#DOMESTICATION IS NOT A THING THAT CAN BE UNDONE IN A LIFETIME

[rat-rosemary]

I saw that one post about c!dream being a wild prey that was domesticated and thrown aside... I am gagged beyond belief 😭😭😭 I recently decided to check up on this hyperfixation and YOU HIT ME WITH THAT!?!?!?

HE IS!!!!! ANON HE WAS THE RABBIT AND HE WAS THE FISH AND HE WAS THE DEER AND THE WILD PIG AND THE BIRD AND HE WAS ALWAYS RUNNING BUT HE GAVE UP THE WILD FOR THE PROMISE THAT HIS LIFE WOULD BE GENTLE BEFORE HIS DEATH AND HE WAS THROWN AWAY AND HE BECAME THE PIGEON AND HE SWEARS HE'S WILD NOW HE ESCAPED THE CAGE THE PRISON HE'S WILD AGAIN BUT HE'S NOT HE'S JUST FERAL BECAUSE DOMESTICATION IS NOT A THING YOU CAN UNDO

#the dog barks #dreamwastaken #c!dream #dreblr #dream smp #the voices #HE SWEARS HE'S WILD AGAIN HE IS HE IS HE IS #BUT HE WOULD BOW HIS HEAD AND COO AT THE FIRST GENTLE TOUCH #AND HE HAS! HE HAS WITH TECNO AND PUNZ AND GOD FORBID FOR SAPNAP AND GEORGE IF THEY TRIED #YOU CAN NEVER BE WILD AGAIN NO MATTER HOW HARD YOU TRY #DOMESTICATION IS NOT A THING THAT CAN BE UNDONE IN A LIFETIME #YOU CANT BE WILD YOU CAN ONLY BE FERAL AND FERAL ANIMALS GET PUT DOWN #you cant return to the forest but the door to the house has been locked behind you #talk to me about this #anon you have bit me I have the demons so intently I feel ill

[blue-slxt]

Best Part

A/N: I'm currently working on my first series. It's going to be 3 parts and I'm a little nervous about it. I want it to come out well so I'm going back and tweaking things. But in the meantime, I figured I'd give you guys another little quick fluff piece. It's inspired by the song Best Part by Daniel Caesar and H.E.R. so feel free to listen while you read.

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Avatar!Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff

Word Count: 909

Summary: You braid Neteyam's hair and he asks you to sing for him while you do.

You’re sitting on the floor of your home chopping vegetables for dinner. Life was so much simpler now. Looking back at your life, you never pictured yourself as the domestic type. You were a bit of a wild child growing up. You loved to get down and dirty, it was your way of life. You thought you would remain that way on Pandora. You pictured yourself becoming a hunter or a fierce warrior charging into battle. But you couldn’t have been more wrong. The one thing you didn’t account for was the possibility that you might fall in love.

The first time you laid eyes on Neteyam, your head just about spun all the way around. And the spark between the two of you was evident to everybody around you. Neteyam spent weeks courting you. He was a true gentleman, and he never missed an opportunity to let you know exactly how he felt about you.

After completing his Iknimaya, he immediately asked you to be his mate. You were more than happy to accept his offer.

That was 2 years ago now, but you can still feel your heart flutter the same exact way when you reminisce on it. You smile to yourself letting the memory replay in your mind.

Right on time, Neteyam comes home and the first thing he does is toss aside his bow and wraps his arms around you from behind. He rests his head on your shoulder and breathes deeply finding his ultimate comfort at your side.

Your smile deepens and you run your hand over one of his arms. “Welcome home ma love.”

After living with the na’vi for this long and learning their language, you had unwittingly picked up a bit of an accent that would slip from time to time. Neteyam thought it was adorable.

“I missed you.” He sighs with his head still on your shoulder.

You look over your shoulder and notice his hair is becoming messy and unruly. “I missed you too. Come, let me refresh your braids. You look like you’ve been wrestling with a palulukan.”

He chuckles and drops his grip on you. You turn around on the floor and start to undo his messy, lived-in braids.

Braiding someone’s hair was extremely personal and intimate to the na’vi. It was one of your most cherished times with your mate. Watching the tension leave his body with every unraveling strand and feeling the softness of his hair as it drags across your fingers. When his hair was undone, you could notice just how much longer it’s gotten. Loose waves fell around his face and neck and it made him look almost modelesque.

“Syulang?”

“Yes Ma’Teyam?”

“Will you sing for me?”

Neteyam would often ask you to sing something for him when you would do his hair. He loved hearing you sing. You never thought you were all that great, but you would do anything for him. “Of course.”

You rack your brain for a song that matches how you feel.

You don’t know babe

When you hold me

And kiss me slowly, it’s the sweetest thing

And it don’t change

If I had it my way

You would know that you are

You’re the coffee that I need in the morning

You’re my sunshine in the rain when it’s pouring

Won’t give yourself to me?

Give it all, oh

While the melody filled the still air around you, your fingers massaged his scalp. You rustled his hair around and caressed his head lovingly. You get lost in the moment and instead of braiding his hair, you found yourself just playing with it. Your head falls forward to let your forehead rest on his back. You inhale his scent and quietly wish for this moment of serenity to last for a lifetime. Just you and Neteyam in your own perfect moment.

I just wanna see

I just wanna see how beautiful you are

You know that I see it

I know you’re a star

He turns around to face you and he’s gazing at you the way people look at gods. He uses both of his hands to hold your face and your hands find his face too. God, how could one be so utterly breath taking? It truly wasn’t fair. Especially with his hair down and loose waves framing his face and his gorgeous golden eyes, your heart simply couldn’t take it.

Where you go, I’ll follow

No matter how far

If life is a movie

Oh, you’re the best part

You really couldn’t have picked a more perfect song for the moment. He kisses the top of your head and presses his forehead against yours. “Beautiful as always.”

Your face blushes a little and you look up at Neteyam and you can suddenly see your whole future together in his eyes. Leading the clan together, raising children, growing old, returning to Eywa together. You couldn’t imagine a more blissful outcome.

Your love for him was overwhelming. You felt as if you could actually be swallowed whole by your devotion, and you wouldn’t mind it one bit. And you could feel how his love for you was just as intense.

You want this feeling forever. You want the two of you to always stay just as strong in your love for each other as you are right now.

It’s the one thing you prayed to Eywa for every day. And she hadn’t let you down yet.

#avatar #avatar the way of water #neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #avatar fic #awow #neteyam x na'vi!reader #atwow #atwow neteyam #avatar twow #avatar neteyam #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan

[electricbluebutterflies]

Jess/Leto + “Do you want it on your back or would you like to be on your stomach?”

Early-era, on that line between PG13 and NSFW (there is veeeeeryy vague smut here), late queued crosspost // also on ao3

Protocols, it turns out, do not mean a damned thing in real life.

It had all seemed advantageous enough – this is what people in his position do, this allowance of cosmic meddling in exchanged for a sanctioned physical outlet. Leto is not yet a romantic, not as much as he wants to be, not strong enough to deny the appeal of that…

Girl, his mind completes instead of the less appropriate words that already circulate. There is something too vulnerable within her, something that goes against her positions, and he wants to know her, he wants to melt some of the layers of ice she uses as armor, he wants-

A few weeks have passed, and a few failed attempts at conversation have made clear that she needs to acclimate before they get past formalities with clothes on. Without that barrier, however…

None of what they do is real, he knows this, he should remember that louder but it is so easy to forget when alone and allowed to want her. It feels real enough, the way she responds to leading kisses, already just a little softer than a month ago and-

Maybe, he thinks, maybe they could become something. Maybe this could be all he’s ever waited for.

Misplaced idealism is a damning trait against everything else he is and he has tried, oh he has tried to accept as much as he can. Live a quiet life, be all that is expected and not the smallest thing more because that is survival, because this is enough and will always be enough, because ambition only leads to the family graveyard and-

The girl – she will be that in his mind until the dust settles, until she becomes more – stops with her hand on his collarbone, buttons undone, looking up with sharp eyes and this is why she frightens him, this cold determination in choices explained by questions he cannot ask. She is of age but not by much; she does not know what is in her blood, only the nurture side of the coin if it could even be described as such. In theory, he does not need to know more than this.

But there is something fierce in her, strong enough now to make him unsteady. He has been respectful in these weeks, followed protocols as he understands them, let closed doors stay closed and only made sure that he had not caused any offense she’d admit. He doesn’t know how to do this, how to desire someone and to care about them – there has been none of that emotion in these walls in his lifetime, he knows that much – and of all things, of all people-

Her fingertips tap patterns on his skin and she bites her lip like she’s not sure she’s allowed to speak, like she does so damn much and every little thing about her worries him already and-

“We can move slower,” he says, because that seems safe enough to offer her. It will be decades before she reveals any deep emotions to him, he’s accepted that much already, and there’s no use in reckless hope, he’s already gone and decided to try to domesticate a witch and-

“I’m alright,” she replies, and her voice is too cold for their current physical situation, too cold for how cold her body must be. “I’m alright.”

This will become a recurrent fight over time, he is sure of it now, this self-denial that almost makes him wonder if continuing the current encounter is a good idea. It probably isn’t; if she were anyone else, if she were normal, he’d draw the line here. But this is what she knows, this may be all she thinks she’s good for, this may be-

He keeps kissing her, keeps escalating, and tries to suppress the worry of it all. There is nothing he can do but try to do right by her, try to undo whatever it is… oh, he doesn’t know where to start, she’s a visible mess of scar tissue and someone else made her like this and it’s for the best he’ll never know more than that and-

She is beautiful. He will not deny that, will not look away, will not pretend that every reaction he feels is real and yet he’s seen how she tries to deflect when he says anything about that and-

They are new, he reminds himself, and time will save them. Time and determination.

“Do you want it on your back or would you like to be on your stomach?” he asks, even though he doubts he’ll get an actual answer. Frustrating girl doesn’t realize she’s allowed to be a person yet, and-

“You don’t need to ask.” She hides her face against his shoulder, and she is not small but there is something volatile about how she uses her body, like she is infinite and can take however much space she needs. “You won’t hurt me. That’s all I need.”

Like she’d even let him, he’s half tempted to say but won’t. He has no such inclinations to begin with, but his sense of self-preservation grows stronger around her and maybe that’s the point of this arrangement and-

“You should be comfortable in this. In everything.”

Her eyelashes flutter against his skin and he can almost feel how hesitant she is, and how is this outside what she knows, and-

“I will be.”

“Not an answer.”

She is quiet for a few moments, shifting her balance and leaning more into their embrace, tilting her head towards the hand he tangles in her hair. “I would like to see you, but… I can turn my head, if I need to.”

That’s enough of an answer for him to twirl her around and do what he can to lay her down. They are still learning each other – he is still learning her, he self-corrects, he has no doubt she figured out everything she needs to know about him before she moved her body off of his the first evening – and he sees a future in the angles of her body, a life ahead where this becomes less conscious and she is everything in the world and-

Perhaps, he thinks as he covers her, perhaps they are both more than circumstances might suggest. Perhaps they will make each other more than that.

It is perhaps improper, but she seems to like being kissed and he likes anything that makes her happy, the little almost-smiles against his skin, the closeness of them as he rolls his hips against hers. They are allowed to want, and he wants her, wants her searching eyes and what little softness there is to her and-

She is quiet, and he is quiet in turn, and it is enough and they are enough.

His hand catches her wrist after, as she tries to distance herself, and he could never fault her for anything she wants but-

“Stay,” he says, and he worries it’s too soon and-

“Are you sure?”

“Please. Stay.”

#ebf writes fic #leto x jessica #queue

[chilling-seavey]

Qui Totum Vult Toum Perdit (d.s.) - 7

A/N Guilty or generous 

Warnings: This story is centered around a murder so there will be graphic descriptions of blood, death/manslaughter, dealing with corpses, possible domestic abuse (physical/verbal), crime/covering up a crime, shock/grief, and other possibly heavy or triggering topics. Please read at your own discretion.

One thing my parents always taught us while we were growing up was, when traveling, to never stay at the cheapest hotel. By no means should we break the bank to stay at a five-star resort but there was usually nothing good that came out of the cheapest option. I could see what they meant as Jonah and I climbed the metal stairs of the Lincoln Motel, the white paint peeling from the handrails and the steps creaking with each footfall. Once having been on the cover of Forbes, I no longer really needed to follow that guidance that my parents engrained in us since I could afford all the five-star hotels and resorts I so desired to stay at.

I mean, to be brutally fair, dear reader, my parents also taught us not to murder our spouses; so who knew how many lessons of theirs I had ignored in my lifetime.

I triple checked that my car was locked as we reached the top of the flight of stairs and headed down the carpeted outdoor hallway. Anyone who uses carpet outside should honestly not be trusted. This place already left a bad feeling in my stomach. Would saying it gave me murder house Psycho vibes be in poor taste? Possibly? Then please disregard that statement.

Number nineteen was right in the middle of the hallway. The brass number nine was set slightly crooked on the door. I caught myself tilting my head with its direction as if I were trying to stall. I swear if the person on the other side of the door slept with my wife I…I didn’t know what I would do but the thought of it made me sick.

“Are you going to knock?” Jonah tore me from my thoughts.

I swallowed thickly, “Yeah.”

I raised my fist to the orange painted door and rapped a quick knock before taking a little step back. I habitually glanced over the railing to make sure no one was getting too close to my car.

The sound of the door creaking open had me turning back quickly to see who was on the other side. I expected a man and that’s who I was met with, simply the first glance of him making my jaw clench protectively.

He was short. Brown hair. Brown eyes. His patterned button up was undone halfway. Arms and neck littered in random tattoos. I eyed him up for a moment.

“Can I help you?” he asked, an obvious confused edge to his voice.

“Yeah, do you know an Avalon Seavey?” I pushed back at him strongly. I couldn’t help but straighten up around him just to have those few inches above him.

“Avalon? Yeah, I know her enough. Why?” he looked between Jonah and me.

I took off my sunglasses and tucked them in the collar of my shirt to see him better in the shadow of the motel balcony.

“I’m her husband.”

“Daniel.” he breathed with realization, his eyebrows raising as he stared at me.

“Yeah. Daniel. Who are you?” I asked sharply.

Jonah didn’t intervene through my anger, in fact, he looked just as concerned as I felt. I appreciated his willingness to let me have my moment to interrogate this guy.

“I’m Jack. How did you find me here?”

“I found your address in her phone.” I added.

“Oh, what a nice non-toxic relationship you have.” Jack mumbled.

“Excuse me?” I took a quick step towards him but Jonah grabbed my arm and yanked me back.

“I was not sleeping with your wife if that’s what you’re here getting all macho protective douche-bag about.” Jack assured me coolly. “We had nothing more than a professional relationship.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, staring at Jack’s unimpressed flat expression. He didn’t seem to be one to be phased by anything.

“Professional over what?” I pressed.

“Does Avalon know you’re here?” he ignored my question while he peeked around me as if to see her down the hallway or in the parking lot below.

I didn’t flinch as he looked around me. Little did he know that she was in fact right there with us.

“She’s dead.” Jonah answered.

I hadn’t realized I hadn’t replied to him for a few too many seconds but Jonah’s blunt response certainly brought be back to reality. I snapped my head towards him. Since when did we agree we were going to be telling people that?

“Oh.” Jack said flatly. “That sucks. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah…well…I wanted to see who you were…so…” I stumbled out ungracefully, rubbing the back of my neck anxiously with one hand. I dropped it with a sigh to my side again, “We’ll be going.”

“Hang on. Come in for a second.” Jack offered, stepping to the side and pushed the door open wider to let us on. “I gotta show you something.”

Jonah and I glanced at each other briefly before silently deciding to follow him into the motel room. I peeked over my shoulder to my car down in the lot once more before stepping over the threshold.

Jack seemed to sense my hesitation as he closed the door behind us, “I won’t keep you long. A nice car like that won’t last long around here unsupervised.”

I swallowed thickly, watching him walk across the messy motel room to the closet. Jonah and I stood just inside the door and the first thing I noticed was the bright teal wallpaper that even covered the ceiling, so bright and neon it was nearly blinding and it did not match the dark red floral print carpet at all. The bed had red bedsheets and a dark mahogany headboard that was more 1960s mirror panel than wood and beside it sat a single small round table with a fold out chair and a rotary phone on top. The bathroom sink and light oak vanity was outside of the bathroom in the main room which right away was another turn off to this already run-down place. I was no decorator, dear reader, but the sight of this motel room was nearly nauseating. And that’s said by someone who had a dead body stashed in their car trunk.

As Jack shuffled through the bi-fold closet for whatever he was looking for, I took a moment to take in my surroundings for more than just the initial shock of colour and pattern vomit that filled the place. The neon 80s themed picture above the bed was of the New York skyline which was strange since we were in Los Angeles, and the fact that there were two more mahogany framed mirrors along the other walls was unsettling. I tried not to meet my own reflection.

Jack had a suitcase laid out beside the mahogany dresser and it was tossed open and clothes were haphazardly thrown about it but the suitcase wasn’t the only spot for fabrics as every other available surface – including the small table in the corner – housed various piles of fabric scraps and scissors and pins and needles. The worst of it was the few bare mannequins laying under the window adjacent to the door.

“So…” I started slowly, turning back to Jack whose back was still turned to us, “How did you know my wife?”

“My business.” Jack answered. He pulled a jacket on a hanger from the back of the closet and dropped it on the table right on top of all the scraps and pins and mess. He grabbed one of the many pairs of scissors that were scattered around and snipped a few things that I couldn’t see from where we stood.

His dry answers to our questions had Jonah and I more suspicious as the time went past but we waited to give the guy the benefit of the doubt.

Jack finally turned around with a small smile and picked up the hanger to turn and face the black denim jacket towards us, “I’m a bit of a fashion designer I guess you can say and Avalon found my page on Instagram a few months back and she got in touch with me about making you a custom jacket.”

I didn’t know what to say. In all the words I could use, perfect was the only one that came to my mind as I stared at the jacket in his hand. Someone might see it as a mess of things but it was just my taste; chaos enough to pass as designer even. It housed red x’s painted over the right shoulder and a single white stripe down the left side that matched my surname on the bottom right front panel. He made sure to show each of the denim sleeves, cuffed at the bottom in black and red plaid and the left wrist had ‘honey’ printed in small white font – the nickname I always called her. The other sleeve had matching vertical white font spelling out ‘Only the Beginning’ which was the name of Jonah and my very own record company; the company that always caused the most hostility between Avalon and me. Jack finally turned the jacket around to show the back, the shoulder section sewn over with a lace that looked a hell of a lot like Avalon’s wedding dress and I found myself stunned into shocked silence. It was incredible.

I walked into that motel with no hopes of any sort but what I seemed to find amidst those disgusting teal walls was better than I ever could have expected.

I took a step forward to take the jacket from him, grazing the sleeve ever so gently with my fingers as if it were going to break under my touch. Jack passed it over and helped me slide it on to make sure it fit. He brushed his hands over my shoulders and down my back to smooth it out and directed me to one of the many mirrors that were glued to the motel wall.

“That jacket is fresh.” Jonah said.

“It’s…gorgeous.” I agreed softly, turning slightly to see the back in the mirror.

Jack spoke next as he watched me admire his work, “She worked me into the ground for this one. I kept having to restart because she kept saying it wasn’t perfect enough…I lost a fuck ton of materials and money through that…ended up getting evicted from my place because I wasn’t earning money to pay rent which is why I’m living in this shithole now but…she was adamant. Said it had to be perfect for you. We were going to meet up one last time once you two got back from your trip but…” he faded out with a sigh.

I turned to him, “You were evicted?”

“Oh,” Jack shrugged as if it was no big deal and sat down on the end of the bed, “Yeah. She said she couldn’t pay me right away and I assured her it was no big deal but then when money got tight I felt badly to ask for an advance. She was my only client, ya know? She worked me hard enough anyway to pass as my only customer but…with no pay…landlord ended up kicking me out and this was the cheapest place in the whole county. It’s such an absolute fucking dump here that my daughter isn’t allowed to come visit me until I get back on my feet…court said something about unfit living situations or some bullshit. Not like my ex needs anymore reasons to talk shit.”

“Shit…bro…I’m sorry.” I breathed.

“What can ya do?” Jack shrugged, sucking his teeth with a shake of his head. He stood up from the end of the bed, offering a dry, “She’s dead now anyway so…”

I turned to Jonah who gave me a look as if to just get out of there but I looked back in the mirror at the jacket I wore.

Goddammit.

I spoke to Jack through the mirror, “Do you take PayPal?”

Detective Team: @jonahlovescoffee​ @randomlimelightxxx​ @stuffofseaveyy​ @hopinglimelight​ @tempus-ut-luceant​ @br4nd1s​ @xkelsev​ @hiya-its-amber​ @sexyseavey15

#🔪 #daniel seavey #why dont we #jonah marais #jack avery #zach herron #daniel seavey fanfic #why dont we fanfic

[maxrev]

Intimacy Prompts: Falling asleep in their arms. For mshenko :D

Sooo, apparently I CAN write prompts. Just takes me a while lol. Knox seemed to like this one and I can honestly say, I was not expecting this...domestic fluff. Hope you like it! My renegade has a soft side. He knew? 

       ____________________________

Knox leaned his head against the seat in the skycar, exhausted from his physical therapy session. There were days he felt he was making more progress in going backwards than forwards; today had been one of those days. 

He fought against closing his eyes and sleeping on the way back to the condo, located in the newly built high rise over English Bay. Kaidan's family had one before but it had been destroyed during the Reaper invasion.

"I have to make a quick stop and pick up some things for dinner, go ahead and close your eyes if you need to."

Too tired to even lift his head, Knox rotated it left to study Kaidan navigating the streets of Vancouver with calm assurance. Maybe he should have let him drive the mako all those years ago. No. He’d enjoyed himself too much and the reactions of the crew. Especially the man sitting next to him. 

"I'm fine," he said, rotating his head back to the right and further, watching the world rush by in a blur. 

Silence greeted his words and swore he could hear a wealth of reproach within it. He was even too tired to care. 

"It's just you and me. You can relax your guard, Knox." Frustration laced the smoky voice.

Irritation crept into his, "I said, I'm fine."

God, he sounded like a belligerent child. Felt like one, too. Tired, cranky, and ready for a nap. "Your concern is noted but I'd rather wait until we get home." 

Warmth bloomed in his chest at the thought - home. He never thought he'd have one of his own, had never expected to die saving the galaxy. 

He still thought he sounded like a whiny child but exhaustion nipped at his heels like a recalcitrant pup and he was unable to keep it at bay. Kaidan pulled up to the store and Knox bit his lip against a groan as he pulled himself up by the armrest, ready to get out. 

"You don't have to come in. I just need a few things. Stay here and relax." 

"I told you, I'm--"

"Fine. Yeah...you have.” Now he could hear exasperation. “Look, I'm not trying to be pushy, just...take care of you." 

Knox followed him into the grocery store, feeling like hed kicked a puppy. He knew Kaidan cared, just had a problem accepting it. Even after all this time. Learning how to look after himself from the age of four, a lifetime of doing so couldn’t be  undone in a few years. For the moment, though, he had other things to worry about. It took every bit of concentration in his state of exhaustion not to stumble over his feet and get tangled up in the cane. God how he hated the thing. 

He shuffled behind Kaidan who walked slowly to accommodate him; another irritation. Stubborn and too proud to admit it, the thought crossed his mind he should have just stayed in the skycar, let Kaidan shop in peace. Like a kindergartener, he probably needed a nap or Rip Van Winkle for twenty years. OR maybe a Snickers. 

Lost in thought, he hadn’t paid much attention to what Kaidan put in the cart but as they checked out, he saw all of his favorites; the makings for homemade mac and cheese, steak, some kind of dessert. Knox’s heart soared at the same time he felt like a complete scrooge, biting the man's head off while he was doing everything to pamper him in spite of the rotten attitude. 

"Thank you," he said as they walked back to the skycar. He shivered inside his leather jacket; the temperature had dropped since they’d left physical therapy. 

"You're welcome, Knox. Always.” 

Back at the condo, Kaidan unloaded the groceries, ordering Knox to go relax by the electric fire with the ambience of genuine crackling flames. This time he listened, wanting nothing more than to rest his leg and hip, still protesting from the session earlier. He all but sagged down to the couch - carefully - propping his leg on the coffee table and reached for a book he'd been reading about the Andromeda galaxy. He may not be up in space anymore but he could still read about it and Andromeda interested him, thinking of the arcs which had headed there. He missed the stars, the only place he’d ever truly felt at home.  

Pulled from his thoughts by the sounds of Kaidan preparing a meal in the kitchen, for him, made Knox smile for the first time today. Okay, so the stars weren’t the only place he felt at home, not anymore. 

Kaidan appeared as if summoned by his thoughts, carrying a large mug of hot tea. "Cinnamon and apple with a bit of honey." 

Closing his eyes and inhaling the aroma, Knox took a sip, sputtering as the hot liquid burned his tongue. He nodded and responded with a coughed, "Perfect." 

Kaidan chuckled, "Did you think it wouldn’t be hot?"

Grumbling, he told him, "Go back to the kitchen," but there was no heat in his tone. 

"Yes, dear," the words were thrown over a shoulder with a laugh. 

 Knox sipped the tea carefully, enjoying the taste and the warmth spreading through him. Between the tea and the fire, he was beginning to feel drowsy. He hoped dinner wouldn’t take too long, he might fall asleep. His stomach growled loudly in disagreement. 

A short time later, Kaidan came back with two plates piled high with homemade mac and cheese, green beans and medium rare steaks, handing one to him before taking a seat on the couch. They ate in a comfortable, companionable silence; something else Knox had never had but this was easier to accept than being cared for. 

The warm, rich gooeyness of the mac and cheese was like a balm to his soul. Knox could understand why it was called 'comfort food.' Of course, the steak was good as well, seasoned perfectly and cooked just the way he liked it. He set the fork down on the plate and sighed with contentment. 

A warm fire, a good meal and full stomach, a man who cared about him - even if he couldn’t voice how much he appreciated him like he should. Exhaustion pulled at him, a whisper in his ear to let go and tumble down into the void of sleep. 

"Seconds or dessert instead?"

Knox snapped out of his stupor and stared at the empty plate in his lap as if it held the answer to the question. With no answer forthcoming, he made a choice, "Dessert." 

"Should have known," Kaidan answered with a laugh. “You and your sweet tooth.” Grabbing the plates, he went back to the kitchen. 

Knox couldn’t help finding sweets so appealing. Never having access to much food in general living on the streets, let alone anything sweet, he had become addicted. Saying no wasn't easy for him, though he had limits like everything else in his life, except books...and Kaidan, who came back in with one plate, handing it over before taking a seat. Knox moaned when he saw what it was - a thick, chocolate brownie covered in hot fudge and vanilla ice cream with a glass of cold milk. 

“I can’t believe I just heard you moan over dessert with such abandon when you have me right here. What am I, chopped liver?” 

Knox glared at him, which garnered a smirk in response. His brain sluggish, a thought occurred to him when he glanced back at the brownie, adorned with his favorite toppings. "Why only one? You're not having dessert?" 

Usually, Kaidan ate along with him. They were still biotic after all, needing the calories even if they weren't jumping from one mission to the next anymore. 

"I am, after you decide you can't eat another bite, which as you know happens often,” he teased.

This close, Knox noticed the laugh lines crinkling the corners of warm brown eyes; lips turned up in a soft smile, the scars stretched across them; wings of gray in the black hair at each temple...and was hit with a wave of love so strong, he nearly dropped his plate. The strength of the emotion blindsided him, leaving him breathless. 

He glanced down at the brownie, not really seeing it at all, terrified of  this unrestrained emotion. Control was at the center of his very being. Off balance and floundering, he took a bite of his dessert, one much too big, and nearly choked while trying to swallow it down. Kaidan reached for the glass of milk, thrusting it into his hand. Grasping it like a lifeline, Knox took a large drink...nearly choked again but it helped the brownie slide down and he was able to breathe again. 

"You okay?" There was a note of concern in his voice. 

"Y-y-" he coughed again to clear his throat, "Yes." He croaked, voice sounding raw.

Kaidan continued to stare at him, as if he didn’t quite believe it. But Knox took a few more bites of the brownie without any more catastrophes and as predicted, handed it over. The laughter in the brown eyes dispelled any remaining concern. 

He moved, leaning back against Knox to get more comfortable, then cleaned the plate and set it on the table. It spoke volumes to his concern, when any other time, he’d take it into the kitchen. They remained like that for a while, basking in the warmth of the fire, Knox yawning first, then Kaidan, who snuggled down further. Soon, his upper body was resting against Knox’s legs. 

“Does this hurt?” 

“No, I’m fine.” 

The dark head turned, brown eyes gazing up at him, searching his face for a lie. Not finding one, he got comfortable again. Carefully, Knox placed his arm around Kaidan’s chest, letting it sort of...hang there. He was slowly becoming accustomed to touch but usually Kaidan was the one touching, not him. Yet, it felt right. Holding Kaidan, letting him be relaxed and cared for. 

He thought, maybe, he should say something as he mulled over his earlier revelation, give voice to it...tell Kaidan how he felt. Out loud. But as he fought for words, opening his mouth to confess all, a soft snore came from the man lying across his legs. 

A huff of laughter slipped from his lips. Of course, just as he made a momentous decision, the object of his speech had fallen asleep but this time, it happened in his arms. 

#mshenko #mass effect #prompt writing #fluff #domestic fluff #I can't believe Knox let me write this #mallaidhsomo

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Looks Like Someone Picked a Whole Bushel of Oopsie Daisies

Chapter Ten: Shades of Blue

As always, thanks to @edward-or-ford and @pacific-ship!

How can you leave me on my own? Desperate and destitute, these seconds feel like lifetimes without you.- New Years Day, My Dear

Mabel marked off February 1st in her calendar with an X in her pink gel pen with sparkles (was it really even a gel pen if there were no sparkles? Mabel’s opinion was firmly on the side of ‘no, absolutely not’).

Just two hundred and twelve days to go. She was counting the days, the hours, the seconds (okay, maybe just the days, she wasn’t that good at math) till her parents could no longer keep her from her soulmate.

Because on August 31st, 2017, Mabel and her super awesome brother-boyfriend-soulmate combo would be turning eighteen, and there was nothing their parents could do to keep them apart once they turned eighteen.

Their parents had insisted they were monitoring their texts, and that they weren’t allowed to speak under any circumstances.

Of course, Dipper had called Mabel from Grunkle Stan’s phone (turns out their parents had been total liars about that, too, and neither Grunkle Stan nor Grunkle Ford was in any way opposed to the whole soulmate situation) as soon as she got home, and they had both downloaded an untraceable messaging app where they could text, make phone calls, and send pictures.

As one might imagine, they sent a great deal of pictures.

And also videos.

They had a lot of phone sex and sexy texting time, okay? They’d only gotten to have actual in-person sex twice (twice!), so they had to compensate somehow.

In any case, there was nothing they could do about it before they turned eighteen, so they had to come up with workarounds.

Not that it could prevent the withdrawals that were likely to hit if another month or two went by without them seeing each other, of course, but it sure made the days go by easier.

Mabel wasn’t sure what her parents were planning to do once they hit the three month mark and the first of the withdrawal symptoms started. It wouldn’t be so bad at first, according to what Dipper had told her regarding the massive amount of research he’d done. Probably just more of the usual depression she’d been having since she watched him disappear behind their car, and then sleepiness, then headaches and body aches, and then things would get progressively worse until eventually, they wouldn’t be able to function at all anymore.

She didn’t know what their plans were for anything, really. She hadn’t spoken to them since they’d left Gravity Falls. She hadn’t said a word to them on the drive home; just put her headphones in and tuned out. She hadn’t said anything to them since, either. Her parents would try to get her to talk sometimes. Her mom did it more often. She had headphones on most of the time. She wasn’t even home very much.

She didn’t tell her parents when she was going to a friend’s house the way she had before. The first few times, her parents had called the parents of various friends until they found her. After awhile, though, they stopped.

She didn’t care if they were worried. They clearly weren’t worried enough about her and Dipper to let them be together, so Mabel didn’t see any reason to notify them or her comings and goings, despite their protests. Just because they wanted to cherry pick their concerns for her well being didn’t mean she had to let them.

Besides, she came home every few days, anyway. It was usually only for a night, of course. Then she’d go back out again. And yeah, that meant she was out on school nights, but her grades were good, and she always made it to class on time.

She wanted Dipper. She wanted to be in his arms again. She slept in the shirt she’d taken from him every night, and she hadn’t even washed it. It smelled more like her by that point than it did him, and not in a good way, either, but it made her feel a little better.

Plus, whenever she sent him pictures of herself wearing it (sometimes leaving enough of the buttons undone to where her cleavage was visible, other times leaving all the buttons undone), he got all possessive and sexy, and the night usually ended with them panting each other’s names into the phone as quietly as they could.

Mabel stared at the cheery pink gel pen in her hand. She wasn’t feeling particularly pink. She hadn’t felt pink in just over a month, as it happened. Which was strange, because Mabel always felt some shade of pink or purple.

But she could hardly remember what Dipper smelled like. She could hardly remember what he tasted like. What he felt like. If she couldn’t remember those things, she couldn’t make herself feel anything that wasn’t some shade of blue or other.

She hung the gel pen back up on her calendar, grabbed her overnight bag, and opened her bedroom door.

She had her headphones in and was looking at her phone, pulling up a playlist, so she didn’t notice her mother there until she spoke.

“Honey, why don’t you spend the night here? I’ll make your favorite, if you want, and we can watch a movie, and…” tears welled up in her mother’s eyes. “Please, sweetheart, I can barely remember what your voice sounds like.”

Well, Mabel thought, maybe you shouldn’t have decided to separate me from my soulmate, then.

With that in mind, Mabel shot her mother a glare severe enough to make her flinch, and pushed past her, her overnight bag bumping against the hallway wall as she did.

Her friends were waiting for her in their car outside.

Mabel loaded her bag into the trunk and ignored her mother watching her behind the curtains in the living room.

Squeezing into the only empty seat in the car, she grinned at her friends.

Kristin, Eva, and Julie had been total lifesavers. They knew about Mabel’s soulbro situation, and they were, like, super supportive.

“Your ‘rents still giving you shit?” Julie asked over her shoulder as she pulled out of the driveway.

Mabel sighed heavily, her shoulders drooping. “It’s not shit, exactly, just…” she sighed again. “They just, y’know. They won’t let me see him.”

“Yeah, that still doesn’t make any sense to me at all,” Kristin said, adjusting her black lipstick in a compact mirror. “I get that having an incesty-soulmate isn’t, like, ‘socially acceptable’ or whatever,” she did air quotes with her fingers, the motion seeming a bit off due to the tube of eyeliner she had in between her pointer and index fingers that she was using in lieu of lipstick. “But if my parents can handle me being bi, yours should be able to handle your soulmate being your brother.”

“Okay, so here’s the thing,” Eva cut in, turning around to address Kristin and Mabel. “I feel like, if it were me, and they were my kids, at first I’d be all freaked out, y’know? Cause like, they’re your kids, and then it turns out they’re soulmates and have to bang a whole bunch or they’ll get all eeeeuuughh, right? That’d mess anybody up, I think,” she paused for a moment before continuing. “But the thing is, though, I feel like after that initial freak out, I’d be kinda relieved, honestly.”

“Relieved? Really?” Julie was so surprised she forgot to use her turn signal when changing lanes. “Oops, my b,” she said, half to herself and half to the driver who had honked at her. Not that he could hear her, of course.

“Why relieved?” Mabel wondered.

“Well, if you’ve got a kid, right, and your kid finds their soulmate and it’s some stranger you don’t know, how do you know your kid’s soulmate isn’t gonna hurt them, or be a terrible person or something?” Eva reasoned.

“That’s a good point,” Kristin agreed, shutting her compact mirror with a snap. “Soulmates aren’t exactly exempt from domestic abuse and shit.”

Eva nodded. “Exactly, so like, if it were me, I feel like I’d be cool with it once I got used to the idea, because I’d know my kids, right, so I’d know they’d never hurt each other.”

“That makes sense,” Julie said thoughtfully.

“Mmm,” Mabel hummed. “I guess. I dunno. They’re weird about it.”

“Wait a sec,” Kristin interjected. “Didn’t you say your parents mentioned something about their parents being, like, religious fundies or something?”

Mabel nodded. “I think my grandmother on my mom’s side might be. Which would make sense, honestly, since my mom has been so militant about keeping the Dipster and me apart.”

“Okay, first of all,” Eva had a haughty air to her voice, and Mabel raised an eyebrow at her. “First of all,” she said again. “It’s ‘the Dipster and I’.”

The other three girls groaned, and Julie took a hand off the wheel to swat at her half heartedly.

“Ommigod, shut up!” Mabel giggled.

“Whatever, you love me and you know it,” Eva said with a grin.

The others grumbled but did not object.

“FYI, Mabes,” Kristin put a hand on her arm. “You should send him a selfie real quick.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm,” her friend nodded sagely. “You look hot, and it’s a damn crime he doesn’t get to see it in person, so you gotta help a brotha out!”

Mabel smiled and snapped a few dozen pictures of herself.

“Okay, which one’s best?” she asked, handing her phone to Kristin, who scrolled through and inspected each one.

“No, no, no… meh, maybe… no, no… oooo, yes, love it, this one, totes send this one! Look at how much boobage you got in there, just fuckin’ go for it, man!”

Mabel grinned and sent the picture to Dipper, along with a short little miss you <3 text.

He responded with a miss you too and then, two seconds after, fuck you’re beautiful.

She giggled and showed Kristin his response. “Mhm, mhm, told ya.”

“Okay, so, confession time,” Julie said, pulling into her parents’ driveway.

“Spill it,” Eva immediately demanded.

“So you guys know Chad, right?”

“Unfortunately,” Kristin said with a grimace. The guy in question was a bit of a fuckboi.

“No, don’t say that!” Julie whined, getting out of the car. “He’s really sweet!”

”Of course he is,” Eva deadpanned.

“He is!” Julie insisted. “Anyway, so he asked me out.”

Mabel groaned. “Jules, tell me you didn’t.”

“I might have, yeah.”

“Ugh, ew,” Kristin said.

“It’s not ew!”

“No, it’s totally ew,” Eva pointed out, and Mabel nodded her agreement.

“If it helps,” Julie was saying sheepishly as she unlocked her front door, “he’s really, really good.”

“Of course he’s really good, numbnuts,” Kristin said with an eye roll. “He’s slept with half the school.”

“So have you!” Julie said defensively.

“Oooo, gotta point there,” Mabel snickered, pointing a glittery blue nail at her friend.

“Yeah, but I’m, like, discreet about it,” Kristin pointed out. “And I’ve actually dated people seriously, too!”

“Anyway,” Julie cut in. “So the consensus is ew, then, huh?”

“Definitely ew,” Mabel agreed.

“Why are Chads always such Chads?” Kristin wondered aloud, opening the door to Julie’s bedroom.

“They really are,” Eva laughed, plopping down on the bed.

“Soooo…” Mabel trailed off. “Cards Against Humanity, anybody?”

———————————————————————Her friends always helped push the separation anxiety to the back of her mind, but with the other three girls asleep, there was nothing for Mabel to do but wallow.

Her phone lit up the dark room, illuminating the air mattress Mabel lay on.

Dipper had sent her a message.

I want you.

Mabel unplugged her phone and scrambled up as quietly as she could, crossing the hall into the guest bedroom and locking the door behind her and turning on the light, typing out a quick okay in response.

She knew from experience that as long as she was quiet, nobody would hear her.

Now? he asked.

Now.

And then he was calling her, and she was hastily stuffing her headphones in her ears and hitting the little phone icon on her screen.

“Hey,” he greeted, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

“Hey,” she said back. It was always such a relief to hear him. “I miss you.”

“We’ve been texting all day,” he laughed.

“I know, but…”

“It’s not the same,” he agreed with the words she hadn’t said.

“Yeah,” her voice was soft, and she heard him sigh on the other end of their call.

“Can I see you?” he asked after a moment.

“Y- yeah, one sec.” They’d done this more times than she could count, but somehow, she was always nervous.

She stripped out of her shorts and unbuttoned his shirt to let it reveal her breasts, pulled her panties down a bit with her thumb and smiled into the camera.

She only had to take six or seven pictures before she had one she was satisfied with. Sending it over and promptly deleting them from her phone, she waited for it to arrive.

She knew when he got it, because he said, “Fucking hell, Mabel,” with a groan, and she could almost picture him stroking himself.

She’d only seen him do that a handful of times, when they’d gotten the chance to do this on the rare occasion she was at their parents’ for the night. She could have watched it for hours.

“You’re so perfect,” he sighed in her ear, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine he was there with her. He’d kiss her neck, maybe, and then squeeze her breasts and pinch her nipples. Mimicking the things he was doing to her in her mind’s eye, she trailed a hand down her body and stroked herself lightly through her panties, listening to the way his breath was quickening.

“I wanna see you, too, Dip,” she sighed into the phone.

A few seconds later, a picture came through of him holding himself, and when she saw him naked… well. She had seen him naked more times than she could count by that point, but it was always breathtaking each time.

“Are you wet for me, Mabes?” he murmured in her ear.

She nodded, pulling her drenched panties off and kicking them to the side, before remembering he couldn’t see her. “Yes.”

“Show me.”

She took another picture, this time of a part of herself she didn’t really understand why he wanted to see, but he liked it so she sent it to him anyway.

“I wish I had gotten to taste you,” he gasped. “I think about that a lot.”

“O- oh?” How embarrassing. She knew she was blushing. She could feel it.

“Are you blushing right now?” Dipper asked. “I bet you are. You’re so cute when you blush.” She giggled a little, and he went on. “Will you touch yourself for me?”

“Mhm.” She brushed her fingers over her slit, dipping one inside slightly, just for a second, and gasping as she did so.

“Pinch your nipples, too, okay? I know you like that.” He did know, didn’t he? He knew all the things she liked. He seemed to know them intuitively. To be fair, though, he’d said she knew all the things he liked, too.

Pinching her nipple and brushing a finger lightly over her clit, Mabel whimpered.

“Does that feel good?”

“Y- yes,” she gasped out.

“I wish… mmmf,” he cut himself off with a groan. “I wish this was your hand instead of mine.”

Mabel squeezed her breast roughly, rubbing a finger back and forth over her clit.

“Me too,” she whined. “God, Dip, I want… I want you inside me so bad, I-“

“I know, Mabes. I know. I’d give anything to be inside you right now.”

She rubbed herself a little faster, and her legs were going to give out, she could tell they were, so she allowed herself to collapse onto the cold of the hardwood floor.

“You okay?” Dipper asked when he heard her fall to the ground, concern evident in his voice.

“Yeah, I just had to… ah!” she gasped. “I had to sit down.”

“Oh, okay,” he murmured, and it sounded like he went back to stroking himself.

“I need you.” She’d resorted to begging. She always did that when she was getting close.

“I know,” he groaned. “I need you, too.”

“Dipper, I- please, I need…” she rubbed herself faster, and her hips lifted off the floor an inch or so.

“I know,” he said again.

“I need you.” She couldn’t stop. It felt too good. “I need it, I want you so bad, please,” she begged. “Please give it to me, please Dip, god, I can’t-“

“Are you gonna cum for me, Mabes?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, I’m gonna- fuck, I want your cum in me, yes-“ her wrist hurt, but she kept going. She was so close, so fucking close-

“Cum for me, I wanna hear you cum for me.”

“Dipper, ah, oh fuck, Dipper, I’m gonna-“ her body spasmed, and she fell limp.

A few seconds later, he followed her with a grunt.

It had felt so good, and Mabel felt so content for a split second, because she’d forgotten that Dipper wasn’t there with her.

The tears started to fall, and she began to sniffle. It usually ended that way. She couldn’t help it.

“Mabel,” he said with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” she hiccuped.

“No, no,” he assured her. “I just… I wish I could be there with you.”

“I don’t care where we are as long as we’re together,” she cried softly.

“I know,” he sighed again. “But we’ll be together soon, okay? I’ve got an idea.”

“An idea?” What kind of idea, she wondered.

“Yeah, but it’s a surprise, so until I’ve got everything worked out, just be patient for me, okay?”

“Okay,” she sniffed.

“I love you,” he told her softly.

“I love you, too.”

After a few seconds, he said, “and on that note, I need to clean this jizz off my stomach before it drips all over my bed.”

She giggled. “Okay, I’ll talk to you later.”

“You’ll text me tomorrow, right?”

“Uh, doi, when don’t I?” She sniffed again. It was hard to force the silliness that usually felt natural when she felt so blargh.

“Good point,” he chuckled. “Night, then. Love you,” he said again.

“Love you, too.”

After they hung up, it took several minutes for Mabel’s body to stop tingling from her orgasm, and then several more minutes before she could stop the tears and go back to bed.

Being without him was tougher than she’d imagined.

#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #gf fanfiction #Pinecest #mabel pines #dipper pines #fanfiction #fanfic #looks like someone picked a whole bushel of oopsie daisies #my writing

[carelessgraces]

modern magic

NOTES —  This system of magic is an adapted form of the magic found in The Vampire Diaries & The Originals, as well as that found in The Elementalists, with adjustments based in research into modern witchcraft & magical traditions, and historical witchcraft & magic. My research is, primarily, focused around European medieval and early modern history, and I’d be happy to share reading suggestions! 

This system of magic is in use not only for my own character, but for Draco over at @potterstillstinks, and the system was designed by myself and Marta.

SOURCE OF MAGIC

Magic is innate. While there are some theorists who speculate that all humans have the potential for magic, and therefore magic relies on one’s ability to access that magic, it is widely accepted that only some human beings have magic at all, and that while magic is often linked to certain families, magic can remain dormant in a family line indefinitely, and can appear without warning and after generations without magic. 

     Anyone without magic, often referred to within magical communities as mundane, can theoretically draw from magic stored in enchanted objects. This is distinct from the practice of siphoning, in which a siphoner draws magic from a living source without that source choosing to share their magic. Not all mundanes know how to draw magic from an enchanted object, and many require the assistance of a witch to do so. Witches can also choose to share their power with mundanes, though this is a dangerous practice, as an oversaturation of magic can and often will kill a mundane user. 

     There are three major schools of magic: celestial magic ( in which magical energy and power are drawn from, and enhanced by, celestial events and bodies ); nature magic ( in which magical energy and power are drawn from, and enhanced by, nature ); and blood magic ( in which magical energy and power are drawn from one’s own blood and life force, or, more dangerously, someone else’s ). It is common for witches to shift between the schools of magic as necessary.

     There is a fourth school of magic, infrequently used, called expression, in which magic is fueled by willpower alone. This type of magic is by far the most dangerous, due to its intense volatility and unpredictability, and often ends with the user dead.

SCHOOLS OF MAGIC Celestial Magic

Anchors of power: Celestial events & bodies.

Moon phases, eclipses, the presence and visibility of constellations, astrological seasons, planets in retrograde, etc. Minor magic draws from celestial power in the everyday ( sun-, moon-, or starlight ), but major spells must be bound to an event and can typically only be undone when that event repeats.

Limits of power: Time and location.

Spells bound to celestial events are bound to those events in terms of time as well as power, and typically cannot be undone until the event repeats. Spells bound to the phase of the moon will wax and wane in power and effectiveness appropriately. Location can also change the efficacy of a spell: for instance, if a constellation was visible at the location where a spell was cast, but the enchanted object or person is moved to a place where the constellation is no longer visible, the spell may become less effective. 

Common uses: Long-term curses and enchantments, summonings, emotional manipulation.

Nature Magic

Anchors of power: Nature and elements.

Power is drawn from the elements themselves. Spells are typically most powerful when the anchor and the end result engage with the same element. Spells must typically be directly or indirectly in service of nature — preserving or restoring the balance, as magical energy cannot be created or destroyed, merely redistributed. 

Limits of power: Access of elemental resources, balance.

Spells are most effective when fueled by appropriate ingredients — access to air, water, crystals, fire, dirt, or plants (often herbs) are necessary. Substitutions are often unreliable. A spell bound to one element must be undone by the opposite element. Nothing can be created; things can only be transformed. Power cannot be increased or grown, but only accessed and borrowed. Nature magic operates under a strict principle of balance, and throwing that balance off has dire consequences.

Common uses: Domestic magic (household and kitchen magic), herbal remedies, environmental manipulations.

Blood Magic

Anchors of power: Blood, flesh, life.

The life force, both material and energetic, of either the casting witch, or another donor, is used to fuel magic. This is one of the most difficult, and dangerous, kinds of magic; performing a spell incorrectly when the spell uses blood as its anchor could prove deadly.

Limits of power: Access of resources, societal views and restrictions.

There are very few restrictions on blood magic, as blood replenishes itself with time; utilizing the power of someone’s blood to heal small wound, or to slow the aging process, uses only a small amount. Larger spells, such as healing major wounds, placing someone under the caster’s control, or temporarily crossing the veil between life and death require a great deal more, and can prove deadly. Some covens also consider blood magic inherently evil, as blood magic can be used to control a victim and place them under a thrall, and many covens have restrictions, or outright bans, on blood magic. 

Common uses: Healing, psychological & physical control over another (placing them ‘under a thrall’), extending the caster’s own lifespan. 

Expression

Anchors of power: Willpower.

In the school of expression, magic is fueled by the willpower of the caster, and that willpower alone. No additional anchors or ingredients are used, and magical energy is created, apparently from nothing, which causes potentially immense damage to the witch’s surroundings, and the witch’s own body. Because expression is so painful to use, some theorize that expression is actually fueled by the casting witch’s own pain. 

Limits of power: Immense damage done to the body and psyche, societal views and restrictions.

The witch’s body can only withstand so much. Most witches experiment with expression in small ways throughout their lifetime; this always results in some permanent damage done, whether in the form of scars, loss of sensation, or loss of magical potential and ability. The damage is usually equivalent to the amount of magic done. Expression is also physically extremely painful. Due to the dangers inherent in expression, not only to the casting witch but to the witch’s surroundings, expression is universally outlawed by covens around the world. First offenses usually result in brief banishments, limitations on power, or other minor restrictions; further offenses often result in permanent exile, and in some cases, execution.

Common uses: Extremely rare. Can be used for anything.

GLOSSARY

Grimoires

Collections of spells and rituals. While celestial witches’ grimoires are often passed down through family lines and added to, not unlike a family recipe book, nature witches often start their own from scratch, if they don’t have a family member with magic who is willing to share. Grimoires are personal, but covens often share with at least limited communal access. They are very powerful magical objects, the destruction or theft of which is considered a serious offense and acceptable reason for the injured party to murder the thief. Grimoires are carefully guarded and contain not only spells, but a coven’s history, instructions for undoing a spell or breaking a curse, and notes on other magical objects in a coven’s possession. Most witches own several grimoires, all of them of great practical and sentimental value.

Magical objects

Objects that have been enchanted, deliberately or inadvertently, to act as magical banks and to store power. They often have specific purposes ( i.e. Hands of Glory, invisibility cloaks and caps, wands, tarot cards, spirit boards ), but the magic in the object can be drawn from, or drained entirely. Drawing power from such objects is difficult and often dangerous, but this power, when reached, offers a witch a significant increase in their own magical strength.

Reliquaries

Magical objects which act as magical amplifiers. Some covens choose to consecrate their dead, whether in designated cemeteries or in reliquaries, and the descendants of those dead rely upon proximity to these cemeteries, or to reliquaries, to enhance their own power. Born of the Catholic practice of consecrating saints and holding their bodies in sacred reliquaries, witches who choose to be consecrated after death are considered odd and old-fashioned, as the practice has somewhat fallen out of favor for many. 

Siphoners

Witches born in possession of the potential for magic but not the ability to produce their own, who can only draw magic from other witches or from enchanted objects but can do so instinctively and independently. These are the only witches who can become vampires without losing access to their magic, as vampirism was created by witchcraft and is therefore an inherently magical process. Siphoners can, and often do, kill the witches they draw from — a fate that can be avoided only through extensive practice, which itself often results in deaths. Many covens either kill or abandon siphoners when this mutation in their magic is discovered, for the safety of the coven as a whole.

Thaumaturgy

The philosophy of magic, and its study. Thaumaturgists examine the various schools of magic to better understand how they function, and to determine the laws of magic; thaumaturgists also work to develop new schools of magic, or new spells within various schools. A common practice of modern thaumaturgists is to try and better understand expression and blood magic. 

MYTHS & MISCONCEPTIONS

Religion

These forms of witchcraft are not religious beliefs and are compatible with many forms of worship. An example of such compatibility is Catholic witchcraft: saints are treated as either ancestors from whom celestial witches can draw power ( the source of the limited popularization of reliquaries ) or spirits whose guidance and influence nature witches might follow. Many witches practice some form of Wicca or neopaganism.

Science

Witchcraft is not incompatible with science. In fact, many witches find their practice strengthened by knowledge and understanding of science, and many marry the two whenever possible (as in alchemy).

The “Witch-Craze”

The European witch hunts of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries ( sometimes called the “burning times” by Wiccans ) involved very few legitimate witches. This was not an organized practice of oppression or genocide of witches; it was an attempt by various states in the process of centralizing to further their power by creating new scapegoats (i.e. the poor, women, the disabled, religious minorities). This practice did not target female healers or folk practitioners en masse. This is historical fact.

#i. i smell backstory and i love backstory. ( worldbuilding ) #(redesigned with a few edits !!! to connect astoria & draco in their main verses)

[houseki-no-suffering]

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Human AU, 1960s AU Characters: Cinnabar/Phosphophyllite, Diamond, Euclase, Bort, Alex, Yellow

A/N: I just- i wanna take this moment to express my deep love and adoration for Antarc and for everything they did. You’ve always been too good for us. Also Alex, ty for being amazing. And thanks to @lapishead for betareding this. Enjoy!

Antarcticite’s silent presence had fit into the domestic monotony of the community with ease.

Like an unobtrusive new piece of the machinery, they would spend their days worrying about Sensei’s health with Rutile, assisting him, or helping Alexandrite with the children. Antarc didn’t make for a good teacher, but they possessed the strained willingness of someone who doesn’t know how to be indebted to people.

In the three weeks that they spent at the dormitories, they singlehandedly inspired Bort to pursue a military career, repaired the dorms’ electrical wiring and overthrew Cinnabar’s life without exchanging more than a couple of words with them.

It wasn’t like Antarcticite was especially charismatic, quite the opposite in fact: they did not like people. However, they acted out of a unique, humble brand of fairness that made their character stand out even when they tried to stay on the sidelines. It was a necessity to be of use. It had Phos literally hanging off Antarc’s every word by the end of the first week.

Maybe it started when Euclase asked Phos to give up their room for Antarc. Phosphophyllite was the youngest kid and the only one to sleep alone in what was the only spare room, it made sense for them to give it to their new guest. But Phosphophyllite complained and whined so much that a flushed Antarc asked Euclase if they could share the room with the kid.

Or maybe it started with Phos’ exuberant enthusiasm. Cinnabar was used to it but Antarcticite was embarrassed to no end by Phos’ antics and they would try anything to keep them busy or quiet. It was how Phos bribed Antarc into becoming their new school tutor and into telling Phos an elaborate recount of their life and of their job, of how they were working with the government and the aeronautics to prevent a new war.

When Alex scoffed, mumbling that it was just anti-soviet capitalist propaganda, Cinnabar silently agreed with them, more to disagree with Antarcticite than out of an interest in politics. Maybe that was how it started, like an ideological divide. Almost overnight, there was a rift between Phos and Cinnabar where there had never been one, and Cinnabar would ride to the lighthouse alone after school while Phos followed Antarc like an excited puppy.        

There was a part of Cinnabar that still wanted to reprimand themselves for doing nothing. They should have talked with Antarc, talked with Phos, confronted Phos, told them how they were feeling. Or maybe some part of them already knew that they would lose this battle and it was just shielding Cinnabar from more hurt. The more involved they would be, the harder to let go.

Cinnabar went through those three weeks like a diver jumping off a cliff: leaping into the void, holding their breath and hoping that the water below would be safe. They watched from the sidelines, telling themselves that it was okay and hoping to release a breath once this was over. And then, three days before Antarc was leaving, Phos asked Cinnabar to go for a ride again and broke it to Cinnabar that they would be leaving too.

Cinnabar woke up.

Phos’ ghost was still dancing before their eyes. The first rays of sun were filtering a silvery light through the wood shutters and Cinnabar scowled kicking the sheets away.

“Antarc’s gonna leave next week.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’m going with them.”

Mature people were supposed to process and archive a lifetime of occurrences, from the smallest of happenings to significant turning points. It should mean something that Cinnabar wasn’t able to get over just one simple thing.

The process of understanding and accepting life events had always seemed somewhat mechanical in Cinnabar’s eyes and, as much as they enjoyed being analytical, it only came naturally when their logic was applied to external issues. And their mind just happened to be an internal one.

“I’m going with them.”

The main problem wasn’t even the way Phos had looked at Cinnabar yesterday or that they had disappeared off the face of earth for years. It was the cacophony of sounds and words that had decided to resurface in Cinnabar’s mind at the mere mention of Phos. Memories were sociable things, they came in groups and they were always looking for attention. Cinnabar knew they should have repressed them deeper. Like Bort had said once: “Never leave a job undone.”

Bort probably meant that you should get to the root of a problem instead of burying it away or build yourself a castle of illusions. But Bort was probably born a functioning adult while Cinnabar’s inner child still had too much fun ruining their life to give up the position of absolute power. The fact that Cinnabar turned on the radio at high volume to ignore Phos’ voice had everything to do with it.

“I’m going with them.”

In the end, they had to run to get to work in time. They rushed down the street still fastening their coat as if they had not spent thirty minutes of their life contemplating the endless vanity of the universe. And then they rushed back inside because of course they would forget the tests.

Why couldn’t things exist just as simple, uncomplicated concepts? No time, no space, no memories or people, just intangible ideas floating peacefully in the universe’s mind scape.

Dragging themselves into the library, Cinnabar pushed open the door, a tangle of red bed hair and mismatched clothes.

“Hi,” they mumbled.

It took Alexandrite one glance to sense that something was off.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” they walked towards them, taking the papers away from Cinnabar.

“Yeah,” Cinnabar nodded, unsure what to do with their hands now that they had nothing to hold.

Alex took off their glasses as if to better look at them, their eyes soft.

“I’m not going to ask but you can talk to me, okay? I’m aware of the… things currently going on. The town’s small and Euclase likes to talk.”

“Good for ‘em.”

Alex chuckled, ruffling Cinnabar’s hair before the latter had any time to protest.

“Guess so. But talking isn’t that bad from time to time, is it?”

It was way too early for this. So early that part of Cinnabar’s anxiety must still be asleep because for a second they were tempted to actually speak their mind. They crossed their arms over their chest, rocking back and forth on the balls of their feet.

“Got nothing to say. Idiot’s back. Not my problem.”

Cinnabar regretted those words because now Alex looked like they had something to say too and Cinnabar had no idea what to do with the attention. After all, Phos had left with Chryso’s cousin, it was expected that Alex would be concerned about it. It also felt stupid to complain about a dear one being back. Most people had never had that chance, Lexi included.

“Always the realist, I see,” Lexi smiled, burying their interest, “well, it’s not like we have nothing else to do ourselves. Remember the archive?”

“No-“ Cinnabar paled.

“Oh yes! There’s a whole new section waiting for your radiant presence. I totally forgot about the 1955’s kids last time, my bad. It’s not that many. Don’t look at me like that.”

One enthusiast apology after the other, Alexandrite more or less shoved Cinnabar in the archive aisle. Cinnabar was inclined to think that Lexi was doing this on purpose as their own unobtrusive way of helping. Nothing like boring paperwork to keep an overthinker’s mind distracted.

“Thank you for your hard work. I’ll be over there, children’s section,” Alex chirped.

“Thanks.”

“You can do this, Shinsha.”

It sounded purposely generic. Then Alex put their glasses on again and disappeared down the corridor.

Cinnabar walked toward the desk with a loud groan. A few books and papers were already scattered over the wood, a sign that Alex must have noticed their mistake that morning and had been trying to fix it as best as they could. Student cards were piled up next to the ledger of what Cinnabar assumed was the 1955-1956 school year. It was as thick as an encyclopedia.

They climbed on the table, bringing one of their knees to their chest. They could either sit in silent contemplation the whole day or start working. Cinnabar’s thoughts would find a way to reach them anyway so they might as well keep their hands busy. That was what a mature person would do. Probably. Mature Cinnabar seemed like such a foreign concept.

“I’m going with them.”

Where was Phos going now? Was this still home for them? Did they have any choice in coming back? The more Cinnabar reminded themselves they should not care, the more they found themselves thinking about it. What of Antarc?

Cinnabar shut one of the drawers of the archive with more force than usual. The sound reverberated around the library, dissolving in the soft chorus of voices of the building. Cinnabar did not dare find an answer to their questions; what would there be for Cinnabar? Even if they knew, there was no point, so they kept writing down students’ names and dates, imitating Euclase’s calligraphy for the sake of consistency.

Euc had been the first to do archive work, when the school opened. They had been the one to help Sensei build the dormitories, the one to shelter the kids during the war and the one to let the orphans in when it ended.

Euclase was a mature person and they wanted Cinnabar to play family again. Was that what a mature Cinnabar looked like? It just seemed fake and sick in Cinnabar’s eyes. And yet they were confronted with the choice just a few hours later.

They were on their way home, hands sore and stained with ink from writing the whole day. It was late in the afternoon and the sky was tinted a deeper blue, a few stars had begun to light up.

Phosphophyllite had not been following them. Cinnabar refused to be so paranoid as to believe it, but there Phos was, right in front of them. They were sitting on the sidewalk along the town’s main road, the one that Cinnabar would walk at least once a day to get to work.

Phos was looking at them, they had seen Cinnabar coming. They had been waiting for Cinnabar this time and when Cinnabar was at hearing distance, but still distant enough to walk away if they wanted to, Phos stood up with ridiculous solemnity and walked towards them.

Cinnabar didn’t know why they did not run away this time because, when Phos started talking, they felt the same sense of nausea building up in their stomach.

“Hi,” Phos mumbled.

What an elaborate choice of words. Cinnabar crossed their arms on their chest, pressing their lips together.

“I- uhm, I’m sorry. About yesterday. Sorry. Didn’t meant to- well, I mean, it wasn’t on purpose.”

Phos was tormenting the hem of their sleeves. Now that they had Cinnabar’s attention, they were stubbornly avoiding their eyes. Why were the two of them even having this conversation if Phos was the first not to want it?

“So, that was one thing,” Phos let out a breathless chuckle, straightening their back as if they had just taken a weight off their shoulders. They looked like they had grown taller.

“Actually, I need to talk to you. I know you don’t want to, I wouldn’t want to talk with me either, not after everything…” the way Phos’ lips would twist in a resigned smile gave their expression a grieved feeling. It made this conversation even more unbearable.

Phos’ half-sentence hung in the air. It remained dangling between the two of them as Phos kept fidgeting with their sleeves and Cinnabar dug their hands deeper beneath their arms. They were focusing on breathing, counting the seconds between inhaling and exhaling, slowly. They felt like they were suffocating, hazy, as if they weren’t really there.

The seconds kept stretching by in groups of eight and seven with each breath. They became minutes, long like the years that lay between Cinnabar and Phos. Phos who still would not meet Cinnabar’s gaze and who wanted to be there just as much as Cinnabar did.

The thought that they should give Phos a chance crossed Cinnabar’s mind for a brief second. They should hear out Phos’ story, their excuses, they should put aside their own hurt and listen as Phos talked about how happy they had been with Antarc and why they had decided to throw it away.

Then Phos’ lips parted. Their eyes shone with a new resolution and they finally lifted them to meet Cinnabar’s. They stepped forward, coming into the light of a nearby lamppost. They had grown taller. They were taller than Cinnabar.

“Do you want to talk? With me?”

Even if it’s me?

Some memories are delicate, fragile things. When you unveil them, the beauty or the pain they carry with them comes out in soft waves, making you dizzy as you run your eyes over them. There is familiarity in those feelings, like an echo, the smell of an old attic that has remained sealed for too long and where each flake of dust reminds you of a different time.

But it’s fragile. Just as you begin to remember, those memories shatter. Familiarity dissolves as old images crash with new ones, merging together, turning to smoke, being carried away by the present, dispersed forever.

Into the cold yellow of the lamppost’s light, Phos looked old. Older than their years. They looked tired, weary. It was in the way they carried themselves, in the way their smile did not reach their eyes, in the way their cheeks would dimple and in the way Phos would hide their eyes under their fringe. Just like Cinnabar.

In that moment, Cinnabar understood what a mature person would do. A friend, a true friend, would throw away their own feelings and ask Phos what was wrong. Because something was, something was terribly wrong.

“Please?” Phos added. It was like a mumbled stab to Cinnabar’s resolution.

They were aware of how much Phosphophyllite had meant to them and of how much they still wanted Phos to mean. Cinnabar would not hope for anything, but this was still Phos, they were in front of them, hidden beneath layers of memories and experiences that they had made without Cinnabar.

But it had been Phos’ choice. Cinnabar had let them go once, because they dared not wish for anything, and they would do it again because wishing was still scary.

They thought about their resentment, about departing coaches and about Antarcticite. They thought that Phos would be going home to Antarc eventually and that they would take better care of Phos than Cinnabar. They thought about Bort’s words.

You owe them nothing.

“No,” Cinnabar pushed the syllable past their lips. It was like remembering how to talk and they regretted it immediately after.

“Alright,” Phos said. The look that crossed their face sat uncomfortably in Cinnabar’s chest. Then Phos stepped aside to let Cinnabar pass, moving out of their way as if they would disappear if they only could.

Cinnabar walked past them as if through a haze, clinging to reasons and an anger they could already feel dissolving. The echo of Phos’ voice came to them as if through water.

“Goodnight,” it said.

#houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous #hnk #cinnaphos #cinnabar #phosphophyllite #1960s au #fic tag

[sacriilegious]

Alexandra Wallace Smith's Idea of Privacy

My sister is placing. All the ladies in our circle of relatives are. My Aunt Magdalene turned into noticeably beautiful too. They have spitfire personalities. Daddy, you already know, you of all recognize my hurried notes, the journals that I have kept from childhood persisted to beyond, the journal, the rejected novel, the reckoning, the poems that I've scribbled, misplaced, that time and electricity and ego forgot. Then there are the black Croxley notebooks. I am determined to keep that far from you, and from the relaxation of the arena for appropriate  Custom Made Jewellery Muirhead wounded me. I reflect onconsideration on all his ladies within the workplace space in Johannesburg earlier than I came domestic to my youth home in Port Elizabeth frightened to demise of falling pregnant. Having a child out of wedlock. Becoming a single figure and raising a child by myself with very little money. I infrequently made any money or had an earnings to aid a child. How they included him, laughed at his jokes, how they positioned him on a pedestal, how they worshiped him, how they sat contrary him in fancy Johannesburg eating places consuming their cabernet or merlot. Thinking girls, beautiful women, ladies with teenagers, naivety and sexual inexperience (even though the sexual impulse, the sexual force changed into there) on their side. How he winded hem up as though they're electric dolls. I heated up the livers, mushrooms and bacon, the leftovers, scrambled the eggs and listened to the morning information at the radio. The bus coming in from Port Elizabeth to Johannesburg had flipped into the air off the highway. There have been no fatalities. The plums had been juicy and candy. I would shop them for lunch. I sat on the kitchen table, buttered my toast, drank my lukewarm coffee, crossed my legs, scratched my knee absentmindedly and stared out of the window. The breakfast's grease became caught to the pan. I should overlook about it. And the more conscious I have become of the sky, the surroundings, the internal, the extra conscious I became of who created the invention, vision, dream, purpose, and quit of this line of sky, of blue, of this creator, this tortured poet, this chook?

I felt his hand intimately as if it became a dream and then nothing. I felt ashamed.

The dream girl after leaving Johannesburg become a female. She returned to the coast, to her father's residence, her mother's kitchen, her mother's know-how and the thrones of her childhood continued, to the art of a coronary heart undone. She again to the coast wherein water could be discovered in wild locations, where tides were problem to change, to the area in which she spent astounding blue hours staring up on the sky. She had her books. Her index finger would linger on the spine in her father's grand have a look at, his library, and his 'London revel in'. The house was dilapidated. It become in a terrible manner. The tiles were falling off the wall in the kitchen. The partitions wished a lick of paint. The interiors were in need of restore. The entire residence had to be renovated. The dream woman had again. The dream girl changed into additionally decided to exchange. She additionally desired to be heroic, angelic and magical.

Writing approximately grief is one of the maximum difficult things I have ever had to do. Nerves I may want to fathom as I stood in the front of them however what I definitely wanted to do was break out. Everybody constantly speaks about the miracle of lifestyles at a funeral. When dying will pay a go to there's no apprehension about discussing what tune to play when the coffin is diminished, what hymns could be played, what verse might be read out of the bible, and who will make the potato salad.

Ocean of beads. Not supposed to remaining lengthy on this lifetime or the following. The human beings of South Africa are like that. My metropolis is a dignified city packed with church humans. In Central you will locate the excellent ladies within the international. They will detach themselves from feminism, and the tigers that come at night, their rivals in a finite time and place. They are moneyed. Drugs have destroyed the very artwork of their soul. Every gram of their spirits have wasted away. Muirhead. Flesh have come earlier than you and after. The most tremendous elements of you portioned off like booths in an office area. Tell me everything you want me to be I would have said in my twenties. This doesn't must be the cease of it but it is. It is. And still I say let it now not be so. So comedian. So tragic. I stand on this ice house. In this residence from hell. Pale. The origins of smoke and mirrors, the cosmic bloodlines of my imagination, can be visible thru the embodiment and timeline of my flesh.

Paper skinny skating on ice is what I've yearned for my whole existence. Not to fail, no longer to discriminate, however to create artwork in the panorama of suicidal despair and infection. All poetry and poetic justice seems to ask folks is to have a determined lust for lifestyles. I still need to familiarise myself with rituals that I determined so comforting in formative years. Norma Jean in which are you, where do you discover your self now, who're you and what's that golden mirrored image staring lower back at you? Is there something extra seductive than madness, than being blonde and being desired via the world at massive, to be quiet approximately your philosophy on life, your starving ambitions to be a creator and a poet? To triumph like you've got triumphed Norma Jean is to laugh inside the face of ladies and men, of presidents, of feminists, to snicker inside the face of the adversity that they've confronted. No remember how short, how solitary ecstasy is one cannot get away its urgency, its survival guide, that stain of love no matter how effective and fresh it might be, how dwindled it would make you experience ultimately, you may discover that that enjoy was worth it. I left the madness and the warmth of the city in the back of me in my early twenties. It will leave you beautifully grown now.

The universe is sweeter, purer, more honourable and I am much less haunted, less ghostlike, much less obvious, baffled by using denial. I can't erase the precious of existence anymore and the fragility of it. How overwhelmed and petrified my spirit once become. Am I, changed into I ever without a doubt cherished? The women round me in life, inside the place of job, in the sphere of instant circle of relatives have been introspective cohorts. I am exhausted of writing about preference and this is the reality of the problem because in a few manner it's miles invincible like scrapbooking on something at the inked tattooed patchwork planet that you stay in. I've become a primitive lady in green areas, green feasts of them, and foundations of winter bushes of them. I've end up an invention of a current girl. The invention of the width of the thread of the other girl in a land that point forgot. What are the lyrics once more to that track? What are the traces that time forgot in that magazine on the ones cold, harsh blue, blue traces? I am bored with feeding the beasts galore however mustn't angels usually be defended? Who or what in essence defines an angel? An angel is the unseen, the invisible proper and nobody can hardwire your brain like God can.

And what's desire clearly? Smoke and honey inside the dance of anger, intimacy, duplicity and deception and the eternal obsession of all the ones things. It is supposed for the gamine, the ethereal, and the otherworldly, the magical female. The adolescent. Children are intended for women and what occurs whilst you like writing approximately demise. For me I fee remarks on demise, on eternity, on the paradise of heaven, the recognition-thinking in wishful wondering, the curious creatures that volcano human beings are and the numerous faces of saints. I've constantly believed in angels. The living preserve on living even as the useless flip to dust. There's a dismal aching, a canvas on which to play on, the haunting ache in my brother's soul is the equal ache which I actually have in my own. There's a ghost country in my head. The colleges, the rooms, and all the white walled interiors of my creativeness. And if I close my eyes I can believe all of our contours and the blue sharp light poured into the cages of the heavenly sky. The lover and the mother and the drowning blossom that turned into me. Dirt swimming-swimming in a watery spool gene pool of garbage. The death of a pet and a poet painting this elusive international with lucid notion styles.

Does decay, blood and the dark every get lonely and the groom with the unspoken passion he has for his bride? The bride in her wedded bliss. In her not possible excessive-heeled shoes. So I turned into there in spirit. If fish kissed oxygen they would surely die. Their pomegranate gills snuffed out of lifestyles. What are the grains of poverty? Where do they lay? Are they sequestered? Their souls lie in South Africa, possibly even take root there. Roots tapping into the existence of the soil, the way of life of the earth, tapping into the weight of water, or squalor (whichever it reaches first underneath the instances), preserving the fragility of phones as lifestyles buoys, unspecified social media is the new attractive, tapping into non secular poverty, the cemeteries of poverty, of the bone-worn-out. What sweetness! The unknown comes with anticipation. The anticipation of the awareness of wonder and the prying eyes of society. Where does my soul lie? It lay with you for a while I bet. Sated bride, uninvolved girl, splendor assembly the beautiful middle of a masculine identity, and the physical frame of a mysterious wellspring of the intelligence of the other of sexuality.

Alone, given way to spiritual abandonment, inhibitory nostalgia and the holiest of holies privacy, and with the solitude status that comes with intimacy I think about you. You burnt via. You not anything but a burnt and melted fragment but nonetheless dispelling radiance. You just like the crested burnt end of a matchstick. Sooty cinders inside the fireplace. Cinders from the coal. Cinders and smoke out of your freshly lit cigarette. Give me mouth to mouth resuscitation so I can be brought lower back to lifestyles, your life. I assume that the only thing that genuinely mattered in the long run, and that was product of a substance that would be harvested from the cells of a everyday reality turned into in the steps of Jean Rhys's haunting vulnerability. The haunting vulnerability of all ladies. I can see it in their eyes, their manner they hold themselves responsible to shielding themselves from being placed on show if it isn't always on their phrases, the long road of their guarded pilgrimage into humanity, spirituality. Gods to be made from their reflections inner of the searching glass. I marvel the way to prevent stammering. How to break out into letter-writing. If I can not get away into love, its poetic grace, mercy and use.

Into wincing at its threshold of pain and yet comprehending it on the identical time. Comprehending the solar, moon and superstar cloth, the summer season's son and his empire. And so starts offevolved the letter to a brother in rehabilitation. Brother and anchor. The 'filthy distinct' ceramic little Buddha pottering around. You have been the anchor that cemented me, my symphony, my instrument, my not unusual intention, my oracle, my passion. You have been my one direction to observe homeward bound. What is living inside the heart is this. The partitions of a garden made of brick and mortar, stone and everything this is recovery. Winter bushes and Whitman. It is time for the display, finding Isaiah within the gritty switch of the loophole. Why didn't you come once? Why did not you write once wholesome specimen of possession, what's the tragedy of all of it but are you glad, refreshed by using all of the seeds, roots, flora and stems? I stared and stared on the picture of him and questioned on the tragedy of it all. Speechless earlier than the image evaporates completely something takes location and shortly the whole thing unearths its vicinity on neutral floor, in gravity, on earth or in soil. There is not any promise within the death of the solar most effective the angelic, the whispers underfoot.

There is new life in flowers, in love, in empathy and the passion that humanity has for empathy. Everything frail earlier than it's far misplaced. Lost to the darkish. What is black and what is darkish? Is it one and the equal? The odor of cinnamon and bark. Salt and light. The coloration of the day, dawn breaking into fragments. The stillness of the air. What are you made from Mr. Muirhead? Skin and bone, flesh and tissue, a succession of the bodily melting away round you for your immediately surroundings? The noise for your head, in that rush, can you experience it to your blood, that instance of possession. Where to from right here from following a street map into the complicated intrigue of a sheltered youth endured, and there I discovered love. In the behaviour of an artist at work, the supply of communique, the self-portrait of human capital, the whole lot heightened when it is illuminated as an example visions of the cosmos disintegrating, collapsing beneath meteors on film. Drawings of earth's destruction, the bride of technological advancements, the use of the psychological framework of what came before the humanity as we knew it as children and as we get older, come to be human beings with our very own ideas to again up our values we trade, and we trade the arena around us. We have Sci-fi to thank for that, Kubrick and Spielberg.

'Do not lecture me. You do not know something approximately my scars.' My brother tells me. He says it together with his eyes too and I see a wild blue sky. Its adventure is electrical in which its routes have emerge as as critical as the locations of a diamond inside the hard. Through the searching glass's façade comes the primary harm, the poetry of my early twenties. Every circle of relatives is dysfunctional in their own manner. We stay in a traumatic society. I appear to had been born with this intuition to be considerate and sensitive, know-how and being concerned to others who seem to be in a less privileged role than I am but it has include a rate. My brother with his cigarettes, stale smoke and moustache and the younger woman on his arm who herself is a fragile beauty. They are each stuck up in contemplative noise. They have discovered themselves best to fall among the celebrities. So I am left in mourning for what has been misplaced for both of them. A adolescence.

[wildlyhardphilosopher-blog]

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ISBN 0-87605-457-2 Working Dogs Media library Aging Anatomy Coat Diseases Dog food Heartworm Odor Rabies Reproduction Skin disorders Vaccination Tank Non Kit Meet The Team We liked this BTN story because the people were kind enough to train the puppies help the blind and deaf people. This list is incomplete; you can help by expanding it. Stands 4 – 12 months old Lifetime Guarantee we train them all! Terms and Conditions – Positive Dog Training Housing Emma is amazing!!! � Couldn’t recommend highly enough! Our little Phoebe is already different in all the right ways! � Media related to Dog training at Wikimedia Commons We are available in Brisbane, Gold Coast, Byron Bay, Sunshine Coast, Canberra, Melbourne, Cairns and Adelaide, and offer after-hours and weekend sessions at no extra charge. This way you can involve your whole family at a time that suits you. Dog behavioural training is the application of behaviour analysis, which uses the environmental events of antecedents and consequences to modify the behaviour of a dog, either for it to assist in specific activities or undertake particular tasks, or for it to participate effectively in contemporary domestic life. A dog learns from interactions it has with its environment. Urban Basics Course 1300306887 Levels Training Program 24 Aug 2017 10:14:15am Game hunting in Victoria 5. The breed of dogs used in the program are __________________ . Bedding Cost: $295.00/$235.00 © Copyright 2018 Redgum Vet & Pet Boarding | All Rights Reserved | Built By Marketing Sweet In other projects Happy Hounds offers individualised dog behavioural training consultations using the Amichien Bonding method. This method is non-confrontational and stress-free and involves working with the nature of the dog to achieve the desired behaviour responses. Posts This class lays the foundations for more advanced training by teaching your dog to focus on you. Your dog also learns to sit and drop and respond to their name. It sounds simple, but these form a strong foundation and help you understand your dog and how they learn. Byron Bay Dog Boarding Sydney Mouthing or Biting Alpha roll Animals On Course George – we are so thankful for the time you spent with us and our border collie Annie. You are patient, kind and so in touch with dogs behaviour. I learnt more in our 2 hours than we have in endless …hours of other trainings. I never in a million years thought that within that time Annie would have learnt to loose lead walk, stay and not jump on visitors. I cannot recommend you highly enough. Thanks again. Main Menu By Cesar Millan Clicker-training using a metal cricket RSPCA Pet Insurance If you’ve got a specific puppy issue you could use an extra measure of help with – house training, puppy biting, inappropriate chewing, and the like – a little private training is just the thing. Total Care or or Log in to your account At Redgum, we have teamed with Leanne, our fully trained consultant who will spend time with you and your dog or dogs, in your own environment, before developing a detailed plan. She will explain to you the strategies you can put into place to achieve the behavioural training you are seeking. Feedback Weekend: Meet Our Engineering Apprentice Trainers Formal canine training is most valuable for puppies 8 weeks and older. Anything that has been learned incorrectly will need to be undone and re-taught, so it is wise to begin the training as soon as possible. About the Purina PetCare Advice Centre Blog Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Australia Licence. © Copyright 2018 Certificate III in Dog Behaviour & Training Leave it Pet Cremations Canberra Guide Dogs and Seeing Eye Dogs Corporate Matched Giving Our systems have detected unusual traffic from your computer network. Please try your request again later. Why did this happen? Send your dog’s vaccination record to: Like us on Facebook Stay Group classes are a great way to teach good manners with basic obedience, and includes safe and appropriate socialisation. Loading… Work Litter Trays Component 4: Certificate IV in Companion Animal Services Good Leadership and Communication Browse the directory using the A-Z index of services – select the service that you want, then the organisations that provide the service will be displayed Dog Training Seattle | Reviews Dog Training Seattle | Read Our Reviews Here Dog Training Seattle | Simple and Effective Solutions Legal | Sitemap

#Dog Health #Gun Dog Training

[m-emoriam]

days 5 and 6: pillow talk and let’s get sexy

caught in the headlights (of your love) [1158 words]

hey i’m late!! sorry!!! still, i got it done.

this isn’t exactly very domestic or overly-sexy. oops? i just wanted to write about the (mostly) off-screen intimacy between these two. B)  which is still kinda domestic?? who knows

anyway. hope you enjoy!!!! ;-* 

The kind of intimacy you and Aaron share in public is nowhere near as intense as when you’re both alone with each other.

You’re close in public. Everyone knows, and you’re past the point of caring what people think, so it’s easy to show Aaron affection. In public, it’s as simple as a hand on Aaron’s back, just for a second. Maybe a quick hug in the pub after coming home, a little kiss on the cheek. Even kissing him on the mouth in public is easy, now, and it’s freeing, in a way. It’s almost a relief, after hiding who you were for so long – being too afraid to love someone like Aaron.  

You’re not scared anymore.

You show your affection for Aaron with little gestures, but it’s so obvious how much you love him. You wear your love for Aaron on your sleeve, and you’ve stopped caring who sees it. In a heartbeat, you’d stand on the tables of the Woolpack and yell your love for him. No second thoughts, no regrets. Although, sometimes table-standing and yelling isn't even necessary - everyone can see the blatant heart-eyes you give each other.  

“If I ever ‘ad a bloke that looked at me like that,” Chas comments one day, nodding to Aaron while she pulls them a couple of pints, “Reckon things'd've turned out a lot better.”  

And you grin, handing her a five pound note. “I’m lucky,” you tell her, as if she doesn’t already know. You are. You’re so lucky to have Aaron, because he has so much love. There’s enough for every single member of his family, and for you and Liv. It’s amazing, because even though it’s shared between so many people, you still feel overwhelmed by how much love he saves for you.  

He has a big heart, and maybe that’s why it was so hard for you to stay away.  

It’s hard to believe that this is actually happening, sometimes. After dreaming about it, this life, countless times, you sometimes have to pinch yourself to make sure it's real. If anyone told you, two years ago, that you’d be married to another man – Aaron Dingle, at that – you would’ve called them crazy.

And it is crazy, at times. Your relationship is intense - always has been. There's always something new happening with the two of you, or with one or all of the Dingles. It's hard to keep up with. You adore them, though. Your new family. It's still weird to say, sometimes. Who would have thought, a few years ago, that you would end up becoming a Dingle?

The only problem with being a Dingle is that there's always one around. There's always Chas and Charity at the Woolpack, of course, but then there's Cain at the scrapyard sometimes, Lisa at the Mill with boxes upon boxes of meals, Debbie coming over for a brew and a catch-up with Aaron. You were surprised to come home to a house full of Dingles one evening, when all you wanted to do was curl up with your husband after a long day.

And that's what it is, when you and Aaron are alone together. It's the kind of thing that Liv says she wants to be sick over.

When you’re alone with each other, whether it’s in the living room, the kitchen, the bedroom, the kind of intimacy you share is unlike anything you’ve experienced before. It’s Aaron, leaning into your space, sharing food, kissing and touching you. It’s his fingers stroking across the ridges of your knuckles and his cheek resting on your shoulder.  

It’s Aaron, sitting next to you and winding down after a long day. Finding comfort in your presence.  

He’s deep under your skin, and you’re happy. You want him there forever, because with it comes this warmth. Spreading through your veins and moving through every part of your body. You’ll keep him there forever, because you’re afraid of what’ll happen if he ever digs his way out. Death by hypothermia, probably.  

You love him so, so much.

It’s a lot different, loving someone for who they are, rather than the idea of them. It was like that with Chrissie. You were so convinced that she was the love of your life back then, but she's nothing compared to Aaron.  Chrissie was elegance and the promise of a hefty inheritance. She was gorgeous. Witty and fierce. But she was also a lifetime of hiding who you are. A marriage you wouldn't have been truly happy in. She was fantastic. Until you met Aaron, and just couldn't stay away.

Aaron is... Well, he's everything. He's stronger than anyone. He's flawed, but he's perfect at the same time - you think he's perfect, and that's all that matters. He's dirt and mud and oil, but it never matters to you. He's family. Most importantly, he's the truth. There's no more hiding. No more worrying about letting your father down, being the way you are, because Aaron taught you that there's nothing to be ashamed of. He's safe, warm.

He's the love of your life.

But then there's your private time alone together.

No one's allowed to see this, obviously. The image of Aaron when he wants would no doubt have everyone falling in love with him. He's gorgeous. The most beautiful person you've ever met - man or woman. Just thinking about him, looking at you with those eyes - challenging you and asking you and flirting with you. Daring you, while he climbs into your lap or while he sinks down onto his knees before you. It makes you weak.

It really is a sight to behold.

And the best part is that it's all for you.

You have more time now, and it’s better. There’s time to go slow, to find what works without worrying about getting home to your wife on time without her suspecting anything. You’re past all the rush; the need to and want to is still there, but it’s so much different now. Now, you can have all night, if you want it. All night to indulge in it; in Aaron. To see all the different ways you can make him come undone under your touch. Your hands on his body, your mouth on his neck. Making him squirm and shudder.

Aaron's not as slow or methodical as you are. He tears into you, rather than taking you apart piece by piece. He can have you begging in seconds, keening and almost crying with it. You feel pathetic, sometimes, that he can have this effect on you so easily.

And afterwards, you get to lie in bed with him, press yourself against his back and kiss the span of skin in between his shoulder blades. Whisper sweet nothings, because that's just who you are now. And he scoffs, tells you to shut up and that he loves you in the same breath.

And then, you fall even more in love.

#elizabeth writes #robron week 2017 #rw2017 #emmerdale #robron #aaron dingle #robert sugden

[vernicle]

Mike Pence grew up in Columbus, Indiana. Here's what it's like to be LGBTQ there.

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Homophobes are designed, not born. Mike Pence — generally the homophobe in main — was designed in Columbus, Indiana.

It is a pleasant, little city in the southern element of the point out. It is house to a desired destination-worthy ice cream parlor, a putt-putt golf heart, a astonishing volume of globe-class modern architecture, and all-around 45,000 men and women. It is exactly where Pence grew up and fashioned the values he would afterwards carry to his do the job.

Columbus, Indiana. Image by Graham Coreil-Allen/Flickr.

Pence, who served as Indiana's governor from 2013 to 2017, describes himself as "a Christian, a conservative, and a Republican, in that order." His procedures through his time top the point out mirrored those priorities, placing the civil legal rights of the state's LGBTQ populace in severe jeopardy. Now, he is acquired the ear of the president and may possibly, a person day, maintain the place of work himself.

Vice President Mike Pence delivers remarks as NASA introduces new astronaut candidates. Image by Invoice Ingalls/NASA by way of Getty Illustrations or photos.

So what's it like to celebrate Pride Thirty day period in Columbus, the hometown of a man established on working with plan to restrict the freedoms of the LGBTQ populace?

For Sameer Samudra, obtaining comfort in Columbus failed to come about overnight. When he arrived in 2000, the city was mainly white, Christian, and conservative. Samudra, now forty two, a gay man born and raised in Pune, India, suggests there was a selected degree of tradition shock.

"I failed to sense definitely welcomed or definitely element of it," he suggests.

Samudra (remaining) with his husband, Adit. Image by way of Sameer Samudra, employed with permission.

Samudra operates for the city's greatest employer, Cummins, which is a company that models and manufactures engines and generators. It is underneath the firm's leadership that lifetime in Columbus has enhanced for LGBTQ men and women and men and women of coloration.

The company began making it possible for domestic companion positive aspects in 2000 and recruits staff members from all all-around the globe, producing Columbus slightly more diverse than neighboring communities. There are now more diverse dining places and the latest immigrants joining the community. It is a welcome sight, even even though the city stays all-around eighty two% white.

In significant element because of to the firm's force for variety, Columbus feels more like house for Samudra. He married his husband, Adit, there in 2010. Whilst friends from large cities balked at the idea of finding married in the little community, Samudra failed to flinch.

"I sense like in the U.S., men and women have these conceptions about 'a lesser city in southern Indiana,'" he suggests. "There are so many items that you can knowledge and check out in little Midwestern towns. It is a person of the explanations me and Adit ... designed Columbus our house."

Image by way of Sameer Samudra, employed with permission.

In 2015, Pence signed into regulation the Spiritual Flexibility Restoration Act, a piece of legislation that effectively permitted individuals and little enterprises to discriminate on the basis of faith. The regulation turned a nationwide challenge with vocal opponents, including longtime Columbus resident Sondra Bolte, sixty seven, who protested against it. Bolte has lived in Columbus due to the fact 1981, and following going through harassment and intimidation in advance of she came out of the closet, she knew Pence's plan was a action in the improper route.

"It appears to be like it failed to subject who testified, how substantially testimony there was in favor of our legal rights it just often came down on the other facet," she remembers. "It was just definitely very aggravating, but we might get up and do it again the next day."

At remaining, demonstrators obtain outside the Indianapolis Town-County Building in March 2015. On the proper is Sondra Bolte. Images by way of Aaron P. Bernstein/Getty Illustrations or photos and Sondra Bolte, employed with permission.

Pence signed a "take care of" to the monthly bill just a handful of days afterwards to assuage issues, but the emotional toll on the LGBTQ community was straight away felt. Samudra suggests the plan empowered hateful teams and discrimination.

"It felt like someone just insulted me and slapped me in my confront and punched me in my intestine," he remembers.

Now that Pence is out of point out authorities, many in Columbus are cautiously optimistic. But mainly careful.

Samudra thinks the negativity and vitriol stirred and emboldened by Pence and the Trump administration may possibly basically have labored against them simply because more allies are moved to act in the fight for equality.

"A large amount of straight allies ... failed to notice how terrible it can get," Samudra suggests. "Now a large amount of men and women are inquiring me, 'What can we do to modify this or aid ... the LGBT movement?'"

Samudra at a neighborhood demonstration. Image by way of Sameer Samudra, employed with permission.

Indiana's new governor, Eric Holcomb, has rolled again some of Pence's procedures, but the harm to the point out, particularly the LGBTQ community, has not been undone.

"I think [Holcomb] definitely cares about governing in the point out of Indiana and he cares about the men and women, while I think Mike Pence cared about Mike Pence. Period," Bolte suggests.

Which is why Pride Thirty day period — in Columbus and throughout the region — is so significant.

For Samudra, it is a probability to celebrate LGBTQ visibility.

"This is a definitely huge community with their possess one of a kind requires and troubles, and [Pride Thirty day period] presents us that visibility and that perception of accomplishment," he suggests.

Revelers hug through Circle Town Pride activities in Indianapolis in June 2015. Image by AJ Mast/AP.

For Bolte, Pride gatherings put faces to the typically monolithic "LGBTQ community" designation. These are friends, neighbors, colleagues, and loved ones users — not just faces in a crowd.

Celebrations and gatherings can give men and women still in the closet a strengthen, far too.

"I think that items have changed for us simply because men and women were eager to be out and just take whichever arrives their way," Bolte suggests. "June is very significant to aid men and women who are a minor little bit afraid go, 'I can do this.'"

Folks like Mike Pence have the means and electricity to do severe harm.

They can strip absent the legal rights, freedoms, and privileges every person deserves. But they are unable to just take absent passion, resilience, or pleasure, even in the put they maintain most pricey. Not now. Not at any time.

And that is one thing to celebrate.

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[lettersfromthewoundedplace-blog]

how we become undone

this is my theoretical orientation... in draft form

from the moment of conception, we are an entirely intact soul.  when our parents genetics come together in the form of a sperm and egg, there are predispositions for personality tendencies, addictions, temperament, phyiscal and mental disorders, etc that are beyond our control.  in addition, any trauma that our parents and the generations before them have sustained is also imprinted in our genetic coding.  (http://reset.me/story/science-proving-memories-passed-ancestors/)  (http://www.whatisepigenetics.com/inherited-epigenetic-and-behavioral-consequences-of-trauma-could-be-reversed/)  in addition, any stress that we are put under while en-utero plays a role on our physical and psychological development... things like domestic violence, increased cortisol into our mother’s blood stream (and, therefor, ours), substances, etc. 

so although our soul is without a doubt whole, most of us come with some areas of need for our resilience to the life here on this planet.  also, our being from conception is as close to the divine as we will ever be in our lifetime.  our basic makeup is the same as the stars and other celestial bodies and holds the same basic coding of the universe.

in most cases, before we are even born, whom we are is being determined by the players in our game.  we are assigned a gender, a name, a career, a way of making our parents’ hopes and dreams come true.  this isn’t always traumatizing for us, but the more of it there is, the more it covers up who we are really are without all of these stories that people are telling about us. 

very quickly from birth, we learn to change/morph/mask our true selves in order to fit in.  because we are mammals and require social herding to survive, fitting in is a requirement when we are young and vulnerable or we will die.  we don’t ever get rid of who we are.  you cannot remove the moment of your conception from yourself or there would be no you.  instead, who we are continues to get covered up by others who tell us to cover up parts of ourselves or, by us as we learn to cover up in order to fit in.  in most cases, this covering up means that we lose touch with our true self and, as a result, the universe that we have come from as well.

then you factor in the countless ways that serious traumas can happen to people.  abandonment.  sexual.  physical.  emotional.  etc. more ways that we learn to cover ourselves to survive those experiences.

also, we are called away from ourselves even further by the presence of distractions such as substances, smart phones, food, lovers, and other “addictions” which are really just ways to distract us from our truth.

so then what is required in order to heal the human psyche?

*well, a reconnection to the divine universe for sure.  this can be done in religion, but also requires the use of nature. 

*mindfulness meditation so that we can come face to face with who we really are.  so that we can hear the thoughts that we have, the desires, the truths.  once we are clear on them, we can act from them

*a community that allows us to act from those truths once they are established within us

*physical movement so that we can come back to the real and raw of our physical being.  yoga.  walking.  movement.

*a detox from the distractions. 

that’s what i’ve got so far!

[thisishowyouletgoandfindyou-blog]

Dear Man Who Loves The Woman Who Has Been To Hell and Back, Last year I published the article, How To Love A Woman Who Has Been To Hell and Back. This article has since been republished on more websites than I could even tell you. It has been shared hundreds of thousands of times all around the world, and has received millions of views. I can’t tell you how many hundreds of messages I’ve received from women who have thanked me for giving them the words they could never say. But in the last while, my inbox has also been filled with messages from men such as you. Men who are trying to love the woman who has been to hell and back, but are struggling. Men who are doing the best they can, but are hurting. Men who are trying to understand more, do better, love harder, but aren’t sure if it’s worth the pain and exhaustion. Men who are confused, unsure, lost, and in need of answers. Dear man, the fact that you love your woman so much that you are willing to read an article to understand her more is a truly wonderful thing. That you would message me in the hope of knowing how to love her better is admirable. Men like you are rare, precious, and so appreciated. The world needs more men like you. Men who are strong, brave, resilient, determined, loyal, and willing to love at a high cost because you understand the worth of the woman you hold in your arms. You are a testament to the masculine heart that encompasses both strength and gentleness, fierceness and kindness. Hearts like yours are worthy of respect, and I give thanks that you have chosen to love the woman in your life with such determination, commitment and resolve. I understand how hard it is to love a woman who has been to hell and back. Because the thing is, this woman carries in her heart a lifetime of pain that you didn’t cause. You didn’t inflict this pain on her. You didn’t hurt her. You didn’t damage her heart. You aren’t the reason she cannot fully love or trust. But you are the one she pushes away. You are the one who tries to get close to her, to love her, but fails. You are the one she won’t turn to when she’s in pain, the one she won’t talk to when she feels alone, the one she won’t draw near to when she needs someone the most. You are the one she hurts, because she is hurting. And you don’t deserve that. I know what that does to your heart. I know of the times you are so damn frustrated at not knowing what to do. I know you feel like no matter how much you love her, it will never be enough. I know you are exhausted at times, and are not sure how much more you can take of this storm. I know you feel confused and sometimes none of it makes sense and you lay awake at night and wonder if it’s worth it. But the thing is, you’re still there. You’re still there because something tells you this is worth it. It’s difficult for me to tell you how to best love the woman who has been to hell and back. No situation is ever the same, and I have not the mind and heart of a man in your shoes. But this is what I can tell you. My original article was not written to condone abuse of any kind. Our society is vocal when it comes to domestic violence where women are the victims, but far less vocal to speak of men who are abused by women. It’s real, and it happens, and I understand how my article may have been interpreted in this respect and how that may have confused and upset you. But abuse is never okay, no matter from a man to a woman, or a woman to a man. There is a difference between a woman who is hurting and inadvertently hurts others as she works through her pain, and a woman who justifies hurting others because she has been hurt, so that makes it okay. There is a difference between a woman who is willing to acknowledge that she has hurt others, who seeks forgiveness and redemption, and who strives to do better, and a woman who plays the victim card, blames others, and does not seek to change her ways but expects others to be her punching bag. There is a difference between a woman who struggles to love but does her best to give all she can to the relationship, and one who merely expects, takes, and gives nothing in return. I know sometimes the lines can seem blurred, and because of this you struggle to know whether to stay or leave. But you are not obligated or responsible to stay there in the face of abuse. You must still, always, protect your heart. The woman who has been to hell and back needs to be responsible for her own healing. It’s not an easy journey, nor a fast one. There are many hard days, many times she will get stuck and not know the way forward. But the important thing to consider is that she is trying – for herself, for you, for your relationship. No-one can tell you whether to stay or leave, only you can determine what you see in her heart, whether you see growth and change and promise, or whether you merely feel like her doormat. To love a woman who has been to hell and back is not easy. But it should never mean abuse, lack of respect, lack of boundaries, or that you become a scapegoat for someone who is unwilling to heal. This is something you must be able to understand the difference between in order to answer the question of whether you should stay or leave. I can tell you that you are not responsible for fixing her, nor does she want you to. Men are fixers, and I understand it’s in your nature to want to make this better; make her better. But this is her journey. This is her pain. Her healing will not be pretty. At times she will be the hurricane and you will need to be the storm shelter – let her rage, let her anger and her fury and her pain unleash from her heart, let the weight of the trauma she has stored in her body for so many years come undone. Don’t fight it, don’t stop it, don’t fix it. Just be that safe place for her to come home to when the storm ends and the tears begin. You cannot fix her, you can only love her. I can tell you the woman who has been to hell and back has a story written on her heart. A story which says everyone who should have protected her, didn’t. Everyone she trusted, hurt her. Everyone she loved, left her. She waits for you to continue the story, to be the next person to reject her, abandon her, hurt her. She expects it. She thinks it’s only a matter of time. And this is why she pushes you away, hurts you, leaves you, when you have only ever loved her. She doesn’t believe she is worthy of a love like yours, and believes it’s only a matter of time until you realise this too. You asked me what it means to love harder. It means you will need to be better than anyone else at love. It means you will need to love with more strength, more patience, more grace, more determination, more understanding, more perseverance. It means you will need to love her more than anyone else has before or will again. It means you will need to love her until she understands what love is, and believes in a love she’s never known. It means you will need to love her hard enough to be the one to re-write the story on her heart. But dear man, you wouldn’t be reading this if you weren’t everything she needs, and didn’t have everything it takes, to love the woman who has been to hell and back. Author: Kathy Parker (With permission)