustration on a regular basis. Copperwell didn’t know how to contain his anger or festering grief over his dear little Maxine, and blindly took it all out on his brother–while also having constant nightmares, paranoia, and anxiety/dissociative episodes. Rusty feared if he just up and left him that Copperwell would focus his ire on someone else and maybe kill someone, or get hurt. He also didn’t want to abandon his brother, and he didn’t comprehend that his life was that upside down–but he was very miserable and isolated for a long time.

When Copperwell was 32 and Rusty was 26/27 (current ages), @deezmo‘s character Nymrina showed up in their lives. Very long story short, she convinced Copperwell to let her work for him as a healer to pay off a friend’s debt, and so often healed Rusty whenever he got hurt and ended up becoming his friend. Well that turned into much more and they started dating behind Copperwell’s back, Nymrina often inviting Rusty to the guest room at night where she stayed sometimes. Rusty viewed (and views) her as a sweet angel who would never hurt him like he was so used to, and it took him a while to get comfortable and not so stiff/shy around her. What really did it was when Nymrina learned sign language just so she could speak to him, and that meant the world to him at the time. She also started teaching him how to read and write which meant a lot to him too. Copperwell finally found out about them, though, and was very mad at Rusty, and he and Nymrina were away from each other for a few months.

Many many many other things happened… Nymrina and Rusty at different times almost being killed by the same warlock, the two thinking Nymrina had died at war, Nymrina being rescued from a war camp (totally separate occasions), many other characters’ stories throughout this time, etc etc… But then one day something in Copperwell snapped, and he lashed out at Rusty worse than ever before. Luckily though, @deezmo‘s goblin Marax happened to show up and stopped Copperwell from killing his brother out of blind rage. Nymrina was called, she healed Rusty enough to get him out of there, and that’s when Rusty left the estate. He didn’t want to, but now he knew he had to go. Copperwell was in a very bad place for a long time after that, spiraling with guilt and anger etc. over Rusty leaving him, but compassionate Marax stayed with him for a while and helped him calm down after a couple of months. Those two also have a history… but it’s super complicated for right now. Oh also Copperwell has asthma that started acting up a little while before this, which has threatened his life a couple of times as well.

So then Rusty, while recovering emotionally for a while in Nymrina’s patient care, now lives with her in her new, humble, healing clinic in Booty Bay. They’re super happy together even with some rough spots in their relationship, as any has. And Copperwell slowly was able to apologize enough to the two of them for what he’d done, that they forgave him and visit him every once in a while, and they’re on good terms now. Nymrina helped Copperwell finally let go of some pain and grief over Maxine by allowing him to speak with her spirit one last time, which meant the world to him and changed him for the better. Since then, he’s finally bounced back and become himself again (minus the overly callous abuse, but maintaining his cocky/violent attitude) all with the help of Marax and Dredgewick–the death knight who replaced Rusty as Copperwell’s lackey and bodyguard. After more things happened, those two started dating and they’re finally doing pretty well after some confusion, arguments, and perilous situations.

Aaaand that’s where they are currently, omitting many many parts of the story (trust me this really is a summary lol), but there’s also quite a few other stories as part of the same roleplay with different characters who are all connected to each other in some way. I’m pretty sure I didn’t miss any huge plot points here… so that’s like a 2,000-3,000 page story summed up to a few paragraphs, heh. I really hope it’s not too much of a read for you, thank you so so much for asking about them and for waiting for my answer! I really appreciate it and I’m always happy to talk about them! I definitely hope this is who you were asking about.

#rusty #copperwell #story #rp #long post

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unproduciblesmackdown · 6 years

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here’s me talking about the month since i was last online

firstly it was/is depressing not to be able to talk with ppl or hear from them. or just to be able to talk somewhere i know people CAN hear. i also mentioned being completely detached from the news. i like to be current about the news. anyways i was like “well not like this is anything new” as its technically unusual for me to NOT be cut off both irl and from the internet. but, shockingly, that doesnt make it not depressing. and having something for even a bit makes it more frustrating to lose it even if its “normal” for you not to have it. also by depressing i mean i was going like hmm i sure am even more tired than usual and i am less interested in my few lingering faint interests. whats up with that! and then i was like oh yeah thats called Even More Depression

it is funny because im someone who has never really had that many friends and when i do we often end up separated one way or another. Very Close friends &/or Very Longtime friends are a foreign concept. basically the heights of my “what i wish it was like” for life involve having a group of friends with whom you can have fun in an empty parking lot in the middle of the night just talking and hanging out and messing around. friends that you feel comfortable being yourself around and like they appreciate you as much as you do them. i do not think this is ever going to happen, but oh well because in reality i can be very picky about people because i am weird, to put it that way for now. my social landscape and language is not always considered normal or even tolerable. and i have a lot of standards for who i want to have around me in terms of traits and personality. theres a lot of things im not interested in. anyways. i also just, in the way things actually are, often prefer to be alone, so that i can be myself and do things i feel like. i dont have to worry about being strange or feeling like i need to please people. anyways. unfortunately i dont ONLY like being alone. i actually really like to be with people and talk with them but i rarely can, and i figure this is bad for me. isolation isnt good for anyone obviously. not being able to be around friends in person depresses me. not being able to talk online either depresses me further.

i think sometimes about how much i dont say. its a funny place to say it, in an overly long text post. but one of the reasons they can be so long is because irl i dont really talk much to people. so it builds up and can come out through writing. sometimes it comes out in talking. i think that in conversations, when i do talk, i talk too much because of this. so one of the reasons i dont talk much is to prevent this, which obviously is like “well that would just cancel out” but there are other reasons i dont talk. but i have loads of thoughts and things to say. i end up keeping so much of it to myself and wonder sometimes if i’ll ever get to say some of it. sometimes i’ll have something to say and bite it back. i’ve been “quiet” all these past twenty some years of talking and i know the reasons i dont talk. i was thinking about the feeling of biting something back in an individual occasion feeling like the cumulation of all the years worth of keeping my own voice running in my head alone. it kind of feels like what you want to say is in your chest and throat and the roof of your mouth.

speaking of the roof of your mouth, theres a weird sensation i can feel sometimes, seemingly at random but mostly in strange times like trying to fall asleep. it is so transient and unlike any actual externally caused sensations that its been difficult to try to get a grasp of how to describe it, but i think i have it thanks to ongoing effort and an unusually long period of it a few days ago during which i was especially alert about it. it’s like having a pressure radiating out from inside your mouth. like an orb pushing outwards against the teeth and roof of the mouth. which i’m fairly sure isn’t anything that would ever happen, so i am assuming its some little neurological hiccup that happens to align every now and then, but maybe a previous life cycle has put something weird in their mouth. or shot into it, because i would be like, well not much has changed.

anyways. words sitting like a pressure in your mouth. i was seeing a thread about how grief is ongoing and reoccurring which also mentioned that people who specialize in knowing how grieving and living with it works often consider it to be a form of grief when someone’s life is affected by something like trauma. they have to grieve themselves because of the possibilities taken away from them. i feel that, sometimes. thinking about how i wish i had a life where i felt free to speak and where my identity mattered and i got to feel like i could be myself and it was important and it was important what i thought and wanted and who i really was. and where i got to have friends and do things and realize what it was to actually feel happy, not try to understand an unhappy existence as what must be okay. its not just what couldve been in the past, but also how that couldve affected the present and future. im not sure who i’d be if my life didnt have to be about survival and escape. i say i never had dreams, which is true, but in retrospect i DO think that when i was fifteen and really bearing down in trying to figure out what i wanted to do, i was already seeing activism as the answer, which made sense why it wouldnt register as a dream or ambition and why it was also impossible to pursue. i still dont think of anything like personal fulfillment through a career/job or anything. but i also dont think of what i want to do as very relevant to anything at all anymore.

anyways. i’m “used” to things, but they still depress and hurt me. i actually have a lot of sadness and anger about some of these things, like never getting to have the friends i wanted or never being able to speak and it not mattering who i really was, and how long it took me to realize this really wasn’t okay and it wasn’t because of some personal deficiency which made me deserve it somehow. also the abuse. i remember i had this how-to book about weaving friendship bracelets which i got sometime in elementary school, and it even supplied some twine and stuff. i had always wanted to have occasion to use it, and i never did, which is just symbolic. the twine/potential friendship bracelets can also be things like positive social connections that feel real and open, or my ability to feel secure in expressing affection because it seems mutual. but anyways. i also just go along.

i was thinking about the Being Gone For A Month thing and the not-talking and holding all my words back even though i think so much about all sorts of junk and thus have too much to say, and about a week ago i just spent like six hours writing about myself. i was debating doing so in the first place because i figured i wouldnt post it. i did write it, but i won’t post it. its just good to talk to myself in the form of writing. getting thoughts into that form requires an extra level of analysis and coherent flow that can help put even things you already knew more in order. so here’s this stuff instead.

there’s not much to say about this past month. the worst of it was that discovering my weird tooth is all janky and broken has made me on edge about teeth. i mean, i’ve already all but stopped worrying about the broke tooth, because i kind of do that sometimes when i can. just worry hard and then stop, because what can you do? might as well try to avoid stressing even worse. and in this case i dont have money and doubt i will ever have a job w dental coverage, so i cant do anything about it. but im always worried about my teeth because, fittingly, my parents dental genes seem to combine into that of a tasmanian devil. i think im in some Dental Report b/c i had this weird situation that needed basically a root canal but it wasnt the normal kind of root canal situation and the dentist said he hadn’t seen it or heard of it even. special. i was horrified about needing the root canal, because of the clichés. but it ended up being fine and i really just sat there for an hour thinking about whatever. dental procedures are truly not what theyre hyped up to be. on account of local anesthetics. anyways. when i left my parents house i was specifically worried about leaving my access to a dentist, but obviously it wouldve been far from worth it. but that doesn’t mean i dont worry about my teeth. so i had these few days where i just had a spontaneously sensitive gum spot and another one which im guessing i caused by jamming corn shards down in there by eating corn on the cob. that happened sort of last year, i got really worried about an angry-looking spot on my gums and finally realized something was just up in there that needed to be flossed out. anyhow. the point is i got overly worried about everything that always worries me even though it used to worry me even before going to the dentist and they’d say the stuff was fine actually. but still. i got

very worried for a minute there and i realized very easily that if i start getting any really serious tooth problems i am out of here. i have no motivation at all to live through it. i don’t want to have to deal with that. it’s way too much. i dont even have motivation to be alive now. but when i was worrying i was thinking about not using my handful of cash to change locations, but instead to get some fancy Dying Equipment. there are still some methods by which im not sure i could try offing myself. but if things got a lot worse, like teeth problems, i could probably lower those standards. i COULD obtain some items for one method, or by necessity do it for free. im less worried about the tooth stuff now. it was just an unfortunate convergence of a couple tiny things. but ive still got a sensitive spot or two, and im always a bit worried. if something bad happens i cant do anything about it except get tf out of this life cycle, right.

there was something else unfortunate i was going to talk about. maybe just the depression.

there were nice, small things. i always knew how to enjoy those kinds of stuff. i like the sky, and i appreciate that its summer. theres a lot of fireflies sometimes and i saw kittens chasing them one day. one of those kittens mightve gotten killed by something since. i got to hear rain on the roof a few times. i like corn on the cob even if it betrayed me. i was wanting some last summer. i also got to make sweet tea and lemonade for the first time in forever. i’d been wanting that for a long time too.

the nicest surprise was that i had been writing extra hard since the start of june. i sort of really pushed at it and got to the dividing point between the section and the next, and i was sure it was shorter than previous sections. but actually it was just over 1000 words short of being 140k, and i’d written it all in about five weeks, and it was abt 22.5% longer than the next longest section i’d written. i’ve since gotten to a point i’ve been writing towards since this whole time, and im right on the verge of another long awaited one right now. it’s nice, but writing has been fun, and i hope i dont get depressed if i hopefully do finish it. i can just write some more, but doing so on my phone isnt the most efficient. it doesnt seem sustainable.

anyways thats it for now before i can think of anything else to say am i right

#talking abt being nervous abt it has made me a bit more nervous abt it...im trying to simmer down...dont have to die just yet...But You Know #also i could.

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forsetti · 6 years

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On Writing: The Wrong Frame Of Mind To Write

For the past year, writing has been a struggle. At first, I thought this was because it was impossible to stay on top of the amount of bullshit being pumped out by President Narcissist and his band of deplorables. By the time I got through writing the first paragraph on something that happened, three more things would occur that were equally or more upsetting. Trying to figure out what to write about and how felt overwhelming. It's been over a year and we've all become acclimated on some level to the non-stop nonsense coming from this administration. Yet, I'm struggling as much today with writing as I was after the Inauguration. This reason might be part of the cause but it isn't the main reason I'm finding it hard to write.

Another reason I've been telling myself why I'm finding writing difficult is because I'm emotionally drained and pre-occupied after the end of the best relationship I've ever been in. With my emotions so focused on and so damaged by the breakup, I didn't have the mental energy and focus to also write. This can't be the reason for the struggle writing either. Writing has always been an emotional release, for me. It doesn't matter what the emotion-anger, frustration, grief... If anything, the end of my relationship should have spurred a desire to write. It didn't. Again, this might be part of the cause as to why I've been finding it hard to write but it isn't the main reason.

I certainly believe that Trump's election and the end of my relationship have had an impact, separately and taken together, on my writing, but neither one is the main, underlying cause of my writer's block.

It wasn't until this past week after reading an article suggested to me by a good friend and a Twitter thread by someone I've been following for the past couple of years that I really understood why I've been struggling-I have fucks to give. The two articles I read were written by people who are passionate about what they write, willing to say what others sometimes don't want to but need to be said, completely honest about themselves and brutally honest about the world around them. They write with zero fucks to give.

The first thing I read-”Awkward and Beautiful Things You Think and Do When You Might Be Dying,” was written by Emily Dievendorf who was diagnosed with a brain tumor eleven years ago and is in a limbo state when it comes to really knowing her prognosis. The sometimes brutal, sometimes funny, sometimes uncomfortable, sometimes inspiring honesty in her article came from a place of no fucks to give. As I read it, I was both impressed and envious of her ability to lay it on the table, no-holds-barred.

The second thing I read was written by Propane Jane, a black woman who is not only a psychiatrist with her Masters in Public Health but a legend of the brutally honest Twitter thread. The thread I read the other day was about Bernie Sanders' recent comments about President Obama and the Democratic Party while he was speaking in Mississippi during the 50th anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King's assassination. While some people were pointing out some of the problems with Bernie's comments, Propane Jane brought the fucking receipts, threw them down on the table in a perfectly laid out, organized fashion, and dropped the mic all in very succinct tweets. There are a few people on Twitter who are really good at a Tweet Storm. Propane Jane is the best of the best at it. It wasn't so much what she had to say about Bernie's comments that struck me, it was how I reminded just how powerful and wonderful something written with zero fucks to give can be.

These two women, coming from very different perspectives on very different topics showed me what has been missing from my writing the past year. I've been struggling with writing because for some reason I have had fucks to give and it goes against who I am and why I started writing in the first place.

When I started my blog seven years ago, it wasn't for anyone but myself. It was a place where I could write down whatever was swirling around in my brain. It was a place where my stream of consciousness could take on a tangible form. The handful of people who followed it were a few close friends who know me really well and have heard the live versions of what I write many times over drinks. This all changed right after the 2016 election.

For reasons I've never fully understood, my blog post right after the presidential election in 2016 about rural voters got picked up by Alternet and later Raw Story (who has run it at least three different times.) Instead of the few dozen shares and reads most of the things I'd write would get, this essay went viral and was exposed to millions of people. Within a short period of time, the number of people following my blog went from a handful to over a thousand. The same was true with my corresponding Forsetti's Justice Facebook page. As much as I appreciate everyone who follows and enjoys what I write and post, they are the reason I'm having a hard time writing. Well, not them specifically but as a catalyst which brought out a trait in me, I thought I'd successfully dealt with years ago.

When it was just me writing for myself into a fairly unpopulated space, I never thought about how it would be perceived, if it was important, if it was interesting, if it was anything. For some reason, on some level, now I do. Being the oldest of ten kids instilled an over-developed sense of responsibility that always bothered the fuck out of me. When I'm on my own or with a small group of carefully selected friends, this sense of responsibility dissipates. When I'm in large groups or around people I don't really know very well, this sense is heightened. The difference between these two situations is the lower the sense of responsibility, the fewer fucks I give. Having a lot of people follow and read my stuff has caused this sense of responsibility to kick into high gear. Don't get me wrong, the people who follow and read my stuff are not to blame in any way for by writer's block. The problem completely rests with me. I need to figure out how to go back to writing for myself.

I need to once again not care if anyone reads what I write and just write. I need to have no filters in any step of what or why I write/post. I have to get back to having zero fucks to give because deep down, I know exactly what I want to accomplish, why, and how to get there better than anyone else. There are much, much, much better writers than me. In fact, I don't even consider myself a writer because I spend no time working on the art and craft of writing. My “editing process” consists of a rudimentary spellcheck and not much else. The main reason I write is to get thoughts, connections, emotions out of my head and these are almost always loosely structured and certainly not grammatically correct. It is mostly a stream of consciousness but a stream that has been hewn into bedrock by years of reading and studying philosophy, health care, economics, politics, world civilizations, religion... I know my wheelhouse and need to feel completely comfortable in it again. The people who read what I write are probably not even aware of any of this. I am and it needs to stop.

Now that I've figured out the problem, it is up to me to figure out how to fix it. Hopefully, I can. I just have to figure out how to not care about who reads what I write and what their response might be. I need to be comfortable in my own skin and with my own abilities. I need to get back to writing like the two women whose works brought to light the flaw in what I've been doing, exposed the cause of the problem. However, unlike either of them, I will always come from a place where not having any fucks will never be as risk-taking as what they do because as an older, white, straight male, any risk I take will always be done from a position of cultural acceptance and power. This is something I'm not in control of much more than being keenly aware of the situation. What is completely in my control is the amount of fucks give when writing. I've been giving too many lately and it has got to stop because deep down, this isn't why I write and isn't who I want to be.

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lolcat76 · 6 years

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WWSRD, Sharon Raydor, and a fangirl’s thoughts.

I just finished #WWSRD and I have a lot of thoughts, so bear with me. Or ignore me. Either is fine.

First, I totally understand Mary’s frustration with the fans’ reactions across the board, and now I feel bad for making her feel bad, because I know just how lucky we are to have someone who is so invested in her art and her fans to care about what we think. I am so grateful for WWSRD to give me a chance to breathe, understand the process of creating this character every week, and see the show from the perspective of the actor who lived the character, which is such a gift for someone like me who craves that insight into character development.

I also understand Mary’s protectiveness of the show and cast and crew, and I feel even worse that our outpouring of grief and rage diminishes what they’ve accomplished over the last 13 years. The two are not related, especially in terms of cast and crew. Everyone from the directors to the actors to the tape loggers and PAs have done a wonderful job with this show. Take a bow and please accept my gratitude for a job very well done.

As you all know, I write a lot of fanfic, but I also do graphic design and corporate communications for my day job, and in those instances, when the point I’m trying to get across falls flat or someone just doesn’t like my design, my first thought is, “Well, you’re an idiot.” (And usually my second and third thoughts as well.) (Mary is a lot more diplomatic than I am.) It’s never easy to hear that someone’s reaction to something you put your heart and soul into is that it sucks and they hate it. It doesn’t, however, mean that the work isn’t valid. It’s just not necessarily being read the way it’s written, and that’s a fact of life every creator of content has to accept.

There’s a big difference between creating content and consuming content. Once a piece is created, the creator has to relinquish control over how it’s consumed, because no two members of the audience internalize art or fiction or television in the same way. That’s the whole reason we have fandom wars on this godforsaken site. Not only that, but what is satisfying for a writer or an actor is very often vastly different than what is satisfying for the audience. I can and do support Mary’s playing Sharon’s end, acknowledging it as a valid creative plot point, and loving the choices that she made – and I’m also very grateful that this podcast helps me understand those choices – and still, I’m just so heartbroken about Sharon’s death. The first is because I have enormous respect for the actor and the writers and the creative process and, the second is because I’m a fan of the actor and the writers and creative process, and sometimes those two things just don’t mesh well together, because the audience isn’t in the same place in the creative process. We didn’t have several months to process this. We had a few weeks, and I’m not speaking for anyone else, but those few weeks were pretty sucky for me.

I think anyone who cares about their job – whether it be in the entertainment industry, or accounting, or making fancy lattes – wants to do it well and wants to be challenged, and for an actor, there’s no bigger challenge than trying to portray something as difficult and emotional as a death and do it justice. The disconnect here I think is that while Mary did a beautiful job with Sharon’s last two episodes, the fans were not ready for her story to end. I’m sure the general audience watched it and thought, “Oh, that’s sad,” and went about their business, but for those of us who are probably way too emotionally attached to the character, it’s hard to separate the craft and care that went into shooting those scenes from the gut-wrenching reaction we had to watching them. My anger at what happened to Sharon has pretty much zero to do with the cast and crew, who have been phenomenal, and everything to do with my own life. That’s on me, and it’s not a reflection of the work in general, but that’s the point of art – it does touch people, and you just can’t control HOW it’s going to touch them. To quote one of my favorite inappropriate songs from the ’90s, sometimes it’s a bad touch, and that’s where I am right now.

I will say, because it’s my blog and I can be salty if I want, that I don’t think the writing or editing clarified Mary’s analysis of Sharon’s thought processes, and I wish it had. If it had, I don’t think we’d have had the visceral reaction that Sharon put herself directly in harm’s way. Having listened to WWSRD, I can go back and rewatch those two episodes with an entirely different mindset on Sharon’s motivations and decisions, but without hearing Mary’s thoughts, some of the things she brought up were just not clear in the writing. Too many things were open to interpretation, and there were too many moments of foreshadowing in the scripts and in the editing that just made it look like Sharon was preparing to die. And, from a completely personal standpoint, that was incredibly hard to watch. From her not wanting to be a burden to going to ask for last rites, it seemed a lot less like taking control of her story and a lot more like surrendering to her fate, and it wasn’t a fate that I would choose. Mainly because to me, I’ve always been afraid that my death would be far more of a burden to my loved ones than my life is. Andy is going to have to pack up her clothes and her office. He’s going to have to sort through her finances and make sure her children are taken care of, and ensure that Rusty has the means to make it through law school. He’s going to have to live in the condo she decorated without her, and you guys, the thought of that makes me so sad I can barely stand it. The idea that it would have been easier for her children and Andy if Sharon had just died the first time she went into cardiac arrest…Nope. Nothing about death is easy, but death that comes with no warning is the hardest thing in the world to go through for the people who love you.

Being again true to form, I’m going to bring up my beloved Laura Roslin. She was introduced to us as a character who was dying, and the concept of being the Dying Leader was 100% part of who she was. Her death was awful, and I’m still not over it, but it was also beautiful and meaningful, and those last moments in the Raptor with Adama were very much the culmination of their story. Sharon’s death was…not that. Laura died with Bill, him showing her the beautiful endpoint of everything they’d worked for over the last several years. Sharon died on a gurney, surrounded by strangers, in the ER. Laura found love in spite of her impending death; Sharon died in spite of her happy life. One has poetry and meaning, and the other is just…well, I’m going to reiterate it. It was just cruel. To me, it is the complete opposite of dying doing what you love, and that waiting room scene is probably the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever watched, with her husband and son and the friends she’s come to love over the years kept out of the room, just waiting and hoping, only to be devastated by the doctor coming out to break the news.

As I said in our Fans React podcast, Sharon’s dead. She doesn’t care. Her children and her husband, though, have to figure out how to go on without her. That’s the hardest part of this – that as much as I love Sharon and grieve the loss of this kickass character, I also love the rest of the cast, and they’re going to have to soldier on without her. Watching the last four episodes knowing that they’re going to be in that kind of pain – a pain I think all of us who have lost loved ones understand – it’s hard. It’s really hard. I don’t really want to go through that kind of pain while watching a TV show that I use to escape, because it opens up a lot of things that I don’t even want to think about. Which, frankly, is why I like the “safe spaces” of television – it gives me a little break from dealing with the daily car fires of the real world.

And, to dovetail into Mary’s point about feeling grief, I hope we’re going to be able to do that in the last four episodes, because I need to grieve not only for this character that I love so much, but also for her husband and children and friends, but I’m afraid that we won’t. At its heart, Major Crimes is a crime procedural show. I know the funeral next week is going to probably knock me flat, but I’m also afraid that it will be much like the wedding – overly hyped and then three minutes at the beginning of the episode, and then BAM right into the next plot, and the next plot being the final plot that ties the two series together and omits the two female leads is just so, so disappointing.

The next four episodes will be about Stroh and his backstory and his coming after Rusty, and I know that’s a plot point that has been something like 10 years in the making, but I can’t switch gears that quickly. Nor do I want to, because my involvement with the show over the last several years has absolutely nothing to do with the cases and everything to do with the characters. I knew the Stroh story would have to come to an explosive close, but I never thought it would happen without Brenda or Sharon, and to have neither of them figure in to it just makes me wonder…what’s the point? I know that it’s Rusty’s story, but it’s just as much Sharon’s and even more Brenda’s, and to leave them both out at this point feels like a dismissal of the last 13 years, and to shove it into two nights…so frustrating.

Obviously, TNT has done a huge disservice to Major Crimes, The Closer, and even Duff in the last few years, but ramming the last several episodes into the space of a few weeks might be the worst thing they’ve done. We still have so much left to process, and trying to cram it in over a couple of nights is just really unfair to the fans.

I know life is hard. I bet you all know life is hard as well, or we’d all be out living life and wouldn’t be here on Tumblr obsessing over TV characters. I don’t need to watch TV to be reminded that life is hard, because I have to wake up every day to the dumpster fire that is American politics. I watch TV to escape the idea that life is hard.

(Temporary word-vomiting break to say that yes, HALLMARK CHRISTMAS MOVIES ARE GOOD AND LEAD TO EVEN BETTER FANFIC PROMPTS.)

Now, going back to safe spaces. That phrase is fraught right now, because at the moment Tumblr is my safe space, and GOD ONLY KNOWS WHAT THAT SAYS. To address Mary’s point about the safe space of TV recognizing the evil in the world and righting it, YES, that is one of the things about MC that I love – that these characters were so deeply flawed, and yet still so moral and ethical. Living in LA, I have to say that MC made me very sympathetic to the LAPD. Every time an old 90’s Crown Vic passes me on the 110 freeway, I think, aww, Provie and Andy still have their old shitty cars from the 90s, rather than panicking about whether or not I’m speeding on the freeway. (I’m never speeding on the freeway, because LA traffic sucks.) But, for a fan, a safe space is a totally different thing, and that’s the space where we have an hour each week to forget about all our worries. MC was that for me, and from this point on, it won’t be. And that, as much as Sharon Raydor, is the loss I’m grieving.

I wouldn’t be so torn up about it if MC had been a dark show from the start, but it wasn’t. Even the hardest episodes to watch – and there have been many – still had humor. There are so many episodes going back to The Closer that I watch again and again because in the midst of murder and chaos, the characters gave a breath of life into the stories. Even going back to the start of MC, with Rusty and Stroh, and Provenza and Sharon going head-to-head, I was so invested in how these interpersonal relationships were going to play out. I didn’t give a shit about the grocery store murderers in that first episode. I cared about how this cast of characters was going to come together, and through the first season they came together through a combination of wit, stubbornness, compassion and intelligence, and it’s those qualities that draw me to people in my own life.

Those characteristics also made me fall hard for Sharon. Most of the women my age on TV are moms who play secondary characters (two things that I’m not and don’t aspire to be), but Sharon Raydor was, from her introduction, a badass police captain who happened to be a mom and happened to be over the age of 40 and happened to be the unapologetic boss. She was important despite (and because of) being a mother and a woman over 40, and she wasn’t willing to be dismissed because she was a mother and a woman over 40. She was important because she was a high-ranking professional, completely at ease with being a woman in a male-dominated field and not afraid to tell men who outranked her to shut up and sit down, and to quote @dillydallyy, shove a feminist foot right up someone’s ass. I’ve worked in television and commercial real estate, both traditionally male-dominated fields, and being the only woman in a room full of men…that’s my life. Every damn day. And to see a woman, not just in the same position but in a leadership role, OMG. Yes, kick them in the ass with your feminist heels and stroll out of the room in your Armani suit.

This kind of character is so rare, especially on network TV and basic cable. I wish I had some statistics handy, but the reality is, it’s rare to find a show that features women in prominent leadership roles, and when we find them, yeah…we’re going to be pissed when they’re taken away. I’m pissed. I’M SO PISSED. I have very little representation to fall back on, especially since I’m a huge cheapskate and I ditched cable TV a year and a half ago.

Speaking of representation, I’d like to go off for about ten thousand words about Sharon Raydor and even Brenda Johnson as powerful role models cast as lead tv characters, the lack of women writers and directors in the media, and what it means to women like myself over the age of (cough) 40 to see a lead character in a highly-rated tv show, but…I just can’t. I’ve been living in a state of feminist rage for a long time now, but I will say that watching Sharon die killed off a little bit of myself that felt so hopeful, especially in a storyline that was so timely in portraying what a woman has to go through to be successful and recognized – or hell, even employed – in the world today. Again, not to pile on James Duff, but killing off the lead female character at the tail end of a story arc that kills off women…it really hurts. It may not have been his intention, but it was my perception as a woman who watches the show. And killing off the lead female character before delving into the last story arc that is going to be the culmination of several years of plot points…listen, I’m with Mary. I don’t like guns. I don’t like violence. I don’t watch this show to watch Sharon Raydor shoot a dirtbag between the eyes with a bb pellet (but HOT DAMN THAT WAS AWESOME), but I also don’t want to see the strong female lead drop dead from a deus ex machina plot point before the story reaches the crucial point that has been building for several seasons. For Sharon to be gone, that means the rest of the story will be told through the male gaze, and…you know, I’m trying to be respectful and trying to be on board with that, but it’s not what I, as a woman, hoped for. I didn’t need Sharon to go in guns a-blazing, but I did need her to be a part of the final chapter of this show and of this story that she was so heavily invested in, because otherwise, how is it not yet another example of the woman dying and the men living on to tell the story? Brenda first and Sharon second were so pivotal in putting Stroh in the crosshairs, and having both of them out of the story…it’s just another cop show with men outgunning men.

And finally, I will say, for the fans who love and live and breathe these characters, watching Sharon and Andy walk off hand-in-hand is exactly the ending that we wanted, because it means that, truly, Sharon Raydor lives on. In our imaginations, in our stories, in our funny banter back and forth while we argue on social media over whether Sharon drinks tea or coffee. Long after the writers and actors and crew members move on to other jobs, the fans will still be holding on to these characters. For Sharon to die, it kills a big part of what makes fandom so special, the part that takes these people we’ve known and loved for so long and lets us as fans breathe our own bits of life into them long after the network has shut them down. Holding on to that years after the show ends isn’t disrespecting the writers or the actors; doing that means that after TNT killed the show that we love, we can still believe that Sharon and Andy are out there, somewhere, solving crimes or cuddling on the couch or choosing new ballet artwork to hang in their condo. We can write it, we can joke about it, we can picture it so clearly. Killing Sharon killed that bit of infinity in the imagination that lingers after the show ends. I can, and have, and will rewatch the episodes that we have, but from a fan’s perspective, the idea that the character is never truly gone only exists when the character isn’t truly gone. Saying goodbye to Sharon as a character is about a thousand percent harder to saying goodbye to the show, because saying goodbye to Sharon as a character IS saying goodbye to the show. I’ll watch the next four episodes, but it’s going to be with a heavier heart than I ever imagined.

#wwsrd #major crimes #sharon raydor #lolcat thoughts #thanks cassiopeiasara for telling me I'm not nuts

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saferincages · 6 years

Photo

a couple of weeks ago, a friend showed me this amazing post (where the photos are far better than mine, which just didn’t want to turn out at all) of @the-far-bright-center‘s beautiful, sparkly Force Ghost Anakin, and it brought me such joy (I was maybe giggling excessively...), and today he arrived in the mail as a surprise gift! 💖

I want to take a moment to appreciate this bio, and the “weapon of choice” being loyalty and love, because it is. a lot.

this could be a very silly post (okay, it already is), but it actually gives me an opportunity to talk about something that I’ve never had a chance or reason to discuss before without some frame of context, so here is an unbelievably overemotional story (one of many regarding Star Wars’ history and special place in my life, I could write a series of these focused of specific themes and characters in all honesty) that no one really needs, but that I feel compelled to write anyway.

I’ve written before about my first experience seeing Revenge of the Sith (most recently here), so I apologize for retreading a certain amount of ground, but it’s important to know what the state of my life was at that time, which was a frightening, burned out shambles. ROTS premiered in May 2005, I believe I had just completed the physical therapy I’d been undergoing since the car accident we had that February. I was extraordinarily ill, and no one knew why (diagnoses were forthcoming), I was rapidly losing weight, and at the time, the scariest thing for me, was that I had no choice but to withdraw from school. Academia, which was such a constant for me, wasn’t even going to be on the horizon. I was, in short, not okay. I felt almost hollow in that uncertainty.

That midnight premiere was incredible, exciting, emotionally fraught, and I remember the weight and the sorrow of it hitting me in a very profound way when we got home, at which point I crawled into my bed and sobbed. I saw it several times that summer, but the final time (which is also a story a couple of my friends know, but I don’t think I’ve posted about it publicly?) was on my birthday that September. It is a crystalline memory. I can recall everything about that day, even what we ate (the cinnamon rolls my mom made for breakfast, the vanilla chai tea I had at Borders that afternoon), because it was the last birthday I had when certain things were not yet permanent, when I was still in the misty place between before and after. By then, the film had moved to our local little budget theatre, and seeing it that way, with a handful of other people rather than with a big, enthusiastic crowd, lent it an intimacy and poignancy which struck me on a wholly different level. (That was also the night Supernatural premiered, which is an aside, but don’t doubt for a moment that the events are inextricably emotionally connected for me.) September, and I should have been in school, but I wasn’t. I had no idea at that point that I never would be again, but I was frightened, and sad, and deeply angry. Anger isn’t a feeling I’d had a lot of experience with, I was a sweet, shy, overly sensitive, naive child (and teenager), but I didn’t often deal with anger, and then I usually sublimated anger with grief and guilt instead (and those things were warring in me, too, and of course I still carry them), but the anger at the unfairness of it all, at how cruel it was that this had happened to me, at how much I hated my own body for turning against me, how I irrationally hated myself for not being better or stronger or able to fight it, was consuming and yet almost childish, as though being ill was causing a perpetual temper tantrum in my mind.

My touchstone in the prequels was always Padmé, and she deserves her own post, but she was so inspiring to me, her compassion and her goodness and her belief in justice, her loving nature and her femininity and her tender heart being strengths, and never undermining her bright spirit, her keen mind, her ability to lead, her powers being her forgiveness and empathy and kindness. I love her so much and she had (and continues to have) such meaning for me.

It took me by surprise when the aching heart of my identification in ROTS plunged more towards Anakin. I loved him too, and I had a lot of varied, complicated feelings about him already, about his gentleness and his trauma, about the immensity of his capacities and his contrasts, but this was the fall, the dark hour of the story, the nadir of everyone’s suffering, and so much happens at his hand, because of his tragic choices. When I was reading the novelization, I didn’t know what to do with the fact that I understood certain aspects of his struggling in such a harrowing way, and seeing it playing out made that even more acute. Those choices he makes out of desperate fear aren’t rooted in evil, they’re driven by the chasm of grief and terror of loss, and they’re mixed with disillusionment and disappointment and frustration. Up until the moment when he walks into the Jedi Temple, when we really see him cross a line he cannot return from, hope for a course correction seems possible. Even knowing what’s coming, it’s like...just turn back. You can still fix this. It ripped my heart out because of course he wouldn’t, he couldn’t. There’s the scene where he’s denied the title of Master, and his outburst at the council (“this is outrageous! it’s unfair!”) is tinged with an adolescent level of upset, but...of course it is. He’s still so young and he wants to trust them, it’s not ambition causing that fury, it’s desperation for inclusion, for some measure of respect, and he keeps being refused. It’s a strange analogy because the things holding me back had nothing to do with a council of old men deciding my fate, all my hindrances were physically trapping me in my own body, the jury denying me the ability to move ahead was my own failing immune system, but I understood his rage, because I wanted someone I could yell at. The person I was so terrified of not being able to save, of having to watch die, wasn’t my beloved, it was...me, the girl I was, the girl I dreamed of becoming. I’ve talked so many times about feeling like I let her down, like I’m the ghost of her, the revenant walking around in a shape that vaguely resembles her, but at that point, she wasn’t gone yet, she was just rapidly slipping away. I didn’t know what to do to save myself. People would say it wasn’t my fault, to let it go (which felt a lot like being told the useless “mourn them do not, miss them do not”), that I was still here, I didn’t ask to get sick, and I knew, logically, that was true, but emotionally all I felt was that crushing guilt and despair (all of this remains a lingering struggle). I didn’t want to be powerless. I would have clung to something that offered me a way out. I knew where Anakin, conflicted and misguided as he was, was coming from, and it eroded everything that made him good and heroic and kind, so the only power I had left was to fight against it and keep the anger at bay.

This is such a specifically personal thing that I won’t get into the analysis of what happens in regards to his descent (which I also expounded upon in that other post anyway), but every time it happened, the same muscle memory seemed to take hold of me, my hands would shake and I’d press them together, my chest would pound, I’d bite my lip to try not to cry. I have this overwhelming fear of fire, so Mustafar was its own nightmare, and I’ve literally only watched the immolation scene once (that first time, at the midnight showing), otherwise I close my eyes tightly shut. I don’t even like seeing gifs of it. But because of what I was going through at the time, what I’ve gone through since, the physical aspects of him so painfully and horrifically losing himself, being so stripped of his humanity that hardly anyone ever looks at or acknowledges him as a person again (until Luke) held its own terror (it’s such an awful metaphor when it’s examined, and it’s that re-enslavement, he did not choose that reconstruction) because I didn’t understand what was happening to me physically, and because so many people were questioning the veracity of my pain and my incapacitating illness, were treating me as somehow less (ableism wasn’t even a word in my vocabulary yet, I just thought maybe everyone had a point and I didn’t deserve the space to be heard or understood, since so much of what I was going through was invisible). I genuinely felt like my personhood and my agency was being taken away. I didn’t have school, I was quickly isolated from everyone else and kept in the (comforting yet confining) cage of my room, I didn’t know who I was supposed to be anymore, and I didn’t know what to do if no one would listen or believe me (my mom aside). The torture Anakin is put through in that conversion to Darth Vader is unimaginable and I don’t want to dwell on it, but there’s a passage from the novelization that goes in part: “The first dawn of light in your universe brings pain. The light burns you. It will always burn you...You can hear yourself breathing. It comes hard, and harsh, and it scrapes nerves already raw, but you cannot stop it. You can never stop it. You cannot even slow it down...now your self is all you will ever have...and within your furnace heart, you burn in your own flame.” It’s such a wrenching description that some part of me separated it out from the villainous aspect, because the rest of it felt true. My nerves were raw and burned with sensation, touch and too much strain hurt, but my heart persistently, stubbornly kept beating, and I was left sifting through the alternating aspects of its passions (both the transcendent and the desolate).

This isn’t at all “excuse or justify the things Vader did” (since, again, this isn’t actual analysis, it’s sentimental personal nonsense), because of course I do not and never would, but the depth of empathy I had for Anakin, as a person and as a lost soul (and a lost future), and the way that left an imprint on me right at the onset of my illness became indelible.

There’s a point to this, I promise.

George Lucas did re-editing and reworkings of the original trilogy and I’ve never minded any of it, because they were his to edit and fix up if he wanted to do so, and little extra CG snippets of planets and creatures only expands the universe in my mind. That said, I realize adding Hayden’s Anakin at the end of Return of the Jedi was divisive, even upsetting for some, but for me it was everything. I’ve hesitated to ever reblog gifs of the scene because I felt like I had to justify or explain why I hold it so dear before I did, so this is my chance to do that.

As a child, I never felt really connected to the fleeting glimpse of Sebastian Shaw (my mom actually remembers me asking why he was so “old,” apparently I reasoned at the time that Anakin should have been younger, I think because I imagined him then as more of a dashing hero, based on Obi-Wan’s description in A New Hope). Anakin never lived as that image of a more middle aged man, that was never who he was within Vader’s suit, and there was always an evincive resonance that I was seeking. Once Attack of the Clones came along, Hayden was my Anakin, he was the embodiment of that character, and I loved him, and I loved his performance (and saw so much nuance and layering in it despite what was often said). Yet one of the last images we witness of him is burning on that scorched lava shore. It’s devastating.

Luke’s unwavering faith that some glimmer of his father still exists, that goodness can’t ever be entirely erased, that love will overcome, that throwing aside his weapon is an act of bravery and grace, is the moment when Anakin is finally released from that. “He takes the ounce of good still left in him and destroys the Emperor out of compassion for his son.” Balance is restored, and redemption is very small and quiet, not a washing away of violence, but a ceasing of it. It’s the hope that we can always find salvation, that we can still choose to act in love.

When Luke turns around and sees those spirits watching over him, benevolent and glowing and one with the Force, Anakin is his beautiful self again, as the description on this little package says, restored to the “hopeful young Jedi he once was.” The first time I saw that edit of the film, I wept. That was the connection I’d been looking for, the understanding that we’re never wasted, that our souls endure and are mended, that we can choose light, no matter how lost we feel we are, that love can persevere and illuminate even the longest night. It reminded me that I wasn’t only my body, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how it felt like it was collapsing on me, no matter how often I felt like I was failing to be the person I thought I would be, my body could never capture the entirety of who I was, or am. My spirit could still shine, my heart could still be soft.

Anakin says to Padmé in AOTC, “Compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is essential to a Jedi's life, so you might say we are encouraged to love.” It’s one of my favorite scenes because it’s so sincere, and yet so richly layered in its meaning. And in the end, this is fulfilled, this belief is proven right.

People may think the idea of the Force is hokey, but because of the way I was brought up, and the intense theological discussions that used to be framed around it (particularly by my dad, we used to do this over e-mail back in the olden days of dial-up, I wish I had those conversations saved), it was a really important, formative concept for me. The Force is connectivity, it’s like a variant of the belief in Tikkun olam that parts of the vessels of the divine used to shape the world shattered, and their shards became sparks of light trapped within the material of creation, and thus exist and persist in all of us, in all the diverse and breathtaking life around us, and that we should respect and cherish that life. “The best expression of the Force is not a lightsaber fight or other combat techniques. It’s really about your connection to life, to everything around you, and your ability or willingness to let go, to find peace, and ultimately become a selfless part of existence...in the end there is no power that aids [Luke], except the power of compassion and love; the act of forgiveness and apparent self-sacrifice is what saves his father from the dark side.”

It’s the idea that there’s something eternal within all living things, something powerful and connected that binds us together, that means we affect one another, and that we make choices as to whether those influences are for the better (or not). That we can decide to increase the power of light and warm energy in the universe. The idea that we’re not limited to our physical selves, that we’re luminous, radiant, possible beings. That we can reach out in love and compassion to heal the world, even if it’s only in small ways, even if we’re the only ones who see it exist, who know it happens, and still the summation of that additional light can radiate everywhere.

#does this even make sense idk but here it is anyway #anakin skywalker #love can ignite the stars #encouraged to love #star wars #luminous beings are we #look what a *toy* caused me #i am a ridiculous person #bubble wrap around my heart #spirituality #the little girl who was always tired #chronic illness #it took me three hours from start to finish to actually get this posted sigh #but it was important to me even if nobody reads it #you are not obligated to complete the work but neither are you free to abandon it #sw meta #it's not really but i'll file it there

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emmaspirate · 7 years

Note

can I get some Cisco and Iris before the season premiere??

this sort of became like a compilation of spoilers… hope you enjoy all the same ha!

The Flash Saves Twelve From Apartment Fire

It was a good article, both in structure and content. It had a hopeful tone to it, one that suggested that there was nothing to worry about because The Flash was back. He would protect them. He would always protect Central City.

It was all wrong.

Of course, the only people who knew that it was all a big fat lie were Cisco, Wally, Joe, and her. She hadn’t wanted to write the article, but they’d all talked her into it. Wally was taking up The Flash mantle, a move that she knew he felt intensely guilty about, but they needed her to really sell it. When she’d sat down and begun typing, she felt as though she were betraying the people of Central City. They knew she had a connection to The Flash, they trusted that whatever she was saying about him was the truth. So she lied, and after she’d turned it into her editor and he’d commended her on her work she’d cried in a bathroom stall. She was pretty sure someone had come in and heard her, but she was also certain they’d chock it up to her fiancé’s disappearance. She had obviously told the office the bare minimum about Barry’s absence and they’d all offered their condolences and then no one spoke of it again. Her work hadn’t been affected in the slightest, quite the contrary in fact, but she’d become much harder and her coworkers tended to avoid her.

It had been six months since he’d disappeared and despite appearances she wasn’t doing any better.

“Iris? Earth to Iris?”

Her head snapped up as he called her name and she did her best to pretend that she’d been listening. “Sorry, what?”

Cisco rolled his eyes not in annoyance but frustration. “What do you think of the plan?”

Truth be told she’d only heard bits and pieces of yet another way to get Barry out of the Speed Force. Iris knew that he only ran them by her anymore out of respect since most of the science went over her head. She had become the de facto decision maker, and she had proven very good at the task, but these discussions grated on her. “It sounds like just as good a plan as any other.” She didn’t dare bring up how all the other plans had failed, but she knew Cisco filled in the blank.

“So you’re in? You’ll help?”

Iris leaned back against the desk she’d been standing next to and crossed her arms. “I don’t know Cisco, there’s so much that needs to be done. I’m sure you can handle it.”

Even though he had to be used to her turning him down, he still looked surprised. “So you don’t want to help?”

“Of course I want to help, I just think my time can be put to better use elsewhere,” she murmured unconvincingly.

Cisco shifted in his chair, eyebrows furrowing. “Really? Cause you haven’t helped try and get Barry out of the Speed Force since our first attempt.”

Iris shrugged, doing her best to remain nonchalant. “I’ve been busy.”

If she had to find a silver lining to Barry’s disappearance, it would be the fact that she and Cisco had grown extremely close. Grief had a way of doing that she supposed. He had become her shoulder to cry on, and he was fiercely protective of her, which she suspected was because he felt he owed it to Barry. She in turn had filled the hole that Barry had left in whatever way she could. She’d become a listening ear, a best friend, and, in her own way, someone Cisco looked up to. They knew each other so well it was frightening at times.

So of course he saw right through her.

“Iris, you of all people, how can you not be in on this?” He paused then, seeming as though he needed to gather the courage to challenge her. “It’s almost like you don’t care if he comes out.”

The accusation pulsed through her body like an electric shock. She knew there was no malice behind his words, he was just trying to understand, but the anger rose up anyways. “Of course I care if Barry comes out. I can’t believe you’d even suggest otherwise.”

Cisco held up his hands in deference. “Okay, okay, then just tell me what it is.”

“I want Barry out of the Speed Force, I just…” Iris trailed off as she tried to put her feelings into words.

“You just what?”

She figured that maybe Cisco would judge her, maybe he’d even hate her for what she was going to say, but it was better to say it than not to. “I just don’t want him out now,” she blurted.

For a moment she thought maybe Cisco hadn’t understood her what with the way her words had jumbled together. He had, of course, and he quickly adopted his best poker face. “So, let me see if I’m getting this, you want Barry out of the Speed Force, you just don’t want Barry out of the Speed Force now?”

Iris hoisted herself up so she was now sitting atop the desk as she tried to collect her thoughts. As she tried to put into words the feelings she’d been struggling to cope with since he’d left. “Everyone keeps looking at me like I should be sad. My dad has been the worst. He keeps telling me that it’s okay to not be okay, because how could I be? I don’t know how to tell him that I’m not okay, but that I’m not sad.” She moved to tuck a piece of stray hair behind her ear. “I’m mad.”

“You’re mad?” Came the confused reply.

Iris huffed. “I’m mad at him. At Barry. At first I thought I was just mad at the Speed Force for just constantly taking things from me. I feel like it keeps targeting me. I mean what are the odds that my fiancé and my brother both end up speedsters?” She paused then. “But it was deeper, there was something else. That’s when I realized that I was mad at him. I was mad at the Speed Force for taking him and I was mad at him for letting it.”

Cisco was clearly trying to understand, but it was evident he was struggling. “He didn’t have any other choice, Iris. He had to pay for Flashpoint.”

Her voice came out an octave higher than it had been as her temper flared. “But he didn’t even think Cisco, he didn’t even try and fight! He just left us, he just left me!”

Cisco sighed. “Iris, you know if he thought that he had any other option he would’ve taken it. You know he would never ever leave you if he thought that he didn’t absolutely have to.”

“But that’s just it! How many times has he had to leave me? First he had to get his powers back and got trapped in the Speed Force. Then he created Flashpoint because he couldn’t handle his grief and I understood that, of course I did. But now there’s this and we know he disappears again in 2024 and how many times am I going to be condemned to this? To waiting until he comes back?”

Her friend stood up then, crossing over to her so that he was directly in front of her. “But every time he’s gone away, you’ve been the one to pull him back.”

If either of them noticed the tears beginning to run down Iris’ face, they both ignored them. “How long can I keep doing that for? How can I build a future with someone if they aren’t around?” Iris ran the back of her hand against her face, wiping some of the tears away. “He’s always going to be The Flash first, Cisco. That’s one of the reasons I love him. I’m just not sure I can keep forgiving him every time he runs off to save the world and doesn’t even look back to see who he’s leaving behind.”

“You honestly think it doesn’t break him every time he’s separated from you? That he’s not looking back?” Cisco asked, voice dropping to a whisper.

Iris offered him a small, albeit sad, smile. “Of course I don’t think that. I know that me asking him to stay would probably be the only thing in the world that could get him to. I know all of that, and that’s why I don’t want him out of the Speed Force right now. I’m hoping I can work through this anger before he gets back.”

“If you feel this way then Barry should know.”

“I think he’ll have enough on his plate to deal with when he gets out, but when the timing is right he will.” Iris bit her lip, not wanting to delve further into the conversation. She’d had her emotional fill for the day.

Cisco patted her knee, sensing the end of the conversation. “Good. Now come on, let’s go get a drink.”

She knew that he was going to get Barry out, but that he wouldn’t be able to do it without her help. She also knew that when push came to shove she’d be ready to give it.

No matter what, Barry would always save the world.

No matter what, Iris would always save Barry.

#yeah idk what this is #give me this dynamic tho #anon #cisco ramon #iris west #barry allen #westallen #flashvibe #the flash #flash writing #my writing #sunshine twins #Anonymous #flash spoilers

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brainfoodgp · 7 years

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Brain Food Garden Project Blog/January 2017

“So a lot of difficulties, a lot of problems, but when you carry out the work, and the more difficulties you encounter, then when you see some results the greater the joy. Isn’t it? -Dalai Lama-

I am standing at the edge. I have been standing on the edge of a deep dark canyon for a while now. I would be lying to you, I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t write those words to open this first Brain Food Garden Project blog of the New Year.

When I started the hashtag #CandorSavesLives soon to be two years ago, it wasn’t meant to be just a catchy little way to get people to share their important and often healing stories of recovery. It was also a reminder to myself that speaking my truth every day was an important wellness tool at my disposal in keeping myself well. So for me not to say the words, “I am standing at the edge,” would be a grave disservice to myself and to those I go to work every day to serve and advocate for in the mental health community.

I know from my work that I am not alone in the way “change” affects my manic depression. Violent change in fact can send me reeling in ways that those with a healthy brain could never possibly comprehend. If you are indifferent to the violent changes our country, our world is currently witnessing then you probably voted for the fascist, authoritarian regime that has quickly, in just a few short days, started to dismantle our democracy and this is probably where you should stop reading.

I have been working hard to keep myself centered using all of the wellness tools I have developed for myself over the past several years. However, the bad days I’ve been experiencing lately have far outweighed the good. Trying to understand how my own mother could have been taken in by a tyrant has been the predominant theme of my therapy sessions lately. The uncertainty of the authoritarian states dismantling of the Affordable Care Act and how the very community I serve will be directly affected, including myself has occupied my brain on an ever ending loop. My hopes for the progress I thought we were starting to make as a citizenry has been sledgehammered and it seems my brain on most days incapable of picking up the splintered tiny pieces.

There have been moments of reconciliation, small seeds of gratitude sprinkled into the moist soil of my brain like the Women’s March that I hope will grow my warrior skin back, enabling me to fight on. I thought I was strong enough to start my first Farm School class of the year, further seeds of gratitude planted. However, the intensity of the Food Justice course and a two day ending racism seminar only left me with deeper questions about my own place in the movement and brought back plaguing questions about how to move forward with Brain Food Garden Project. My ongoing depression kept me away from several classes and I will need to retake the course next year. That is one of the worst parts of depression it makes you doubt yourself and your abilities.

I have known for some time that January would be a difficult month for me. It marks the anniversaries of the death of two people that were very important in my life my grandmother who died two years ago this month and the fresher pain of the loss of my friend Todd to suicide last year. The idea of loss has been heavily on my mind since the outcome of our election in November as well. I have been relying heavily on the 7 Stages of Grief to help me through and it has been very helpful in understanding that the depression I am in right now is temporary. It is not the completely crushing and demoralizing blow of bipolar depression, but a depression that if I continue to work hard and use the wellness tools at my disposal I will be able to see myself through in the end.

We are all grieving for someone, some of us are grieving for the state of our world even. So for the first blog back of the New Year I thought it was a perfect time to discuss the 7 Stages of Grieving in our feature for January. Also, this year we are changing up the Top 5, which normally looks back on the top five social media posts from the month. Keep your eyes posted to this section moving forward because we are changing the name to “Notes From The Resistance” and we will be featuring articles that look at just how the new fascist order are treating those most effected in the food justice community and those with mental health concerns. I’ll be back with “What I’m Reading” next month with a special February book edition of the blog. And finally, this month a new comfort food recipe for you to try in your home kitchen. If you are anything like me the temptation of gorging on junk food when you are depressed is overwhelming but comfort food doesn’t need to be processed food. My time in the kitchen cooking even provides a necessary action for getting me out of bed when my brain doesn’t want me to lift my head from the pillow.

The BFGP Feature:

The Seven Stages of Grief

The first mistake I always make for myself is thinking that grieving is a linear progression. I forget that grieving is different for everyone with one commonality the process of chaotic twists and turns we all go through and how little to do with logical thinking the entire process entails. Many people use the 5 Stages of Grieving model. However, I have always found the 7 Stages directly connected with Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’s amazing book On Death and Dying to be the most helpful for me. Let’s first look at the stages as described by RecoverfromGrief.com:

1. Shock & Denial- You will probably react to learning of the loss with numbed disbelief. You may deny the reality of the loss at some level, in order to avoid the pain. Shock provides emotional protection from being overwhelmed all at once. This may last for weeks.

2. Pain & Guilt- As the shock wears off, it is replaced with the suffering of unbelievable pain. Although excruciating and almost unbearable, it is important that you experience the pain fully, and not hide it, avoid it or escape these feelings.

3. Anger & Bargaining- Frustration gives way to anger, and you may lash out and lay unwarranted blame for the death on someone else. Please try to control this, as permanent damage to your relationships may result. This is a time for the release of bottled up emotion. You may rail against fate, questioning “Why me?” You may also try to bargain in vain with the powers that be for a way out of your despair (“I will never drink again if you just bring him back”)

4. Depression, Reflection, Loneliness- Just when your friends may think you should be getting on with your life, a long period of sad reflection will likely overtake you. This is a normal stage of grief, so do not be “talked out of it” by well-meaning outsiders. Encouragement from others is not helpful to you during this stage of grieving. During this time, you finally realize the true magnitude of your loss, and it depresses you. You may isolate yourself on purpose, reflect on things you did with your lost one, and focus on memories of the past. You may sense feelings of emptiness or despair

5. The Upward Turn- As you start to adjust to life without your dear one, your life becomes a little calmer and more organized. Your physical symptoms lessen, and your “depression” begins to lift slightly.

6. Reconstruction & Working Through- As you become more functional, your mind starts working again, and you will find yourself seeking realistic solutions to problems posed by life without your loved one. You will start to work on practical and financial problems and reconstructing yourself and your life without him or her.

7. Acceptance & Hope- During this, the last of the seven stages in this grief model, you learn to accept and deal with the reality of your situation. Acceptance does not necessarily mean instant happiness. Given the pain and turmoil you have experienced, you can never return to the carefree, untroubled YOU that existed before this tragedy. But you will find a way forward. You will start to look forward and actually plan things for the future. Eventually, you will be able to think about your lost loved one without pain; sadness, yes, but the wrenching pain will be gone. You will once again anticipate some good times to come, and yes, even find joy again in the experience of living.

It is somehow comforting to me to know where I fall in my process of grieving. It keeps me five steps back from the edge of the precipice because for me stepping off the ledge isn’t an option anymore. For now I seem to be stuck between steps 3 & 4. However, the more people I speak with I am not the only one weaving back and forth down this long dark road alone. For me the object is to simply stay on the road. And for me the way that I am doing this is to work through my wellness tools, to continue to be as honest with myself about my feelings as I possibly can and to not close myself off entirely sharing those feelings with like-minded people that understand where I am coming from.

If you are like me and are dealing with the wide range of emotions for what our country is facing but also have the loss of loved one’s deep on your psyche. You will need to work even harder to pinpoint what the specific emotion you’re experiencing at the given moment is and where that places you on the list. It is very important to be able to separate all of what you might be grieving for and pinpoint the emotion directly to better help you in your recovery process.

I believe working through my grief is the only way to avoid long term trauma. I have a mission for my life and it is important to me that I honor that mission. I believe that the quote I used to open this month’s blog by the Dalai Lama speaks volumes to this: “So a lot of difficulties, a lot of problems, but when you carry out the work, and the more difficulties you encounter, then when you see some results the greater the joy. Isn’t it? To get to this place I need to fully work through my grief. Only then will I be able to honor my mission fully. Only then will the enormity and power of my true mission become crystal clear and fruitfully realised.

Notes From The Resistance:

If you had asked someone from my generation, a generation that watched Walter Cronkite and then Dan Rather on the evening news with our family every night, if words like “fake news” would one day topple our democracy. Most of us would have given you the classic Scooby Doo “Ruh-roh!” Then again we are now living in a world of “alternative facts” spun by the new propaganda machine of the new fascist, authoritarian state. We as a first step to resistance must never allow ourselves to normalize any of this. And so every month Brain Food Garden Project will do our part to bring you 5 articles highlighting this administrations horrible lack of policy and mind numbing and voracious speed in ripping our Constitution to shreds and disenfranchise any human being not part of the rich white male oligarchy. Our content will be food justice, food equity and mental health parity/advocacy based. However, we will not shy away from privilege or any other important issues threatening our democracy. So please read on…

1. Trump’s dismantling of the Affordable Care Act with absolutely no replacement plan is going to shorten the lives of millions of Americans. Those of us with mental health concerns will suffer too. Click here

2. For us not to care about our treaties with the rightful custodians of this land is something that has gone on for generations. Each and everyone of us should defend the rights to the indigenous peoples sacred ground and the protection of their water supply. Click Here

3. Our moto is the only walls we should be building in America are walls that grow more food to feed us. Trump’s isolationism, the wall, deportation of immigrants and so many other hurtful unconstitutional policies are meant to drive a wedge between us. But they are also going to put great burdens on our food supply. This article on avocados from Mexico is only the beginning. Click Here

4. Trump hates science and this article is the first of many I plan on posting on the subject. Click Here

5. White Privilege is one of the main reasons Trump was able to gain control of our democracy. We are not afraid to own it or discuss it at BFGP. This article by one of my favorite authors hits the nail on the head perfectly. Click Here

Healthy & Delicious Recipes:

Avocado’s are high in fiber, potassium, Vitamin E and folic acid. As well as being a good source of fat. I am not looking forward to avocados going up in price. They are already what I consider a necessary splurge on my food budget due to the fact avocado’s have also been proven to aid in brain health. Avocado toast is one of my favorite quick go to breakfasts and I have even been known to make a version or two of my favorites for dinner. These are five of my favorites from What’s Gabby Cooking. Check them out here

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familycourtcorruption · 4 years

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9 Stages of Recovery from Narcissistic Abuse

Everyone’s experience of recovery from narcissistic abuse is different but through our work with hundreds of people, we have seen the same impact crop up over and over again. “One of the things that happened when I was going through the shitty relationship, as I call it, was that I lost any identity of who I was or what I felt. I’d spent so many years being told what I was and felt and needed.”

I didn’t trust my own feelings anymore. I didn’t trust my own thoughts anymore. Every decision felt like a fraud.

I have personally been through recovery and remember exactly what it feels like. So it is with true empathy for you I write this blog which in turn I hope gives you the strength to heal. My wish for you is you have a secure base to explore your own feelings and to regain the trust in yourself needed to delve deep for true healing.

I remember we were snuggled up on the sofa. I saw a message come through that said, let me know when I can come f**k you. And I read that with my own eyes. And my partner denied that message even existed.

It is important that you understand these stages because you can’t get from Despair to Self Actualising in one step. It is a process. The stages are not linear, they are more of a spiral. A journey around the stages. There is no timescale and no step by step approach, stages are often revisited as things are re-triggered or re-evaluated with a new level of awareness. But it’s not as scary as it sounds once you know how to spot the stages and exactly what to do to move on.

Grief… yes you are experiencing loss

Empty. Can’t feel anything. Numb. Something is missing. It wasn’t all that bad. No in fact we had some amazing times. What if I just….

Conflict between your feelings is a common first step. Everything from sadness and missing the person to the stark reality that it’s for the best.

Grief is felt along with things like anger, physical symptoms, anxiety peaks, frustration with yourself and the narcissist, depression, overwhelm,

It’s no wonder then most people are doing a lot of bargaining at this point!

The first first few weeks after I left, I say left, It had been another one of those mornings of “get the f**k out of my house”. It was like it wasn’t happening.

I guess this is really it…

Eventually you just know its done. For good this time. It feels different to all the other times somehow. There’s a realisation you can’t go back. Everything has changed.

Then often it’s back to shock and denial. What just happened? You’re googling stuff to see what’s normal. You want answers from the narcissist. Is this what love really is? Struggling with your own emotions has become a daily (hourly thing!) You maybe even became obsessive about the narcissist. Remembering good times and minimising bad ones. Making their excuses for them like you always have.

And of course, there’s still things you have to go and collect, you know, if you’re allowed, I was allowed certain belongings and not others.

What did I do wrong?

Google becomes your best friend, you read everything you can on crappy relationships. The words toxic and narcissist keep popping up. You start to see that this is on them. That this isn’t your fault. They did this to you. And that brings up so many feelings.

Suddenly, I just felt violated and crazy.

Every conversation and situation is dissected with new eyes. Some articles mention dependency and co-dependency and maybe you start to see the patterns in every relationship you’ve had. Somewhere along the line you ask… why does this keep happening to me? And maybe you can take the next step to thinking about how to protect yourself in the future too.

Taking Back Control

It is all my doing. I’ve allowed it. In a way that was quite empowering when I got to a later stage. Because if it had been all them, if everything was just their responsibility, and I have no role to play, this was going to keep happening again and again and again, in every relationship that I ever had.

Actually being able to say, well, alright, so I created this, in some weird way, created the opportunity for me to ask, how do I change? What do I do differently? What do I choose for me? How do I make sure that firstly, I never go back? Because I know, despite just being absolutely devastated, I’ve lost the love of my life. And then, how do I make sure I don’t go through this again?

You feel powerful when you think about the future. Taking control of your life for you. At first you may be over-cautious and harsh with boundaries, seeing red flags when there are none or being hypersensitive. Sometimes that throws you back to the relationship feelings all over again. And it’s natural to be second guessing at this stage. It can be quite isolating too. But this stage of understanding what you do and don’t want in your life is the start of the future.

Rebuilding YOU

Signed up for a boxing class? Taken up an old hobby? Been to the pub? You’re starting to feel a bit more like your old self. Getting back into those old routines but as you now see the world differently, it isn’t as comfortable as it once was. There’s still safety in it. Maybe you’re noticing more and more narcissists around you and want to withdraw into your shell. Or perhaps you’ve turned vigilante and want to expose them all?! It’s normal to feel a lot of anger and external blaming. But those first tentative steps back to you have started….

And to get to the point where you have everything stripped away. And you can just say, this is how it is for me, is a ridiculously powerful thing.

Returning

Some days you will drop back into old feelings. A trigger or event will flip you back. But you can see it now for what it is. You have a new sense of the feeling being separate to your identity. You feel useless. you are not useless. You feel angry. You are not anger. Having a different perspective on the situation gives you that chance to observe whats happening without being drawn in. Wondering how you would have done things differently still floats around but that’s your imagination playing with your new reality. Of all the stages this can feel the most painful because you just want to get over it and it feels never ending.

I can recognise my feelings. And I understand that they are mine. I own them. Nobody can take away my anger. Nobody can tell me that I shouldn’t be sad. Nobody can tell me that I shouldn’t feel this way. Because I get to choose how I feel. I get to believe my reality.

Surviving

The most important and powerful thing that I learned was how to set my own boundaries. Learning to say no without justifying myself was just mind blowing, truly mind blowing.

Feeling like you are back on track is weird. There’s not so much that triggers the old feelings these days and sometimes you can even laugh things off. I know. That doesn’t sound real. Your physical symptoms have subsided, maybe you even get a good nights sleep a few times a week or more. Your comfort zone feels safe but lonely. You stop seeking others in pain as want to forget it and not keep reliving it. There is a real glimmer of future for you.

Emerging

You are actively wanting to pop your head out of the comfort zone, experience more, you have a feeling of hunger in your soul, the abuse has been a catalyst to wanting so much more out of life. Recognising your own toxic behaviours and wanting to be better person is where you are at. You can forgive. Yourself especially. And the personal growth journey is strong.

And the freedom was the thing that scared me the most I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t know how to live my life without somebody else telling me what I should be thinking for you to do it. I just didn’t, It is something I’ve never done as an adult, I’ve never done it.

Winning!

Congratulations! You’re fully functioning as YOU. You have found your purpose and you’re living from your heart. You understand what it means to have unconditional love and you’re strong on the forgiveness of yourself and others. Fully responsible for your own emotions and physical environment, you’ve probably delved into some woo-woo stuff you didn’t think mattered. Finally you are feeling powerful because you are now in full control of your existence. No longer seeking external validation, realising it all comes from you. Self love is your priority.

I know that I’m truly free

Therapy can be incredible helpful in moving you through these stages. It’s tough going it alone. And often there are very real physical changes that make it harder. It’s not just all in your head. It never was. It was always mind, body and soul. Here’s to you for getting this far, my guess is you’re at stage three already or you wouldn’t have read this far. You’ve got this. And I’m here to support you every step of the way.

The post 9 Stages of Recovery from Narcissistic Abuse appeared first on The Nurturing Coach.