#and the reason is 'all energy is going towards bracing for the depression impact when that one-year-anniversary-of-a-global-pandemic hits' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bigskydreaming · 3 years

Text

Hey friendly reminder that I honestly do not want anyone to follow me unless they actually WANT to which means they are free to unfollow, refollow, leave and come back and leave again or WHATEVER as many times as they want, for any reason whatsoever. Including if my posting styles of the moment get to be too much for them or are not to their liking, etc?

BUT I have been seeing a surge in comments in notes and stuff on various posts of mine about the length of my posts or the rambling of my posts and like....I know? This is not new information to me? But I post the way I post at any given time based on the resources I have at any given time and the fact that its often a matter of I can post a long rambling post or I can make no post at all.

Like, I really truly do not like going into specifics about my situation more than necessary or when not necessary, because like, my situation is boring to me, I don’t particularly care to dwell on it any more than I have to. But the fact of the matter is its still a thing that exists so here goes: yes I have physical issues like near constant migraines and pain and also vertigo, and yes I have neurodivergencies like C-PTSD and ADHD and yes I have circumstances that include near constant stress from eternally being in the negatives, financially, as well as being almost constantly hungry from a lack of money and limited options for eating due to the physical constraints of my jaw as well as being consistently sleep deprived because there’s only so much sleep you can get when there’s no such thing as a physically comfortable sleeping arrangement for you currently, all while existing in a constant limbo of I literally have NO idea when any of this will change for me because haha fun fact WE LIVE IN A PANDEMIC.

My point is like......all of these are things I’m not shy about, but they don’t exist as bullet points in a checklist of identity or circumstantial traits, they all exist at all times as points of fact that influence and inform and interact with each other.

So my financial situation and limbo of not being able to move forward with my surgery because of the chaos of the health care industry during a pandemic directly informs both the way stress impacts my mental health issues, but also my ability to treat my mental health issues by way of medication, nutrition, rest.....ie, almost every cent I make via work, etc, goes right back out the door to keeping up my insurance premiums of $850 a month, because even though my surgery is paid for, there’s still elements like hospital stay fees, anesthesia, etc, that won’t be paid until the day of surgery itself, and which I will not be able to pay without my insurance remaining current and active. Which means that I had to prioritize an insurance package that would net me THOSE benefits, which means I had to sacrifice parts of insurance that are no longer in that package, but which previously made things like my medications, refill appointments and therapy more affordable for me.

Which means that I have to prioritize my medication and therapy etc and maintain my therapy and PTSD, depression and anxiety meds as the most important to upkeep, while my ADHD meds are pretty much priced out of accessibility for me at the moment. Like, the specifics of my metabolism and various trial and error with different meds over the years and the way my body rapidly adapts to various meds and plateaus to a point where they cease to have any real impact on me means the only ADHD medication that’s consistently effective for me is Vyvanse, which there isn’t a viable generic form of that I can take, meaning a monthly refill of it is $350 without insurance, which I flat out can not ever afford anymore, which means its been roughly two months since I last popped an ADHD pill.

So yeah, that directly impacts things like my ability to self-edit, make a point briefly, or refrain from circling back to the same point several times over and over because I literally forget that I made it.

Now of course ADHD medication is not the be-all and end-all and its not like there aren’t various other life-hacks and coping strategies for working around ADHD even without it, after all, I didn’t even get diagnosed until I was 26. But these various other adaptations rely on things like good nutrition (which I can not regularly afford, or even consume....most leafy green vegetables for example, or fruits other than berries, are literally nonstarters for me because I don’t have enough leverage with my one-sided jaw to CHEW them in the first place, and the ingredients for making smoothies regularly are again, expensive). So nutrition as a hack for ADHD management is pretty much out - I’m too busy prioritizing eating anything I can, whenever I can afford to. Other adaptations involve getting lots of rest: something that again, physically isn’t all that viable for me these days, even leaving aside the effects of constant stress on attempts at getting meaningful rest, along with the constant stress and constraints of trying to work as much as humanly possible in my circumstances, in order to keep bringing in income to go to insurance, rent, and food and meds. Then there’s also the stabilizing effects exercise and physical activity can have on the brain and various neurodivergencies like mine, but the migraines and vertigo make most forms of exercise a nonstarter for me, with most of the rest invalidated by the fact that I’m pretty much always hungry, tired, and in chronic pain.

Now let’s examine work and the viability of obtaining more sources of income to help with all this. Well, my options are limited there too due to the ecosystem of factors in play. I’ve been trying for awhile to find even a part time job in my area I can do, but the problems are even though I can make myself mobile and active through my pain issues and migraines, and am even good at gritting and bearing it and acting like I’m smiling and laughing and happy even while in excruciating pain (yay, perks of childhood abuse making a career in retail viable even while practically dead on my feet, lololol)......there’s the simple physiological limitation that I just can’t stay upright RELIABLY for more than a couple hours at a time. Eventually, dizziness knocks me on my ass. Downside of a jaw that’s constantly hanging with all its weight from one side of your face, fucking with your ability to even stand up straight, not to mention causing inner ear and equilibrium problems at random whenever you open or close your mouth in the wrong way (or mere approximation of ANY kind of way).

So, standing upright at any kind of customer service or retail job is one issue. Stocking stuff, that sort of thing.....not really an option when you’re likely to drop all of it at any given moment. But then there’s bracing myself at cash registers, something like a job at Starbucks or hell there’s a Jamba Juice nearby, that’d also get me an employee discount for smoothies I can drink regularly. Course, there’s the whirring of blenders and such, which pair great with constant migraines. Etc. Etc.

BUT. I’m a well-rounded person with lots of skills....which lead to things like my freelance graphic design business as a book cover designer, as well as various writing endeavors, etc. And all of these are things that I DO do, currently. They’re how I make my income as is. There’s absolutely more jobs out there, but the fact is as a freelancer, FINDING additional jobs is a time consuming and spoon consuming process, that is additionally impacted by factors like ADHD, so not only does looking for work require time that’s not already being spent working, it also requires the management and expenditure of mental resources that I have to prioritize FIRST towards applying them to what work I already DO have, given the absence of ADHD medication and minimal coping or regulatory habits allowing for me to be all that productive WITHOUT said meds.

Not to mention the strain sitting in front of a computer all day for work in venues like graphic design, etc, puts on migraines, so there’s only so many hours I can devote daily or in one sitting to doing things like cover work. Much of my writing time is spent not actually writing, but me just dictating into notes on my phone and then copying and pasting all that into the appropriate formats for fiction, nonfiction and just random posts. Of course here then I have to prioritize applying my mental resources to first making sure the stuff I write to make money gets edited or properly pared down to size and isn’t repeating the same shit over and over and over, then doing the same to stuff I write fic wise as one of my few escapes from Real Life BS so I can at least point to having SOME kind of life (as this has been my daily existence for years, and uh.....people having things they like or like to do, as much as is humanly feasible, only becomes MORE of a necessity the more stress involved in their day to day life, not less).

Meaning by the time I even get to posting, like.....as much as it may look like I do a lot of it, the speed at which I write when I have any kinds of spoons to apply to posting or composing thoughts at ALL means I actually pour out a lot in a little span of time.....BUT that’s not like, a Skill so much as its a Fact. Its just the way I am and it comes with its downsides as well as its upsides....Im good at banging out a lot in a short amount of time, but ONLY when I just....let it go, versus try and regulate it all or squeeze it out bit by bit. I’m a sprint poster these days rather than a marathoner, even if the length of my thoughts makes it LOOK like the latter.....the reality is for me it tends to be all or nothing, its whatever I can get on the page BEFORE I lose my breath or train of thought. So that’s why it looks the way it does, because that was the only form it was coming out at the specific time and space when I had the energy and brainpower TO get it out, and going back in hindsight and editing it for clarity or brevity AFTER I gasp it all out requires energy and breath I do not have PAST that point, so it becomes a simple equation of well do I want a post to exist here at all or not at all.....and I err on the side of posting. This isn’t a defense because there’s nothing to defend, mind you, I’m simply explaining my way through my thought process, approach to things, and realities of my day to day existence for you to do with whatever you want. Its just a perspective you may not have had before. Whatever.

Of course, even this doesn’t exist in a void. Something that’s always a factor in my awareness when posting is like......I’m lucky enough to have a large enough following that cares enough about what I have to say for whatever reasons or puts enough value in what I have to say or the things I write and create, that I’ve been able to supplement my financial needs when absolutely necessary at times, by way of donation posts. I try not to lean on them more than necessary because I am keenly aware that they are a gift from people, many of whom I do not know and will likely never meet, and as such, not something I have any form of expectation for. I make donation posts when and where I do not in the anticipation of getting them met, but simply for a lack of any other options whatsoever. I’m limited in the work I can do, and the time and energy I can devote to finding more of that same work. There’s not a ton of other career paths I can pursue even from behind a computer due to my lack of a college degree, and the fact that even when I’m qualified skill or knowledge wise, I lack the specific credentials for verifying that I possess those skills or knowledge in a way employers are inclined to recognize and/or validate. Going BACK to school to get said credentials is an expenditure of time, finances, and other resources I do not have to spare at the moment or any time soon, especially not in the name of shoring up a lack of all that in the present term.

I dropped out of college freshman year after my gaybashing and rape. I never went back to it for a variety of reasons that were only half about resources and half about intent. My family is not a presence in my life and hasn’t really been in any significant way since I was eighteen, so college in the first place was something I had to be entirely self-sufficient about....I was only able to afford to go the year that I did go by way of academic scholarships that were dependent on grades I couldn’t keep up in the wake of what happened to me, and that I couldn’t exactly ever get back without a foundation to build upon, like high school and my initial academic career. Then in the half that was about intent, I eventually moved into pursuing my actual interests like writing, graphic design and acting. One of the things I’ve always loved about those is that output and portfolio nets you more than credentials most of the time....they ARE your credentials. I was actually pretty damn successful as an actor for years, not in the way that leads to being someone that people would recognize, but in the way that leads to being able to support yourself doing what you love. All the skillsets that I have but could not back up with things like a diploma were still useful to me as an actor in a way that they’re not in terms of getting things like tutoring or teaching jobs.....I speak multiple languages but I’m self taught, I have a black belt in karate, I’m a classically trained pianist, I know a whole lot of shit about random shit that I just learned because I wanted to, and all of that got me the kind of work that I was looking for and meant I COULD work and make a living off those things for years throughout my twenty....work that I would not have been able to get if I had been back sitting in a classroom instead. The primary currency of my years as an actor were life experiences and I had those in spades, and I was very good at what I did, if I do say so myself, and the reasons I never advanced further career wise tended to have less to do with whether or not I booked the roles I auditioned for and whether I got the auditions at all......

I’m getting a bit off topic here but I’m just saying there’s definitely a convo to be had at some point, about the roles and opportunities I turned down because I wasn’t willing to sleep with someone or put up with their advancements in order to do so. Something that’s a dime a dozen in Hollywood and the thing is.....I was a sex worker, for years, before I moved to Hollywood and started working as an actor. But there’s a distinct difference between the way people talk about, interact with and perceive someone who’s gotten roles because of sex, advanced up a corporate ladder because of sex...versus, gotten paid because of sex. I didn’t turn down offers of roles for sex because of my hang-ups about sex but rather other peoples’......I had a problem with various parts of the industry that would have thought nothing about me getting a role because a producer wanted to sleep with me, but would have turned up their nose at me because I slept with someone to get money for groceries before. Basically I’m just saying the specific bullshit Hollywood has not just about sex but predatory behavior got in the way of my career advancement because there were some games I just wasn’t willing to play....which hails from the very life experiences that oftentimes made me so good as an actor in the first place.

Which brings me back again to my main point......none of this exists in a vaccuum. Being the sum of our life experiences and variables means being the SUM of that, at ALL times, both in large and small ways. We are never just a LIST of identity traits or experiences. They all constantly loop back around and feed into each other and inform where we are at every second of every day and where we GO in each second, what we DO with our days and the choices we make.

Which is where so much of my discontent with fandoms, on social media in general, with PEOPLE in my day to day life comes from: this desire people have to compartmentalize, to ZERO IN on specific factors or variables or instances and act like it even CAN be divorced from all other influences. Its not that you can’t FOCUS on one thing at a time, its just even when you do that, that doesn’t like....snap all existing connections that thing has to everything outside of your area of focus.

As an example, my attitudes on being a survivor and various kinds of fiction get me a ton of pushback from various corners, and its all geared around the same premise: don’t like, don’t read. Put a wall up between you and it. Focus on just what you’re doing and forget what everyone else is doing.

But it doesn’t work like that. It CAN’T work like that. And this commitment people have to pretending it does just because that pretense has been working for them, THAT, I’d argue, is the true wedge in fandom spaces.

Everything about me is connected to something else. I’m a childhood abuse and incest csa survivor. When my therapist asks me to picture a moment from my childhood when I felt safe or protected, I got nothing. I don’t have that resource. I don’t know what that feeling is meant to feel like, because I never felt it. And that connects directly into the fact that when I was gaybashed in college, after they dumped me in a fucking park, bleeding and covered in writing, I didn’t even think about going to the hospital, the police, let alone calling anyone like my parents, I just picked myself up and walked back to my dorm, cleaned myself off as best I could, and went to class next Monday morning. That’s fucked up, I shouldn’t have had to, but its what I did, and there’s no divorcing that from any of the contexts of WHY that’s what I did, and why I didn’t think there was any other logical recourse or option for me then. Just like all of that also links back to growing up in the closet and entering high school the same month Matthew Shepherd was attacked, and then when he ultimately died two months later, and watching everybody’s reactions to that informed the fact that I did not remotely feel safe in the aftermath of my attack, disclosing what happened to people around me, or just like I didn’t take it on face value that even if they said appropriately sensitive things to me to my face didn’t mean that like when I was a freshman in high school and everyone was reacting to that, they wouldn’t revert to callous jokes about fags the second they felt a little less out of the spotlight or in the right company for those jokes.

And all of that directly links into my feelings not just when people write rape and gaybashing scenes that make no attempt at any kind of catharsis but rather only appear to exist for the fetishization, the glamorization, the VALIDATION of the idea that in the right context, those kinds of scenes can be hot to the right audience rather than demoralizing to the figure who’s pain and humaniliation is required for everyone else’s entertainment....but it also additionally plays into the reactions and attitudes I have when people look at me going “wow, really don’t like the lens you’re using here or the environment you’re creating around an experience that is never anything BUT painful and traumatic for someone who lived it, like I did” and choose to respond to that by saying things that amount to “well you’re basically just like conservative southern assholes who hate free speech when you say stuff like this,” cuz y’know.....that’s describing my literal oppressors. That’s lumping me in with the actual literal kind of people who are the SOURCE of my trauma there, all because you felt butthurt and defensive about how I said I wasn’t comfortable with the kinds of jokes and output you were making about scenes that aren’t that far divorced from my own personal reality, and that I shouldn’t HAVE to divorce from my own experiences just to exist within certain fandom spaces.

And just like the fact that being an incest survivor is directly relevant to the fact that my stepmother always made an effort to keep me at a distance because not wanting to admit to what happened to me and how it played into our family entanglements was directly linked back to the fact that she and my aunt were both incest survivors who never got the opportunities to deal with what happened to them, which in turn directly plays into the fact that ultimately my aunt ended up taking her own life a few years ago, which also very much informs my attitude towards people interacting with incest ships as something cutesy and uwu, as my aunt was literally the only person in my family I ever WAS close to or comfortable with. And there’s no divorcing any of that into nice neat little compartments that make it easier for anyone on the outside looking in to just peek through ONE window to see what they might see, and try and act like it doesn’t matter what’s in any of those other boxes because it has nothing to do with the only one they want to concern themselves with.

And my lack of resources and emotional state post gay-bashing led directly into my sex work for various reasons, which led in various ways to better things for me in some respects, while compounding certain traumas of mine in other respects, and there’s no divorcing any of that from the rest either. There’s no ‘my time as a sex worker was good’ even though some of it was and there’s no ‘my time as a sex worker was bad’ even though some of it really was. And a lot of the attitudes of some of the rich assholes who paid me for sex and viewed me as a plaything they could do anything to directly informs my resistance to letting powerful assholes in Hollywood hold roles over my head in exchange for sex, even though the latter could have advanced my career in huge ways and led to me being a lot more financially stable and self-sufficient by the time my physical issues emerged due to the jaw joint on one side of my head eroding through and snapping completely just like that in turn was a long-building repercussion of not just my gaybashing, but my decision to never go to the hospital and get checked out after it.

None of this can be cut away from the rest and trimmed into neat little pieces that don’t color outside the lines or impact anything else. Just like my gaybashing itself can’t be divorced from my white privilege, and the fact that it played into the fact that I survived that night in the first place. Something I say not in some weird white guilt kinda way like people try and project onto others for even acknowledging white privilege, like no its not like I fucking wish I died to prove some kind of weird point, what I’m talking about is just the simple basic AWARENESS that multiple and even contradictory factors exist in even the most extreme of situations. And its never anything BUT self-serving to pretend that you can frame it as otherwise.

And so when I talk about being a survivor, just like with all the rest of this, I’m not talking about some arbitrary status of survivorhood that exists in a specific point in time and is only relevant to some singular event I survived, its applicable to everything about my life big and small. I’m a survivor every single day I’ve survived, every day I wake up and keep moving forward despite the pain and stress and lingering trauma of what was done to me one night sixteen years ago, I’m surviving what they did every bit as much as I survived it that night and in the morning after as I dragged myself back to my room. Just like my status as an abuse survivor stemming from childhood directly informs everything about not just my coping mechanisms but my entire freaking worldview as someone who grew up throughout childhood learning to view the world through a lens in which he was simultaneously not safe due to the presence of victimizers in his own home, while at the same time still having certain protections that others don’t have in life in general due to not just again my white privilege but my male privilege, my cis privilege.

And that’s what makes it so laughable and so offensive when people act like I’m defining myself by being a survivor as some kind of singular identity trait whenever I raise it as something of relevance in fandom discussions that have EVERYTHING to do with stances of abuse apologism and homophobic ideas that directly play into why I was so unsafe in certain parts and times of my life, because who the fuck is anyone else to tell me how my experiences as a survivor and how they shaped me are or are not relevant to ideas pertaining to those very things, when brought front and center and face to face with me in various fandoms due to the insistence of fandoms at large on KEEPING these things front and center in almost ALL fandom discussions? Like, the hilarious irony of people who have so wholly centered certain types of ship and content in terms of their own personal fandom identities that they can’t help but feel personally attacked when someone so much as says “I don’t like the ideas you’re broadcasting alongside your choice to amplify and signal boost this kind of content because you’re not JUST signalboosting the content itself, but these specific perceptions of it and ideas in support of and in apology for it.”....like, turning around and saying IM too defined by my views stemming from my existence as a survivor. The call is coming from inside the house, lolol.

Again, none of this can be divorced from the rest. It can be focused on one piece at a time, but its connections to everything else that informs it in various RELEVANT ways, can not be made IRRELEVANT just because you don’t like the picture that forms when you’re forced to look at the WHOLE picture instead of just willfully condensing the frame to just the part you like or want to talk about.

And to bring it all home, looping back up to what I opened with:

Do you know how often I hear people say shit about the length of my posts or the rambling nature or in various ways act INCONVENIENCED by various things about how they have to interact with my posts when that interaction itself is still completely voluntary?

Taking in everything I said in this post, the way it all interconnects and informs other things, I’d like to ask anyone who has ever objected to some post somewhere or derided one because of something as ultimately nonconsequential as the length of it, something where its literally just like....scroll a few more seconds......do you apply the same energy and scrutiny to posts that cross your dash that are filled with various things like racism, transphobia, rape or pedophilia fetishization or abuse apologism, or do you let that slide by without acknowledgment before looking at a post that makes you sigh because of how fucking LONG it was and think...this, THIS is what I’m gonna choose to speak up about?

Because that’s ultimately what this is all about. Here’s the kicker with everything I said....my life could be better, I want it to be better, from the biggest aspects of it and pain issues to stuff just like.....the fandom communities I immerse myself in for my own attempts at having something to counterbalance real life stress. But at the end of the day, there’s no my life sucks or my life rocks....its still just...my life. And it has its good as well as its bad, and that ultimately hails from my choices, and the fact that like....even while there are choices I literally CAN’T make, I can be comfortable with the ones I DO make.

And so like......would my life be easier in some respects now if I’d gone back to school and gotten a diploma and had more job opportunities available to me? Yeah, for sure. But that awareness doesn’t mean I regret my choice NOT to go back to school when I DID have more opportunities for that, because the acting career I had at those times instead was the choice I made, with intent, and its one I’m still glad for making. Those experiences still matter, still meant something and still mean something to me.

And do I wish that I’d coped with what happened to me in college in different, healthier ways that would have given me more tools for how I interact with my trauma and who I became after that, rather than how I did? Yeah, sometimes, for sure. But not without losing my awareness that the choices I did make at the time were not made in a vacuum, and can not be edited in hindsight....there were reasons I made them, reasons that were informed by everything that had happened to me previously and stemmed from a lot of things I still didn’t have control over and as such always placed a cap on the range of choices that were available to me back then, because there’s a difference between choices that exist in theory versus choices that exist as something that might viably be chosen at a particular place and time.

The world is big and complicated. Life is big and complicated. WE are big and complicated. And nothing about understanding any of that is IMO benefited by putting most of our effort into SHRINKING our worldviews, constructing artificial frames that don’t just focus us in on specific aspects of it for finite periods but attempt to then treat that as its own individual thing utterly disconnected from anything else that might be going on OUTSIDE that picture frame.

So if you’ve read this far and you’ve taken anything away from this big long rambling post that could be a lot shorter, could be a lot less rambling, but could also just not have been posted at all and I’d rather have it exist in this form than let everything in it go unsaid.....

My request would be that your takeaway be this: to look at your choices in regards to some specific finite interaction in even just one of your fandoms, and see what happens when you open the frame back up. If you widen the scope. If you let other things into the picture. Are you still comfortable with the choices you make or don’t make in light of THAT image, are they any different from the ones you made or would have made when keeping things as small and contained in your awareness as possible, just because that was easier for you to conceptualize, easier to navigate around, just....less COMPLICATED?

Because things aren’t made less complicated just by the mere fact of WANTING them to be.

And if your choices are more born of what you’d say or do IF the world were as finite or as limited as its sometimes easier to pretend it is......is that really the approach you want to go with and the reasoning you want to stand by?

And similarly, if there are choices you make and that in ORDER for you to feel comfortable making them, you feel a need to tighten your focus or shrink your worldview around one specific element or area and leave out all the rest and only then are you truly comfortable with doing or saying something, like......

Its important to remember that this isn’t the only option you have for making yourself more comfortable with things you say or do or think, or even just have in the past.

The other perfectly viable option exists: you can simply....make different choices.

#this is a post #im not entirely sure how else to describe it #just that it is not necessarily the post that it looks like beneath the cut that it looks like above the cut #so all I've got is: this has been a post #make of it what you will #lololol #its....whatever #ANYWHO

11 notes · View notes

once-hyperion · 3 years

Text

A Death Note From Hell on Earth (Responded)

Another Way To Die

I have received your message...you think I chose this? I don’t understand the complexity of my thoughts, interactions etc. all I know is the here and the now. The moment as they would say. What shall I do then? Learn Turkish, move to Istanbul, sing with the songbirds that work in the harem, through joy and fame become the best instantiation of the monotonous life that plagued the mother before me? No, these thoughts interject my heart to which I cannot otherwise consider a role in such a place. Joy, pleasure, please, I haven’t felt those emotions in years. The last I heard of joy in my heart was when I considered ending it all. But somehow I didn’t make that move. Instead I tried to rejoice in the sorrow of my life. Does that mean that I consider life actually worth living because I didn’t have the guts to cut it short? I guess so.

I guess when one doesn’t end it, it protects the foundations of what it means to be human, it protects the intersection of complete dismal destruction of the universe and the preservation of love, love for the sake of going on to the next day. From the ruins of Dresden to the metropolis of New York City, the mediation between the two seems to have fascinated you. The stagnation of Achilles arrow as you described being in flux or simply being has been the puzzle. Let me ask you, can there be a possibility of both stagnation and flux happening to the arrow at any point in time along its flight path? I encourage you to consider the possibility that there might be a third option. Why is it only a binary for most? The truth tends to lie between the binary to which this is never offered up. It’s either right or wrong, mind or body, red pill or blue pill and so on. Like our forefathers before us who made these decisions and the people who shall come after us, they will face the same contingencies. The puzzle still constrain’s even the most powerful of individuals who seem to have the most wit. This does not come down to brains but rather ideology. The path to which one can come down depends on the guide who takes them. The path that is obscured might entice even the most dreary of adventurers, but at what cost, the cost of your mental facticity might be at stake, but isn’t it the truth you seek? The truth has been bestowed upon me, the truth has set me free.

Be that I received news of cancer, I went to see a witch in search of ailments for this wretched disease. My original thought was “surely this is not put here by purpose, but by accident? It has to be by accident, chance you might say.” The battle I face with this cancer has brought on new engagements in thought. The hatred I have is very much related to the feud between Salieri and Mozart, this is the feud I have with this cancer. The carelessness, the ego, the underachievement that I have lived with my entire life ceased to be when I found out I have this cancer. The cancer drove me to envision a more complete and austere life, one I am more fond of. This creature called cancer could take any woman who has engaged in the monotony of life and turn her into the most powerful being on this planet, or it can suck you dry like the worthless piece of meat you are.

When I saw the witch I approached with caution, skepticism, knowing that I could be walking into a trap, a trap of generalized conceptions of astrological nonsense that anyone with half a brain could spot as a scam. But instead she started with nothing more than reading my tarot cards. She drew five cards that resided on the corner of her brown oak desk, she cautioned me to not be upset with the initial cards that are drawn because it all is contingent upon what the collection of five together means. I agreed, but was terrified to see what the witch was to uncover. She flipped the five cards and my tarot was death, death, death, thief, sun. She told me to brace myself for what she is about to tell me. What this combination of cards shows according to her is that I am a very lonely and desperate person that seeks something more fruitful in life. The thief and the sun combined show that I live my life through outside forces, to which they heavily influence my perception on most things. This shows that I have no original selfhood, I live my life through others and what they think of me. The three death cards together symbolize that I don’t have a lot of time here in this life. This cancer has brought me here, here to these thoughts and to this letter I write to you. The witch has shed light onto the life I lived and what I do with us is up to me. That is why I am here.

In this room that I sit in, staring at a wall plastered with a single crucifix is where I realize, this was no accident, this was on purpose. God had done this to me, God had put this inside of me. And at that very moment where I looked up at the crucified Christ, hanging with the look of pain, arms stretched with nails driven through, and a crown of thorns digging into the flesh. I realized he was my enemy. God was laughing at me when he gave me the cancer. He wants to see me suffer. The cancer seems to resemble the loving faith in God that I had believed my entire life. The faith rests on your prayer, acknowledgement, forgiveness and soul. This plague has since replaced the faith in God to where I pray to this cancer. I acknowledge its presence, I forgive it for it knows not what it is doing, it is only doing what it is told and I can feel it’s presence in my soul. What I might be feeling there is death, creeping slowly like a deranged monster that will never stop hunting until it gets you, no matter how long and hard you try to run away, it is certain that it will only stop once it gets you. Once this is accepted, things become more humorous and obscene, for life becomes less strenuous and more absurd.

The witch gave me a totem made of wood and ivory, with a single wolf's tooth protruding from the top. I saw this as novel, yet I still accepted it and carried it around with me on my daily tasks and errands. The totem was blessed with herbs prior to being released to me to ensure that the energy of the witch had been released and the energy from myself had now been transferred over. Again, I see this as a bit of hoopla, but for some reason I can't let it go. I feel like the thought of letting it go might produce something horrible in my life, much worse than the cancer, but what could be worse than the cancer. The totem might give me a glimmer of passion, a bit of something to look forward to while I wither away.

As I refuse to see any doctors again after this experience, I discovered this horrible disease and what do they do? They stick me with the bill, always the end goal for these profound men of medicine. As if the diagnosis wasn't enough, now I have a bill that will be passed on down to my kids. An outrageous figure, one that only a sick person would receive of course. This world of going back and forth, bill after bill, heartbreak after heartbreak is not a world I am going to be in for too much longer. This world has become a world of nothing, emptiness, void whatever you want to call it, there is nothing left in this world to be looking forward to except this thing called death. But before I go there is something I want you to know.

I'll admit it, the life I lived was pathetic, I failed. We knew each other for such a brief time, but enough time for each other to make impacts on the soul. After the smirky comments and witty remarks that hinted toward the wrong doings in my early life, I would pray to God to rid me of these terrible thoughts of isolation, depression and anxiety and fill me with joy. I would beg “please give me that for once, I am sick of feeling this way.” But now that I lay here in my bed, staring at the wall with the crucifix mounted high above me, I am beginning to understand the complexity of my inner workings as a message. This message was that I was not supposed to feel happy, but rather feel misery by God. The peace that I grant him is that he gave me the ability to feel. To feel pain is to still feel something, something much more dull than the happy exciting lives of those around me, I still felt. “I still felt” is what I tell myself quite often these days. I still felt what was left of a subjective experience, one that lacked the moments of pleasurable existence, but still “I felt”.” “I still felt” I will quietly hum to myself, “I still felt”, but time will take care of that, until I feel no more.

~Desponia~

#philosophy #poetry #kierkegaard #nietzsche #hegel

1 note · View note

wordywarriorwrites · 4 years

Text

Chapter 19: On the Line

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn A03 Story Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration with the prompt, “Why did you do it?” & @sherrybaby14 Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge with the prompt, “Show me. Prove that you can handle me.” Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities. *Re-blogs are welcome. Plagiarism isn’t. *

Bucky had traveled 3,575 miles on nothing more than a combustive cocktail of desperation, adrenaline, and frayed nerves.

He hadn’t eaten, showered, or slept in almost two days, but that hadn’t mattered, and even with nothing but a city name to go by, he still managed to track Steve down. He’d waited anxiously and expectantly; practiced what he wanted to say; braced himself for what he anticipated would be, at most, a very soul-crushing, heart-breaking, go-on-a-bender-right-afterward rejection…

However, instead of a rebuff, Bucky received a bullet to the chest, and he didn’t even know the prick who capped him, let alone the reason for it.

A subsequent ride in a dilapidated mini-van with a rank interior, and a dipshit behind the wheel who drove like they were playing a fucking pinball machine instead of operating a motorized vehicle. The shocks – if they’d ever existed at all – had done nothing to absorb the impact of the chaotic ride, and Bucky tried not to howl like a wounded animal as everything quaked, rattled, and rolled around him.

The jacket used to help plug the leak was his own, but Steve was the one who kept continued pressure on the wound. Bucky was in the trunk, with all two-hundred-forty-pounds and six-feet-two-inches of Steve’s body straddled over him, and when Steve wiped the back of his hand across his sweat-drenched forehead, a streak of Bucky’s blood was left behind.

“Drive faster!” Steve yelled toward the front.

“I’m going as fast as this putain de boîte de conserve will allow!” came a harried reply.

As they careened around a sharp corner, Steve redoubled his efforts, and pushed down harder. The goal was to keep Bucky from being jostled, but all it did was exacerbate the pain. In a matter of minutes, he wasn’t able to take a full breath, or comply with Steve’s repeated commands for him to keep his eyes open.

“Hey, hey, look at me!” he bellowed. “God-fucking-damn-it, Buck, don’t you fuckin’ dare do this to me!”

Everything eventually came to a grinding halt, and then, things started to move way too fast again. Someone dragged him out of the van and he would’ve screamed if he’d had the oxygen to spare. He was transferred onto something soft, and then, prodded, poked, and asked questions he couldn’t answer because he was too busy wheezing and spitting up blood.

Another individual shined a light in his eyes and flatly remarked, “pupils responsive.” Another person said, “possible perforation of the right lung,” and he thought to himself, “Again?” Then, it was all barked orders and issued statements – remove the bullet; control the bleeding; repair the damage.

Bucky was going under – knew he was being dangled over the fucking grave – but he somehow managed to force his eyes open. When he blindly and wildly batted his hand around, someone grabbed it, and then, a pair of watery, baby-blues appeared in his line of sight. A voice insisted he needed to be taken into surgery immediately, and ordered Steve to let him go, but Bucky couldn’t allow that, because the darkness was closing in fast, and he needed to get it out before it was too late.

He tried to make his heavy tongue and blood-caked lips form the words. He tried to say it once – just one, fucking time – but his body was broken and uncooperative. The only thing Bucky could do was hold on, and he held on as tight as he could for as long as he was able, but all too soon he was forced under, and down into the darkness.

If Bucky had been asked to wager his chances of survival, he wouldn’t have bet on it. Given the deadly accuracy of the shooter and the massive blood loss, he figured the odds just weren’t in his favor, and when he woke up a few days later, he was both extremely shocked and very, very confused.

“M’alive?” he croaked to nobody in particular.

Natasha gasped and all but jumped out of her chair, “You’re awake?”

He tried to ask where he was and what happened, but she suddenly dashed for the door; a few seconds later, Natasha was back by his side, and accompanied by an attending physician who explained what had occurred while he’d been unconscious.

Apparently, Bucky was a lucky man; if the bullet had entered just an inch to the left, he would’ve been dead, but swift action and proximity to the best hospital in France had kept him out of the morgue. From there, he’d spent six hours with a surgeon; he’d flatlined a time or two, but the woman who’d been in charge of putting his sorry ass back together had stubbornly refused to let him die on her table.

Whatever else Bucky was told went in one ear and out the other; it wasn’t his first rodeo, and he knew he could anticipate at least two weeks of disgusting food and awkward bedside manner before he was released. The nurse who arrived a few minutes later gave him some water, went over the rules of the morphine pump, and showed him how to call for aid. After being told he would make a full recovery, Natasha shook hands with the medical staff, and thanked them for everything they’d done. Bucky was exhausted from just listening, but he also nodded in thanks, and as soon as they departed, he depressed the button to release the pain medication.

As soon as he woke and was somewhat coherent again, Natasha explained what happened. Apparently, Mason Dubois’s security detail had viewed Bucky’s unexpected presence in Paris as a threat, and since Steve was considered to be Mason’s boyfriend, that concern extended to him as well. The guard had just been doing his job, but nevertheless, Natasha assured him the matter had been dealt with, and that Dubois would see Bucky was well-compensated for the egregious mistake.

Bucky was in and out of it for about a week, not only because he was exhausted, but because the meds made him drowsy and unable to focus. He barely remembered when Tony, Thor, Wanda, Clint, and Bruce arrived, and save for consistently disappointing meals and lukewarm sponge baths, he really didn’t have the energy or patience for much else.

Over the next few days, they took turns visiting and keeping an eye on him, but the one person Bucky wanted to see had yet to make an appearance. He wasn’t sure of the time when he next opened his eyes, but he knew it was late because the lights had been dimmed, the door was shut, and his newest sentry was snoring and mumbling in his sleep.

Instead of using the cot one of the nurses had brought in, Steve was hunched forward in a chair at Bucky’s bedside. His torso was propped up on the edge of the mattress, and he had his face tucked in the crook of one arm, while the other rested heavily across Bucky’s waist. Though he was desperate for another hit of the mind-numbing, pain-relieving drugs, Bucky didn’t dose himself; instead, he reached out an unsteady hand, and gently stroked Steve’s hair.

The twitching and frantic murmurings stopped on a dime, and the contented sigh he let out made Bucky’s chest constrict even tighter. His vision was blurred and the room was dim, but he could still see Steve so clearly, and even after everything that had happened, he knew – Bucky knew Steve was the one.

Steve was the man he’d set everything aside for and put it all on the line for. It was Steve who he thought of and dreamed about; who he missed, desired, and needed every second of the fucking day; who he wanted to call when he was happy; who he wished to talk to when he was at the end of his rope; who he wanted to laugh with, take on the world with, and be with until he well and truly kicked the bucket.

Bucky stared down at Steve -- the man who’d literally saved his life twice -- and finally knew what he wanted to say.

The shaky hand he’d been carding through Steve’s hair became rock steady, but before he could act, the handle of the room’s door was turned, and the sound startled Steve out of his slumber. The speed at which he got to his feet and took a fighting stance meant he was being hypervigilant, but then, he seemed to come to his senses, muttered something about the nurse being right on time, and lowered his fists.

Every hour, on the hour – that was the schedule for rounds, and the staff was diligent. They checked his vital sheets, and if Bucky was awake, asked about his pain level, inquired after his comfort, and wondered if he needed assistance getting to the bathroom. The checkup was thorough and efficient, and Steve didn’t take his eyes off the nurse until the examination was complete and they were left alone again.

Steve rubbed his eyes and smothered a yawn, “Natasha will be here to take over and--”

“I was wrong,” Bucky interjected soberly. “And I should’ve never let you go five years ago.”

If Steve had just turned around and left, it wouldn’t have surprised him. If he’d told him to fuck off and never speak to him again, he would’ve deserved it. If Steve had threatened to re-open his chest wound; if he’d said it was too late; that what Bucky had put him through was unforgivable; that he’d already moved on -- that, too, would’ve been warranted.

When Steve didn’t say or do anything, Bucky knew he had his answer. He had to accept it, but that didn’t mean he had to face both the pain of his loss and his injury; he reached for the little baton connected to the morphine pump, but Steve was quick, and snatched it right out of his hand.

“You don’t get to say that to me and just check out afterward,” he snapped. “Tell me the real reason you’re in France – and don’t insult me by lying to me.”

Given the lengths Bucky had gone to in order to shore up power and neutralize threats in the past, it was more than fair for Steve to assume he’d flown all the way to Paris on business. The enraged look in his eyes suggested he believed Bucky had found out about Mason Dubois, and that the only reason he’d traveled cross-country was to put a stop to whatever was going on between them. It would’ve been easier had that been the case, but it wasn’t.

The real reason had nothing to do with business, but had everything to do with what Bucky knew to be true and what he felt deep down in his marrow: without Steve, he would never know peace, happiness, or rest, and Bucky’s love for him was more important than his so-called pride.

“You asked me what I wanted,” he choked out raggedly. “And what I want is you. That’s why I’m here.”

A myriad of expressions flitted across Steve’s face; at first, he appeared to be dumbfounded. Then, he bounced between frustration and sorrow, before he resolutely settled on incredulity and disbelief.

“You know, you had me for a minute there,” Steve asserted as he dropped the morphine switch back down on the bedspread. “But then, I remember who you are, and realize I can’t believe a single word that comes out of your deceitful fucking mouth.”

Bucky was trying to breathe through his torment and think of what to say when Steve suddenly turned, grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, and left without a backward glance. His abrupt departure prompted Bucky to toss back the blanket and yank the IV from his arm. He was in no condition to be up and about just yet, but he got to his feet anyway, and shuffled out to the hall.

As soon as his toes passed the threshold, it was all, “Monsieur Barnes,” this and, “Tu dois retourner au lit,” that, but Bucky ignored the fuss. A quick glance to the right showed nothing but a long hallway of rooms, but when he looked left, he spotted the exit, and watched as Steve headed brusquely for it.

Foregoing his meds wasn’t the wisest decision Bucky had ever made. Being upright, let alone walking around without assistance, was also rather stupid. Using the wall for balance instead of parking his ass safely in a wheelchair? Definitely not a good idea, either. And shouting Steve’s name at the top of his scarred lungs in the middle of an otherwise respectfully quiet hospital hallway – yeah, that was bad, too.

But on a scale of, “Meh, screw it,” to, “What the actual fuck am I doing?” yelling out a declaration of love to a man who clearly wanted nothing more to do with him was really off the charts.

Steve halted mid-stride and the moment he chose to turn around was the exact second Bucky’s legs decided to give out on him. He folded like a cheap-ass lawn chair, went down hard on his knees, and felt one of his many stitches pop in the process.

The automatic door hissed open and swooshed shut. A doctor was paged over the intercom and an ambulance wailed in the distance. Some teenage girl in the lobby gasped and the woman seated next to her sniffled. A muffled, drawn-out scream, and then, the cries of a newborn. The phone at the front desk rang, but nobody moved or picked it up. When one of the staff eventually tried to aid him, he refused the assistance, and hung his head.

Bucky remained kneeling on the linoleum like a wretched supplicant, but soon, he wasn’t alone in his prostration. Dark-washed denim against bare skin, followed by a pair of sturdy hands that lifted him up and off the cold floor. Bucky was torn open; all raw, vulnerable, and exposed; and nothing more than a complicated, dead weight that bled and wept in Steve’s strong arms.

As he was carried back to his room, he had to bite down on his own fist to stop himself from sobbing. As soon as Steve set him down on the bed, the nurses swarmed, and proceeded to admonish him in both English and French while they cleaned, stitched, bandaged, and doped him back up. Bucky was back beneath the sheets and on the fringes of passing out again when Steve abruptly shook him awake.

“Did you mean it?” he asked gruffly. “Did you really mean what you said?”

He opened his eyes, fixed Steve with a level stare, and allowed both the tears and irrevocable words to tumble and fall. This time, there was no chance of misunderstanding; no room for subterfuge; and no backing out. When he repeated it again for good measure, Steve sighed, leaned over the bed, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth.

Bucky knew Steve’s caress and murmured, “I love you, too,” didn’t mean all was forgiven.

But it was a pretty good fucking start.

Translations: Putain de boîte de conserve – Fucking tin-can. Tu dois retourner au lit – You must return to bed.

Chapter 20: Evermore

Everything: @jennmurawski13 @nerdy-bookworm-1998

Steve Rogers: @patzammit @hearttoearth The Boss of Brooklyn: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @captain-rogers-beard @lilliannaansalla

20 notes · View notes

ohgoddard · 4 years

Text

Fist of Fire.4.

A couple hours after the combat lesson, a request for a meeting was sent to the Hero combat Teacher. And very soon, Reverse had a very long meeting with the Academy dean. He sat in front of a long oak desk, covered in papers and a very ancient computer. The room was depressing at best, and pathetic at worst. It was very apparent the funding went into the classrooms and facilities of this academy instead of the administration. Behind the desk, sitting down in a very large and ornate office chair, sat a toad. Well, he had the fat and large head of a toad, and he was not very tall. But what he lacked in physical ability and demeanor was filled with a sense of authority and power. Reverse gulped. The toadman took off his overly large pair of glasses and started cleaning them. “Mr. Ellington, yesterday you sent five children to the infirmary and several more back to their dorms bruised. Normally, I do not care for this.” Reverse had been expecting this. Even though he had brought it past the Dean, and had gotten his permission to run the ‘quirk assessment’ lesson, he knew this was going to happen. Reverse went to reply, opening his mouth and raising a finger, but a quick look from the Dean shut that down. “Normally,” the toad man replied in a rumbling voice, “this would not be an issue. But yesterday you punched the Mayor’s daughter in the gut.” He put on his glasses and leaned forward.

Reverse had fought many villains before. Monsters too. Beings of extreme power and anger, that had given him many an injury and pain. He was reminded of that power right now, as the Dean stared at him from behind the desk. If the toadman could shoot death from his eyes, there is doubt he would have in that moment. The dean straightens his tie before continuing. “Now, the Mayor knows what he signed when his daughter decided to go here. Truth be told, she should not even be here. I have strong suspicion some on the admissions staff allowed her in with false hopes and empty promises of rewards.” He takes out a stack of paper, taking a breath. “We see where that gets us now. The Mayor is very mad with us, and is threatening an investigation among a whole deal of things.” The Dean shoves the pile towards Reverse, and as he picked them up he saw that they were letters from the office of the Mayor concerning the teaching practices of the Hero Combat Teacher.“I’m going to ignore that pompous bastard and all the shit he spews.”

Reverse looked up with astonishment. His mouth agape, he tried to make a sentence but a raised hand from the Dean silenced him. “If we are to release heroes from this school, or if we fill the ranks of those private organizations we will do so with real people and success. The Mayor cannot touch us, we are beyond him. But, I am going to give you a warning.”

Reverse had been filled with too much different emotions, and was bracing himself for the next impact. “You cannot openly assault our students. Atleast, during class time. The A.H.A has spent a good deal of time out of the news, atleast a few weeks now which is not common for us. I do not want to hear about anymore poor conduct from you involving the students here. However, if you were to make an after school club, then we would be free of any issues.” The Dean pulled out a separate paper, with what looked like an already signed signature on a dotted line.

“Let's discuss the operation of the new ‘A.H.A Combat Team’ , if you will.”

After a few more hours of work, Reverse left the Dean’s office as the new sponsor of the Combat Team. There were a number of schools in the US that competed in Combat events, and the Atlanta Hero Academy had not participated since the founding years of the school ( Sometime in the 2090s). Reverse was muttering to himself, walking down the hallways down to his classroom/office, when he passed the nurse’s office. He paused, standing still outside the door. Maybe, he thought, I should check up on the kids in there. He walked in, pushing the door and leaving it open. The nurse was at his desk, writing a report on today’s influx of visits. He turned to see the visitor and laughed. “Come to grab a trophy from your recent hunt?” The nurse was a short,stocky, old black man, with a head full of silver hair. He was wearing green scrubs,and had several scars up and down his arms. “See, usually when kids come in here they just want an excuse out of class. But this time? You really gave me a test of my abilities. I’ll be honest, it’s been a while since I got to use my quirk to its fullest.” He grabs an apple from his desk and walks over to Reverse, and gives him a look. “Nasty burn scar you got there.”

Reverse put his hand over his forehead, and winces. “Yeah,” he said with a chuckle, “one of the students got a lick on me. Gave a good sting too.” The nurse put his hand on Reverse’s arm and all of the sudden the apple in his other hand turned to dust. “Your scar should heal up soon.”

Reverse was taken aback a small amount. “That’s quite the quirk you have there.”

“Yes, it takes the life energy from one object and gives it to another. Good thing i’m a nurse right?” He laughs. Reverse gives him a weary chuckle in reply. Going to need to keep a note of that. The nurse regained his composure then continued. “Hey can I ask something of you? My wife has been attacking me all week about getting home earlier than I usually do. Can you do me a favor? Can you stay here for just about 1 more hour?” The nurse was speaking incredibly fast, as he was putting on his coat and walking towards the door Reverse was standing at. “Really thank you for all of this, you only need to look after one kid. The rest are staying for the night. Make sure the heat fans are plugged in. Thank you so much bye!” And with that the nurse had left the room, leaving a very confused Reverse standing wondering what just happened.

What just happened? He thought to himself. Did I just get hit with extra stuff? Man, I need to be more cautious of this place better. Reverse took a deep sigh and looked around at the students in the bed. He observed one in a giant block of ice, which made him giggle when he saw it. “Aw man, Snow-throne you outdid yourself.” He walked around, looking at the other beds. He saw the one student still conducting electricity, courtesies of BreakerX2 , and then his two students. He looked at Riley and felt something. He thinks it was respect, but he is not certain, as he had never respected a teenager before. But, he thought, if anyone deserved it 'd be her. She was the only one to dodge one of his attacks today and at the same time was grateful to be hit. She liked to learn, and from the looks of it had gotten to this school the hard way instead of the silver spoon morons he had to deal with. He would keep a close eye on her.

That left the last bed then,the one close to the window. Laying in it, and looking quite knocked out, he saw Jade Laurens. Reverse sat down at the end of Riley’s bed, and looked on over at Jade. I cannot believe out of all the schools, she’d be in this one. Reverse put his head in his hands and the memories came flooding back. He tried his best to forget that day and move on, as the pain it caused him still left scars, but try as he can he could never. He could not forget seeing the Washington Monument on fire and falling down, not running away from the tornado of molten magma while holding the President’s daughter, and certainly not forget the tears he felt as he saw Victor Laurens lose his fight with that monster that dared try to pass as man.

Reverse sighed,but let a small smile creep through. “Victor Laurens, you mad man. Here I thought I would never get to repay you for taking me off the streets.” Jade’s body began to stir, before settling again. A nightmare no doubt. Reverse reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, then slipped out a picture. It was of thirteen or so people with the caption at the bottom, “Laurens SHS.” Reverse smiled as he looked over the faces, and was happy he got to see some of them today. It was not often they got back together with each other. A group of misfits under their strong leader. His eyes strayed away from his friends and down to a face that was scribbled over. I wish I could say I missed all of us. As he was putting his picture back into his wallet, he noticed a pair of trimming scissors over on the desk of the nurse. After a few glances at it, then at Jade, Reverse retrieved the Scissors before getting to work.

“This” snip “is for” snip snip “your own” snip “good.”

Red swatches of hair began to slowly trickle down. Reverse was no hair stylist, but he was fairly good at copying. He began to look around for a reference until he saw Riley. He thought,”Good enough I supposed.”

After he was done, he sat down on the bed and waited. And when she awoke...

“Nice to see you awake.”

------------------------------------

Three days after the nurse’s office, Jade Laurens was getting dressed for her ‘extracurricular activity’. While she was trying to play it off like she didn’t want to go, and was only doing so because she wanted to gain better control of herself, she was excited. So it was when she got there that she was a bit confused. In the classroom, which would now be the clubroom once school ended, there were only five people. Turns out, not many wanted to excel at being a hero.

The desks were filled with the likes of John,a tall gangly dude she remembered is named Ricardo, Emily for some reason, and a very quiet girl she has never met before. Jade turned to also see Riley, who once she saw Jade’s new haircut gave a huge smile and a small laugh. “Didn’t know I made such an impact with my passing out next to you.” Jade’s face turned red and she quickly took a seat. Reverse was sitting on his desk, talking to the school nurse. They were talking about a bet or something it sounded like, the words “sandwich” and “you owe me”.

The tall kid walked over to where Jade sat down, and did his best to introduce himself. “Hi, I don’t believe we’ve met before, but i’m Ricardo and I can shoot bullets from my fingers.”

Jade’s eyes shone. “THAT’S SO COOL!” Ricardo was not expecting that response. “Really? No one ever says that! Whenever I tell them what I do, they always scoff at me and say ‘don’t go around the police’ or ‘bet that's how you got past the border’. Wow, I found one of the few non-racist people in this school!” Jade was about to respond back to him when Reverse coughed. “I believe this is all we are going to get today, so i’m going to begin. This class is going to be about getting stronger in your own abilities and growing to be 110%. I was originally going to have a cool slogan like ‘Go Beyond Plus Ultra’ but it turns out some school in Japan have copyright on that everywhere. Anyways, in order for me to teach you how to get stronger I have to do it via this ‘Combat for Sport’ kinda thing. So, the game plan is we’re going to win, we’re going to get strong, and we’re not going to sue the school or me because you all signed those waivers before coming here. Let’s begin, shall we?”

#FoF:og #writing #creative writing #original writing #original female character #original story #originalwriting #creative #superhero #superhero story

1 note · View note

karaell · 5 years

Text

How to save a heart

Alec was walking back from his meeting with Asmodeus on shaky legs. The adrenaline was wearing off and the reality of the situation was becoming clearer with every step.

He agreed to break up with Magnus, he agreed to an impossible deal and now he didn't know if he can go through with it.

Is he strong enough to put his own feelings aside and save his boyfriend, the love of his life from this suffering? A small part of his brain, the one which was usually right and which he often ignored was telling him that breaking Magnus' heart was the worst possible way out of this situation, that his boyfriend already lost too much because of Alec himself. But the part that was being consumed by guilt was quickly winning the battle. Because Alec felt guilt more than anything else. It was his fault that Magnus was without magic, his fault that he almost died, his fault that Magnus was sinking deeper and deeper into depression, because Alec was selfish and to cought up in his own wishes and desires to actually see his boyfriend see his pain and sacrifice.

That's over now. Gaining more steadiness in his step Alec makes a decision, he will sacrifice his heart, he will make sure that Magnus is happy again, that he feels like himself again. And despite the pain at the admission Alec is also sure Magnus will recover their relationship ending. He knows Magnus loves him, probably more than he loved his other lovers, he also knows that for the duration of their relationship Magnus had time to get used to the fact that he will lose Alec sooner or later, and if it's sooner but brings his magic back than who is Alec to argue with that logic.

****

He finds Magnus in the library, using one of the computers, his boyfriend for the time being looks haggard and bleak, words that no one would ever use to describe the great Magnus Bane, yet here they are. Alec waits for a beat, stopping in the doorway to drink in the sight of Magnus, of the most precious thing that ever happened to him, before bracing his heart for the impact. He clears his throat and slides on a mask of indifference. Magnus whippes his head around a tired and reserved smile on his face.

'Hello Alexander, I haven't seen you all day. I have news'

'Hello Magnus' he says, voice as steady as he can muster. 'What kind of news?'

Magnus tilt's his head to the side, studying his boyfriend for a second before continuing.

'I found an apartment, not far from here, so close enough for you to walk to work, hitting all of our criteria, I already went over whilst you where gone, as there was a chance to see it in person. And of course if you don't like it we can back out but I've placed an offer and we can start moving in even tomorrow!'

Magnus was mastering as much excitement as possible at this time, after his breakdown yesterday he felt enough shame at showing his weakness, but it was harder and harder to keep his walls up around Alexander who proved to be excellent at getting him to open up, almost against his will. But now gazing at his boyfriends stormy face he couldn't help but recoil, did he make a mistake and Alec wasn't willing to live with him anymore, did he push him away to far to the point of no return?

' That's great. I would say just in time, because you can't stay here any longer'

'Why? Has someone said anything?'

'Nothing like that, it's just.... Magnus I don't think us being together is right at the minute.... I think it's best if we don't see each other anymore.'

'What? I don't... Alexander what are you saying?' Magnus was lost for words, how come this man, who just 24 hours ago was cradling him in his arms whispering reassurance of love suddenly decided that he is not worth it?

Stumbling backwards Magnus kept an eye on Alec, on his stormy face and clenched fists, on his angry posture. Was this his doing? Has he been such a disappointing partner, it wouldn't be the first time, he thought bitterly.

'I think we should break up, without your magic, and with you being so... different. We just don't work anymore.' Alec was speaking through gritted teeth, each word that left his mouth was like a stabbing wound. All he was aching to do was to grab Magnus and never let him go. But that's not what Magnus deserves, he deserves his power, his magic, to live forever, not some pathetic excuse of a boyfriend who can't even bring him happiness.

Magnus was breathing hard, not fully comprehending the fact that after all of what happened in the last weeks he's now also loosing Alec, a reason for his sacrifice. He lost his magic to save his boyfriend from a tragic loss. He took that burden away from him and that's how this ends for him. Without a support he needs so desperately at this awful time. No one treats Magnus Bane this way, not even a person he loves.

Alec can see the exact moment Magnus is hit with the realisation of what is happening. He can see the walls going up, he can almost feel how betrayed Magnus feels. So he's bracing himself cause he knows how good his boyfriend is with words and how much he can hurt him.

'You, you made me believe that I can have love after so many centuries, you took away a part of me, you made me sacrifice myself time and again! You're a pathetic little boy who thinks he can play with people, you're no leader. I wish I never loved you, I wish I left you a long time ago when the chance presented itself! Goodbye Alec'

With that he was gone. Izzy found Alec on the floor of the library an hour later. Her brother in nearly catatonic state, clutching Lightwoods family ring.

****

Magnus was running, running away from that toxic place, form Alec, from this reality. He didn't know where he was going but when he finally looked up he was just a block away from Catarina's apartment. Apparently his brain still worked, in the contrary to his broken heart.

But before he could take another step, he felt a pull of power, some kind of electricity buzzing around him. Looking around he saw a twirling blue and red energy appearing right in front of him. Magnus had no time to react when the energy suddenly started entering his body.

Someone was slapping his cheek, it felt cold and strange against his face. He blinked his eyes open to see a young girl with a skateboard under her pit.

'Are you ok?' She asked.

Magnus blinked a few times after remembering the weird energy, he must've passed out after it entered his body. He was suddenly glad he somehow found himself near Catarina's apartment.

'Yes, yes I'm ok thank you. Must be low on sugar or something' with a quick wave he disappeared as fast as he could.

****

'Your magic is back! When? How did this happen?' were the first words that left Cat's mouth as soon as she opened her door.

'What?'

Can you not feel it?'

'I...' in all his distress Magnus didn't even question the way his body felt. He wasn't expecting his magic to return henceforth he hasn't tried to channel it in any way. But now he could feel it pulsing through him, like a roaring beast it was ready to be unleashed at any time, ready to be wielded. And it was his. It was familiar, felt like coming home after years of separation, it didn't not compare with Lorenzo's magic which did the trick but never felt like his own.

He got rid of his glamour and with glossy eyes looked at Cat, she stood before him tears streaming down her face.

How?' he asked.

'Wait, you don't know?' When did this happen?' she asked suspicion in her voice.

'Literally just now, I was coming to you, I had to leave the Institute, and suddenly this power entered me and bam here I am' he explained not being able to hide his hurt when talking about the Institute.

'What happened at the Institute?' Cat pressed gently, knowing the fragile state her friend has been in the last weeks.

'He, Alec... Alexander broke up with me'

'That's impossible! I know I had my doubts but that boy loves you, he was devastated when you got sick he wouldn't just toss you aside just a few days later'

'Well he did, he said we don't work anymore because I don't have my magic and I'm not myself anymore'

Cat was still looking at him sceptically, she got to know Alec a lot better recently and what Magnus was saying seemed very far away from the Shadowhunters character, but there were more pressing matters at hand.

'So what do you think happened? Asmodeus got bored and decided to just give you your magic back?'

'I doubt that, nothing comes free with my father, but how? I can think of only one way he would agree to giving my magic back to me and that's getting something in return. But I can't think of anyone that would willingly deal with my father... No person other than maybe you or Alexander......oh god.'

'Magnus what is it? Didn't you say he just broke up with you out of nowhere...ohhh'

They shared a look of understanding, a look full of dread.

'No he wouldn't. Why would he do that? Didn't he know I rather die with him than live for eternity without him.?'

'I guess he loves you enough to sacrifice his happiness'

'I told him I'm not happy, I told him there might never be a time when I'm happy again but I didn't tell him that he's the only reason I'm still here, still holding on. What if breaking up with me is not everything he had to offer to my father I have to see him now.'

'Go but don't do anything stupid. Asmodeus can still take your magic back.'

'I ..' he almost said he doesn't care but the words wouldn't leave his mouth because no matter what, Magnus is not being striped of his magic ever again. With the last nod towards Catarina he lets his magic wash over him, his hands start to dance in a manner that could be described as excessive but he doesn't care. He hasn't felt this alive in what feels like years. Soon enough he's walking through a portal straight into Alec's office.

****

He's not surprised to see it empty. If he wasn't trying to fix this mess he would probably be sitting on Cat's couch sobbing right now, so he understands. He spend the last week living in Alec's room at the Institute but nevertheless he decided to knock on the door, when he gets there. His heart nearly breaks at Alec's rough and sad voice coming from inside. 'Izzy please, leave me alone!'

The newly recharged Warlock hesitates only for a second before softly slipping into the room.

'I'm not going anywhere you silly silly Nephilim' he says quietly, but not without passion, it's almost like his voice send electricity towards Alec's body. Next second the Shadowhunter is up on his feet, hands wiping down his face of any fluids.

'Magnus what are you doing here? Haven't I made myself clear that I don't want to see you anymore?' he says and it would be much more convincing if Alec didn't look ready to be sick at having to repeat those words.

'What is clear to me, is that I have my magic back and that my boyfriend decided to make a deal with my father behind my back.'

Alec's eyes widen just for a second before he's moving, stepping closer to Magnus. Magnus who doesn't expect to be manhandled towards the door.

'I don't know what you're talking about. Please just leave I can't ..we can't'.'

'Yes we can, Alexander we will figure this out, please'

'Magnus no, he only agreed to this if we're not together anymore, he will take it back otherwise, you can't ...I just want you to be happy, please let me help you be happy'

'I am happy, when I wake next you, when I see your smile, when you speak sweet nothings into my ear, when I hold your hand, when I know that I have the love of my life by my side, that's when I'm happy.'

' But you said, that without your magic...I wanted you to be whole again, to fix my mistakes.'

'First of all it was my choice and second of all I said I wasn't happy, and that was true, my magic means the world to me but you darling you are my world. I can survive loosing my magic it would take time, but loosing you, the pain I was in was unimaginable. I love you Alexander Lightwood, and I'm not letting you go, even if it means I have to face my father again.'

'I love you too Magnus Bane and I'm so so sorry.'

And they cried softly together until they both felt like they are strong enough to face the world after this turmoil of emotions

#malec #Alec Lightwood #Magnus Bane #malec fic #Shadowhunters

65 notes · View notes

new-moon-over-septarsis · 5 years

Text

"Is this it? Is this what I deserve to die for?"

The thought rang throughout Moon Butterfly's mind as her fingers entwined with Mina's, their hands locked in an intense grip that kept either woman from moving forward, the slightest slack in the knuckles threatening doom for an unfortunate warrior. The queen of Mewni braced her feet against the ground and gritted her teeth, refusing to be pushed back any further by Mina's intense strength.

Those reports, that old machine, Mina's glee as she recounted her tales; they all stayed sickeningly clear in Moon's head. She knew in her heart that even Toffee of all people hadn't deserved the horrible things he'd been put through in this place, and that, perhaps, it was those very events that had shaped him into the heartless criminal he was. Why couldn't Mina see that? Why couldn't she understand there was no righteousness, no justice in the way she'd treated Toffee here? Monster or not, this wasn't right.

Dip down. Dip down. Dip down!

Where was her magic? Where was her strength? Why did it fail now, of all times? It was as if Moon was a teenager again, barely learning to summon everything she had, only for the poor result of weak magic to disappoint her. A teenager, unable to function without her wand, without her teacher, without her crown, without a line of important snooty people to tell her how to feel or what to think or who to leave behind in the dust...

Another pulse of energy from Mina threatened to break their lock, but Moon stood her ground, desperate to get one foot in front of the other and start pushing her enemy backwards. But neither warrior budged. Muscles strained, exhausted breath heated up the air, arms and legs slowly moved back and forth in efforts to turn the tables. Moon's arms started to shake; the former protector of Mewni started to gain the upper hand with her monstrous berkserker form, forcing Moon's arms farther apart in attempt to push her torso back and knock her off balance. Moon yelled and tightened her core.

I'm going to die. I'm going to die here, and for what? For speaking my mind? The one time I disagree with a Mewman's actions, and suddenly a trusted member of my guard wants to hurt me? Is this where defending a monster gets you in this world?

No.

...I'M. NOT. WRONG.

"I...am still...the queen of Mewni!"

Moon felt her cheeks burn again. She gasped as white hot magic flowed through her veins once more, and her grip on Mina's hands tightened as their glowing eyes glares daggers at each other, at last able to stand upright and push her back. "And the moment I get back to my home, you are under arrest for crimes against Mewmanity."

"WHAT? You're siding with him?!" Mina roared and pushed back again, the sudden force bending Moon over this time.

"He's the reason your momma's dead!!"

A despondent grimace overcame Moon's face. Every simple mention of that fact seemed to catapult her back to that day, to that soul-shattering moment she'd received the news. The depressing distraction made her legs buckle, her knees nearly touching the floor. The magic, that dauntless strength, was starting to flicker on and off. How was she supposed to summon everything she had, when everything she had or loved or thought she knew was turning upside down with the rest of her world? If the queen of Mewni wasn't defined by her grief or by her ability to overcome, then who was she?

Moon looked past Mina, gazing at the machine in grief and uncertainty; a conduit for electricity and magical energy, an old device seemingly too far ahead of their time, but still every bit as barbaric as the darkest parts of Mewni.

"He's the reason your momma's dead..."

Moon shot her eyes back toward her foe, determination skyrocketing. The undaunted queen forced her way back to an upright position flat on her feet. She grunted from the effort, then yelled...

"From what I've seen here today, SO ARE YOU!!!!"

Bursts of brilliant bright blue magic flew from Moon's hands as she roared. Mina was defenseless, and was thrown backwards across the room and onto the machine. Her hulking body crashed through the bed of the device, and while Moon couldn't possibly know whether it had been left on this whole time or was simply supercharged by the sudden presence of intense magic, either way the machine started up again a hundred times more powerful than normal.

The air became unbearably hot and disgustingly loud with the crackles of electricity and magic surrounding and holding through Mina Loveberry's helpless form. The inescapable twists and contortions of her body were nightmarish enough to look at, but the bloodcurdling, almost animalistic screams of anguish imprinted themselves among Moon's ears, threatening never to leave. The screams and crackles became louder, the heat more intense, smoke and fire appearing as if from nowhere. Moon's survival instincts cried desperately for one last bit of adrenaline, knowing the machine was going to explode.

She ducked behind a force field of magic, thin as white ice but hard as steel. The screams stopped in an instant while fire and energy soared toward the shield, throwing it and her across the room. Moon was crumpled onto her side; her back and shoulder were against a wall, very bruised but definitely not broken. She opened her eyes and was greeted with floating dust and jagged spikes of wood and concrete: a giant hole in the wall she'd just been pushed through.

Moon stood back up, groaning from the impact and coughing from the dust. She dared not walk back into the room, smothered with smoke and heat, but she stood in front of the hole and peered through the smoke, trying futily to find the hulking Mewman warrior. But Moon already knew there was nothing left. All her uncertainty fell through a pit in her stomach.

"MINAAAA!!!!!!"

Moon yelled, but with another breath came another coughing fit. She stumbled away from the smoke and down the hall in shock.

What have I done? This isn't happening. This can't be happening.

Moon snapped out of her stupor to the sound of distant voices and gasped.

"What the heck is going on?" "What was that?!" "It came from the old asylum!"

Moon walked over to a nearby window. From four stories up, she could see bystanders already racing from the village down the hill to investigate.

...

This is happening.

There were, indeed, many courses of action Moon could've taken here. But what would they amount to? Who could decide? Not them. And, in this moment of panic and mayhem, certainly not her.

"Look!"

"At the window!"

"It was her!"

No one came to help. No one came to witness. All they'll come to do now is judge...

Moon turned on her heel and sprinted to the other end of the hallway, paying no more mind the smoke, nor to the bystanders, nor to the window she was quickly closing in on.

One more shield of magic.

A quick-second unveiling of wings and six arms.

A dive.

A stabbing, stinging pain in a million places.

A somersault.

A massive jerking of joints from sudden unfurling of wings.

...Sweat...

...blood...

...fear...

...desperation...

...all went by in a blur.

Surely only a millisecond had passed since she sprinted, right? But now she was on her hands and knees, covered in glass and gasping for breath five stories down from where she'd just stood.

I've never been through anything like this before. Why did this happen? What do I do?

Moon Butterfly found herself wishing to be back in the Realm of Magic she'd frolicked through merely a few days ago, though she knew it wasn't a suitable escape from her worries. Nor was it even an option at this point. Instead she drowned out the voices, got back up, and ran once more, her adrenaline leaving her body faster than she could keep it alive.

But there was enough for her to escape into the forest. Toward territory frolicking with monsters. Toward creatures she once thought dangerous and wicked. Toward, what was now, the queen's only refuge.

12 notes · View notes

cillacruz09 · 7 years

Text

So, this is the first time I have done this so no judgements but I think this is something I have to do.

So, my name is Priscilla and I am a 22 year old who has lost my way. I have had an easy childhood and once I turned 16 things were pretty difficult. I was in and out of relationships, had lost my first child at 19 and lost my second this past March, both to miscarriages. I am a difficult person. Difficult to talk to, confide in, and above all to trust. I am not perfect and I am far from it. At 17 I had a major spinal surgery and had to give up my one true dream of playing softball. I tell you these things not because I want attention or I want this reposted but more for myself and finally having the voice I should have never let go. For two months I was in a point in my life where I didn't think I would live. I was laying in bed, didn't eat for days and honestly felt my life was not going anywhere. I challenged myself to try and remove the covers and made my robotic hands push me up off the pillow and made my makeshift body perform just simple tasks, and this was proven very difficult, and some days almost impossible. About a month ago I was sitting at a local pool late at night and just listened to the water; a past time that I had not enjoyed in a very long time. I decided, fully clothed and all I would take a risk and jump straight into the pool and sunk to the bottom. I realized how beautiful it was to simply enjoy something so simplistic. I rose up slowly and decided to float, letting the water cradle me. In that moment where the water caressed my skin and I seemed to be floating on air, I felt alive. And not an alive that You are blissfully happy but sort of an epiphany that saved my life. I realized when iI sunk to the bottom of that pool that I was a rock. I was “thrown” into this pool of life with no clue as what direction to go to, much less start. I realized in that moment that life is honestly like a river (and this is the best way I can describe how I was feeling that night in that pool). I realized that a single person is like a rock in the middle of a river, and when we get thrown there is no knowledge of where we will land, or how, or simply if we will get swept off in this river of life that will never give us the chance to sink and brace for the impact. The river was my enemy in this equation and I simply had to overcome and try to stand against. But how? How can one rock stand against wave and wave of the river, and as time goes on, eventually fade away. And just like that river and that rock, is the metaphor of life. I learned that night that I cannot control where I land, and eventually I will erode into nothing, but when I do erode I want to remember my creases, my cracks, my strength I had when I holdback those currents and my pure determination to continue. Two months ago I did not think I could stand continuing life, and after that epiphany I realized the only person to change my outcome and what path I was heading down was myself and myself only. The past three years I was in a relationship where I was truly in love but didn't know how to love. And my inability to recognize and learn how to reciprocate love did I eventually push this person away, through lies, cheating and ultimately failure in making the relationship work. In the past 5 years I had gained 65 pounds due to two miscarriages and one epically failed relationship to the man who was my soulmate. I had never learned to love myself. I had never learned to see the true face in the mirror. After that night I thought long and hard and I decided I didn't want to quit, it wasn't in my nature to. So I decided I would “wash away” the failure in that pool and come out determined to continue my life saying the mantra “24″. Now this mantra I came up with to tell myself essentially to take it a day at a time. The time would start at 12AM and would not be completed until 12AM the next day and in that time I would find 8 reasons to love myself, 8 things I would like to change, and finally 8 things I could expand on. Once I thought about this process things began to drastically change. I am now working out 6 days a week and never taking no for an answer when it comes to working out and being healthy. I eat healthy and soon will try and conquer the Paleo Diet (those who know me know that it is something I always want to try), I have lost 3 inches off my waist and my biggest accomplishment is actually making my back muscles completely sore! (to those who know me, after spinal surgery it was one of my biggest fears was to work out and injure myself once more). I began doing yoga and meditate both as soon as I wake and before bed. I began doing yoga and am in love with the process and the connectivity and grounding feeling I endure doing it. Once I started to feel good and feel myself good and positive things I found an amazing job (to those who know me I have been out of employment for two months and which started the spiral into my depression). This is a dream job and I absolutely love and cannot be ever grateful to be blessed with such an important duty. I am responsible for not only making sure I can guide myself through this life but I am setting the path for others to follow and be guided to find their own. Life seems pretty great. Now, I know everything I have typed out is a lot and for most of you it is pointless but this is one of my greatest fears: to open myself up so greatly and actually say on such a public platform how I feel. This exercise has proven to me how far I have come in my journey to self discovery and self love that I never thought possible in a very long time.

So now, If you read this and you feel empowered or you start to question your current situation, I urge you to take a step back and see the big picture. No matter what happens you will always be there for you. You will always be there to pick yourself up. Your hands will physically push you up to get out of that bed, your eyes will always look towards the light and your heart will always fill itself with love. So I urge you; love yourself. Love what makes you, you. Love what is and always strive to change. Strive to be better than the 24 that was the day previous and always look on how the next 24 will be even better. Because life will never stop. It will always be that raging river, and you, that bold and determined rock, fighting that strong current day in and day out, can decide what will make you and what will break you. You can decide that life is so much more important that what defines you as a person. Your past does not matter. The past 24 has happened and is gone. The current 24 could possibly be hard, and it could possibly be challenging and there will be days that you will want to give up, but I urge you to focus on that 24 and channel your energy into changing yourself to make it worth while. Because only you knows what will make you happy, and only you know what you want your life to be. So take that job that seems skeptical, tell that person you love them, and take every challenge you find worthy to pursue because this is your life, and your 24.

3 notes · View notes

futzyou · 7 years

Text

Empty | Self

summary: kate did a terrible (or maybe it wasnt) thing during the war. it ate away at her, and eventually even pushed america away. kate reflects on it, instead of doing anything remotely heroic trigger warnings: depression (?? not really but she’s p. sad), bisexual heartache, mentions of murder

The bed next to her was cold.

It wasn’t a very big bed. The RV only had so much space, but she and America had made it work. Made it work fabulously. It had become a routine. Go out together, take out some baddies, come home and stitch each other up, then fall into the little bed together. What they did then, well, it kind of went without saying.

And then in the mornings, Kate would wake up and feel America’s warm breath on the back of her neck. Her arms around her waist or sprawled out to either side of her, the sunlight bouncing off her girlfriend’s dark, beautiful skin. Bathing her grumpy, ‘it’s too early for this shit’ face in a warm glow.

But this morning, the bed was cold. Kate wasn’t exactly surprised. Things hadn’t been easy. The war in the city had ended, but it seemed like that was just the start of the war inside. Inside the RV, inside her relationship… inside her.

She hadn’t been the same since that night with Jessica Drew. Where she’d looked into what being a ‘hero’ meant. All the good. And all the bad that went right along with it. She’d killed someone. A bad person, but still a person. She didn’t regret it, and she knew Jess had been right. He was an enemy, someone who would’ve killed Kate or Jess or America or anyone without a second thought. He was one of the Bad Guys with capital letters. And Jess had caught him, gotten important information out of him. By the time Kate found them, he’d already said all he was going to say. So she shot him. Right through the heart.

It needed to be done. The Syndicate had a bad habit of last minute, extra nasty tricks And a worse habit of popping cyanide pills. A cult full of martyr. Or suicide bombers. Was there a difference?

Kate knew she’d done the right thing. She was at least 89% sure. Jess would’ve done it if she hadn’t, he would’ve done it himself if he could’ve gotten to those pills. But in the end, it was her, her aim, her bow. Her arrows had taken a lot of targets, cut down monsters, shot bad-guys in the eyeballs, but it was the first time one of them had killed a person. A human being.

In her nightmares, he was always exceedingly human. Never any extra heads, no fangs, no claws, nothing that would’ve made it easier for her to let that arrow fly. She always woke up just before it hit him. Just as he pulled in the last gasp of air.

So she’d stopped sleeping. Started staying up all night, drinking even more coffee somehow. Thank god for Stark’s espresso machine – though she was starting to seriously worry it was going to burn out from over-use.

That was probably when things got really bad. The exhaustion muffled the world around her, and at the same time amplified every negative feeling in her chest. The irritation, the numbness, the shame. The confusion.

She remembered a few weeks back, when America had first returned. She’d been confused then, too, but that seemed so silly now. It was nothing compared to what she felt now. But the core question was the same – who was she now? Who was Kate Bishop?

Gay? Bisexual?

A murderer?

She didn’t have the answers. And it drove her crazy. Not sleeping didn’t help her find the answers, so she started sleeping all the time. Partially just to get away from those questions. All day long, they raced through her mind, so loud and screaming she couldn’t focus on anything else. Not the bad guys she still met in alleyways. Not the jokes and smiles America shot at her – or the irritated questions she started getting later. Whether America was kissing her or shouting at her, the reaction was the same. Kate’s mind was a million miles away, only snapping back to snap at her girlfriend to just leave her alone.

‘Leave me alone.’ That was the last thing she’d said to America. Before stomping off and falling into the little bed by herself. It felt huge without America’s presence there.

So, she wasn’t exactly surprised to find herself still alone. What she really wondered was how long ago that was. It felt like just a few hours ago, but somehow it seemed longer, too. Like maybe it had happened days ago, and she was just now remembering. Just now realizing. That’s how far away her mind was, like there was a pane of glass, three feet thick, in front of her eyes. Making everything just a little cloudy, a little out of her reach.

Kate rolled over, towards the wall. Traced her fingers along the fake wood paneling. Should she bother getting up? She didn’t really see the point of it – it’d take so much effort just to swing her legs over the side of the bed, small or not.

Truth was, there was no reason for her to haul herself out of bed. She could go sit on Clint’s couch, watch him banter with Nat and ignore the concerned looks from both of them. For spies, they were awfully transparent when it came to her. She could text Steph back, or MJ or Gwen, but she never knew what to say to them anymore. She didn’t know what to say to anyone. Lucky had become her favorite person in the whole world, because he didn’t want her to say anything but ‘pizza.’ And she’d started feeding him whole slices – she didn’t have much of an appetite anymore.

The only thing that would pull her from bed, like it had for the past week or so, was America’s voice. Get up, princess. We got work to do, she’d say. Or you’ve gotten your beauty-rest, trust me. Something on the line between teasing and genuine irritation. America had never had much patience. She never stayed in one place long enough to develop any.

The cold side of the bed sent shivers down her spine. Kate felt something coil up in her stomach. It was ebbing through her, like ink her veins, jet-black and cold. Dread. She knew she had to turn around and look at that side of the bed, but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to, because she knew what she would find. Knew it because there was no smell of coffee in the air, no sounds of America stomping around, no teasing call to wake her up. The sunlight streaming in through the blinds wasn’t morning sunlight, bright and pale and warm. It was afternoon. Just a little harsher. She’d learned to tell the difference.

Finally, slowly, Kate rolled over. The bed next to her was completely untouched. Just how she left it last night. Maybe America had slept on the pull-out couch, or at Eli’s, but… that feeling was still surging through her veins.

Kate pushed herself up, swiping her hair out of her face. She pulled her hand back with a scowl. How long had it been since she washed her hair? How could she have forgotten that? There was a hairtie on the little nightstand, and she scooped it up, throwing her hair into the epitome of a messy bun. Then she shuffled towards the end of the bed, and forced herself to stand up.

It wasn’t as hard as she’d thought it be. But her head swam a little, she had to brace herself against the wall. She was cold, even though it was still summer, really. She fumbled for one of the sweaters on her floor, feeling a flash of irritation when it took her a minute to detangle one from all the others. Finally, she got one and slipped it over her head before heading out into the rest of the RV.

Silence met her. Well, relative silence. She was pitched up near Central Park after all, and it was the city that never slept. But inside her little RV, it was still and quiet. She was alone.

America was gone.

Not even a note – not one that she could see. If it was hidden somewhere, she didn’t have the energy to go look for it. Notes weren’t really America’s style anyway. She was more the ‘take off and leave without even a goodbye’ kind of person. Always had been.

Kate had known that. Going into all this. But she’d dismissed that worry in the beginning, had promised herself that she would give America a reason to stick around this time. A reason to say goodbye at least.

Apparently, she’d broken that promise.

She sniffled a little, taking in the empty RV. A part of her expected America to waltz in through the door, or maybe portal right onto the couch, and start rolling her eyes at how dramatic Kate was being. Then she’d kiss her cheek and do that thing with her fingertips along Kate’s side, and everything would be okay.

Standing very still, like it would break the spell if she moved, Kate waited. But the door didn’t slam open. No star-shaped glowing portals appeared in her ceiling. Her phone, sitting next to the coffee maker, didn’t even buzz.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there. It could’ve been years for all she knew. Long enough to let her mind wander again, to fall back to that night in the alley, the Syndicate man slumped against the wall, Jess staring at her with her mouth in a thin line, the sounds of war raging all around them. The whistle of her arrow as it sped from her bow in a perfectly straight line. Right where she aimed it.

Just before she heard the thud of impact, Kate realized where she was. More specifically, how much energy it took to stay standing in the middle of her RV. She slumped against the counter next to her, and slid down, until she was on the floor, leaning against the cupboards. She swiped at her eyes, just in case, but there weren’t any tears. She was too tired for tears. Coffee would help. But that would mean standing up again.

She settled for staring at the door to the RV. Wondering if she was wrong about all this, maybe it had only been a few minutes since America had left. Maybe she’d come back, and Kate could fix this. That would mean telling America about the pane of glass in front of her eyes, the nightmares in her head. It would mean telling her about the man in the alleyway with an arrow sticking out of his chest.

But America wasn’t coming back. Kate just knew it, the way she’d known when her father answered that fateful phone call telling them their mother wasn’t coming back from Colorado. The way she’d known when the Young Avengers burst into her sister’s wedding. The way she’d known when she’d first held a bow, and again when she’d held Clint’s bow. Some things, she could just tell, could just feel in her gut. Good things… and the bad things, too.

In the end, she gave up on coffee. And she decided that if America, by some miracle, did actually come back through those doors – if she hadn’t just hopped through to another dimension where she didn’t have to deal with bitchy girlfriends who don’t keep their promises, who go from princess to swamp-monster, who can’t even look at you when you talk -- Kate would just say sorry. Over and over. To make up for everything she couldn’t say.

#self #para

3 notes · View notes

vincentbuckles · 5 years

Text

Weekend reading: Can we take back control from Brexit?

[A quick update on Brexit thoughts for those who want to reasonably discuss it. For those who don’t, please feel free to skip to the links.]

Imagine having anticipated something for 30 years, finally getting the freedom to do it, and then making a car crash out of it.

But enough about my life as a mid-life singleton. I’m thinking here of the Eurosceptic wing of the Conservative party.

You know – those 40-odd guys who can’t muster up enough votes to unseat the UK’s most ineffectual leader since Hugh Laurie’s Prince Regent in Blackadder the Third, and yet who’ve somehow managed to send 63 million of us towards an apparently imminent impoverished future.

You might think the World Class farce we’ve endured over the past 30 months would see me smiling.

After all a second referendum is looking ever more likely, if still not odds-on.

But unfortunately, I continue to read and hear abundant evidence that most of the Leave voting contingent still doesn’t get it.

And that means despite the demographic challenges of that faction (i.e. its original margin of victory is literally dying) it’s quite possible Leave could win again.

Especially if the Remain side sticks to the previous policy of dull facts over bus-splattering bullshit fabrications.

No wonder Leave voters seem almost as angry as Remainers:

I’ve seen a parade of #Brexit leaders on news programmes today. Their position boils down to this: We are absolutely sure voters knew exactly what they voted for and, as soon as we manage to agree among ourselves what that was, we will inform voters what it was they voted for.

— Alex Andreou (@sturdyAlex) December 6, 2018

A second referendum is a horrible solution to a stupid problem, with plenty of downsides.

However from my perspective it has the minor virtue of being less terrible than all the other alternatives.

Whose Brexit is it, anyway

Can we not stop this death march? Absolutely no one seems happy with the direction of travel.

Not even the Leave voters, that’s the most galling – if unsurprising – thing.

Blogger Ermine came close to capturing this contradiction at the heart of the Leave vote with a graphic this week. Leavers are represented here by the two Mickey Mouse ears on top of the smug metropolitan elite mug:

What @ermine’s Venn diagram is missing though is the set of people who voted either Leave or Remain to make us poorer.

Perhaps that’s because it doesn’t exist – despite even the Government admitting that’s what we face.

True, a tiny set of Brexiteers have belatedly conceded that a No Deal Brexit will hit us in the national nads.

That, they now say, is a price worth paying for sovereignty / blue passports / the right to negotiate trade deals with Madagascar and Kazakhstan.

But all the leading Leave-supporting players continue to lie to the electorate.

Theresa May herself rounded off her Deal Debate Dodge by harking back to the supposed ability of Brexit to reduce the inequalities and insecurities she spoke of in the aftermath of the vote – despite almost every single analysis of Brexit showing a net negative impact, economically-speaking.1

If you want sovereignty or fewer immigrants from Brexit, fair enough. Own that. Don’t claim the tooth fairy too.

But sadly, the very few Leavers I come across in real-life are still saying things like “The EU needs us more than we need them.”

The same EU that has run rings around us in negotiations.

The EU that has stuck firmly together, despite all forecasts to the contrary, and strangely believes more in its vision of togetherness than in the fantasies of Brexiteers.

The EU that takes 44% of our exports, while we take 8%2 of theirs.

The roughly 450 million of them versus the 63 million of us.

The UK vs the EU is a negotiating position that only looks attractive to Tories of a certain class raised to see greatness in the self-destruction of The Charge Of The Light Brigade.

“C’est magnifique, mais ce n’est pas la guerre; c’est de la folie”.3

Barry Barricades

What I missed when I created Barry Blimp – the archetypal Home Counties Leave voter of not inconsiderable means and more than a few years – was his zealotry.

Because I now see a big chunk of the Leave cohort want Brexit no matter what.

In fact I rather think some would enjoy it if we had ferries piled up outside Dover and food rationing at Tesco.

Obviously I feel vindicated when I think back to the insults hurled at me when I ventured my opinion on my own blog that many Leave voters didn’t know what they’d started, or that this would drag on for years.

But that’s about as satisfying as telling the person in the seat next to you that yes, you were right that the 747’s engine sounded a bit funny as the Captain shouts “Brace, brace!” over the tannoy.

There seems no good solution to this mess now. Revolutions have started over less.

(That may sound melodramatic if you don’t know your history. I suggest you Google the origins of the French Revolution, the English Civil War, or the American War of Independence before you jab your finger in my chest.)

To be clear I’m not predicting revolution – let alone hoping for it, from any perspective – but there’s got to be a non-zero chance.

Currently we are just living through a nationalist coup, and that’s bad enough.

The irony is for many on the right, Jeremy Corbyn is a revolutionary Marxist.

Politics has abandoned the center ground. As a result, lots of people are going to be very unhappy, however this turns out.

Our politicians need to get a grip, fast.

From Monevator

Money is power – Monevator

From the archive-ator: The characteristics of an entrepreneur – Monevator

News

Note: Some links are Google search results – in PC/desktop view you can click to read the piece without being a paid subscriber. Try privacy/incognito mode to avoid cookies. Consider subscribing if you read them a lot!4

UK economy slows as car sales fall – BBC

Property market at weakest since 2012 as Brexit takes toll, says RICS – Guardian

ECB ends €2.5tn eurozone QE stimulus programme – BBC

Luxury goods inflation running at nearly 6%, says Coutts – Guardian

Richest parts of London generate 30x cash of poorest parts of UK – ThisIsMoney

Scotland freezes threshold for higher-rate income tax – Guardian

Crowdcube investors threaten legal action after Emoov goes bust – ThisIsMoney

Check out the collapse in the price of solar powered energy – Vox

Products and services

Are real or fake Christmas trees better for the planet? – Guardian

Small energy providers keep going bust. Is switching too risky? – ThisIsMoney

Investors flock to venture capital funds [Search result] – FT

Britain to force broadband providers to tell customers their best deals – Reuters

Ratesetter will pay you £100 [and me a cash bonus] if you invest £1,000 for a year – Ratesetter

Examining the risks and rewards of securities lending for funds – Morningstar

Investec’s new notice savings account allows 20% withdrawals – ThisIsMoney

Questioning the $1million retirement maths special

$1 million isn’t enough – Fat Tailed and Happy

The hardest problem in finance – The Irrelevant Investor

$1 million? Meh. [US but relevant] – The Belle Curve

Comment and opinion

Stellar take on the savings-versus-investment-returns debate – Get Rich Slowly

Situational spending – Seth Godin

Index-investing critic takes aim, fires, misses – Bloomberg

Rational versus reasonable – Morgan Housel

Financial planning – Indeedably

Three investing maths mistakes to drive you nuts – The IT Investor

The current danger for stocks: Fear itself – Morningstar

Why you need a money mentor – The Cut

The reason many billionaires aren’t satisfied with their wealth – The Atlantic

The wonderful Portfolio Charts has had a makeover – Portfolio Charts

How to measure a company’s growth rate – UK Value Investor

The best investing white papers of 2018 [For nerds/pros] – Savvy Investor

Crypto corner (December 2017 nostalgic edition)

Four days trapped at sea with crypto’s nouveau riche – Breaker Mag

Yes Bitcoin was a bubble. And it popped… – Bloomberg

…but is it time for believers to buy back into Ethereum? – AVC

Prices are down more than the ‘fundamentals’ [My quotes] – Chris Burniske

Brexit

The EU rebuffs Theresa May on Brexit — six takeaways [Search result] – FT

Lord Heseltine nails it on Brexit [Video] – via Facebook

“This was the second failed attempt to unseat May in three weeks, for a bunch of guys who’d be picked last for paintball and are led by rejected Paddington villain Jacob Rees-Mogg.” – Guardian

EU leaders scrap plans to help Theresa May pass deal after disastrous meeting in Brussels – Independent

Sir Ivan Rogers on Brexit [Full speech] – University of Liverpool

How Ireland outwitted Britain on Brexit – Bloomberg

Don’t know why people see a nasty, racist fringe to the Leave vote… – via Twitter

Kindle book bargains

The Barcelona Way: How to Create a High-performance Culture by Damian Hughes – £1.09 on Kindle

The 100-Year Life: Living and Working in an Age of Longevity by Lynda Gratton and Andrew Scott – £2.99 on Kindle

James Acaster’s Classic Scrapes by James Acaster – £0.99 on Kindle

Off our beat

Habits are the compound interest of self-improvement – Farnham Street

Population mountains [Striking 3D maps of global populations] – The Pudding

KFC debuts fried chicken-scented fire logs ahead of Christmas – Fox News

We need academic conferences about robots, love, and sex – Slate

And finally…

“For half a century the competition to produce the fastest stock price-printing machine was almost as frantic as the pursuit of the stocks and the shares. Indeed for many, the two were inseparable.” – Selwyn Parker, The Great Crash: How the Stock Market Crash of 1929 Plunged the World into Depression

Like these links? Subscribe to get them every Friday!

Yes, a couple of things might be made better for a tiny subset of the population. But as we’ve discussed before, almost every serious economist believes those benefits would be grossly outweighed by the economic negatives. They’d be far better addressed directly via redistribution or government investment.

Or 18%, in a certain light.

“It’s magnificent, but it’s not war; it’s madness” – General Pierre Bosquet.

Note some articles can only be accessed through the search results if you’re using PC/desktop view (from mobile/tablet view they bring up the firewall/subscription page). To circumvent, switch your mobile browser to use the desktop view. On Chrome for Android: press the menu button followed by “Request Desktop Site”.

Weekend reading: Can we take back control from Brexit? published first on https://justinbetreviews.weebly.com/

1 note · View note

healthandfitnessrecipes-blog · 6 years

Text

11 Low-Energy and Low-Key Ways to Raise Awareness for Arthritis

https://healthandfitnessrecipes.com/?p=5965

Each year the month of May is known for being National Arthritis Awareness Month. According to the Arthritis Foundation, “arthritis is a disease that impacts more than 50 million Americans, making it the number one cause of disability in the country. That means 1 in every 5 adults, 300,000 children and countless families are affected by some form of arthritis. These numbers are only going to keep growing — unless we take a stand.”

The foundation goes on to say that, “The first steps in conquering arthritis are learning the facts, understanding your condition and knowing that help is by your side.” Help is available in different forms from our medical doctors, family, friends, our community organizations and raising awareness for ourselves and society.

Being chronically ill is in fact very tiresome. Going to a march and holding up signs is a great way to get involved but not everyone has the time, energy or resources to engage in that. This is why I created a low-key, low-energy guide to raise awareness from the comfort of your own home.

1. Tell a friend

Don’t be ashamed or embarrassed. If anything, the month of awareness is a time to take stock of how you feel towards you. How are you viewing yourself? How are you treating yourself? Look in the mirror and take a firm stand. You are a warrior.

When I was first diagnosed I did the exact opposite of what I am writing now. I didn’t tell anyone and I kept it to myself. For me at the time that is what I felt comfortable doing. Eventually I opened up and told someone outside of my immediate family. Once I did I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. You don’t have to go screaming it off the rooftops, but choosing a close confidant(s) can help your emotional and mental well-being.

2. Own your arthritis. Be Firm.

Own it. The only way people will start understanding is if we make the aware in awareness stand out. When people think of arthritis, they usually automatically visualize older people and remember a time when their own joints were “achy and stiff.” If I got nervous around people I didn’t know – I just mumble I have “RA” (rheumatoid arthritis). People would look at me and say, “What is RA?” People don’t know what these acronyms stand for. Sometimes I would say my health issues, chronic illness, health problems, my food allergies, etc.

I realized being vague was only prolonging a conversation I didn’t want to go further into at the time. So when you’re out in a social setting simply saying, “I have rheumatoid arthritis,” “I have a gluten allergy,” “I can’t eat this,” makes for not only a confident stance, but people start understanding when you are clear. This is also partly societies fault for the image that often is associated with the word arthritis. Some people aren’t aware that there’s more than 100 different versions of arthritis, and that’s why it’s up to us who live with these different forms to make them known. When we start to become more confident only then can we ease our anxiety around sharing what our condition is with new people we meet.

3. Share as much as you want.

Another side of this coin is share what you want. Share as much as you want. If you don’t feel like telling certain acquaintances, coworkers, friends or family members personal information, you do not have to. We can often feel pressure to overshare, but your personal life is personal for a reason. We have the power to make it public when and if we decide to.

4. Stop apologizing.

I would always find myself saying “sorry” even before I was diagnosed. I was what I like to call serial over-apologizer.

Why are we sorry for things that are out of our control or that do not need an apology for? Sometimes illness can cause us to feel bad if we cancel plans or when friends and family become frustrated and impatient with us. We are then quick to apologize for the way they feel, but it should be the opposite. If I cancel plans I have learned to say, “Sorry, I can’t make it. Thank you for understanding and being patient.” Instead of going into a whole explanation and getting frustrated with myself, we need to teach people how to be accommodating because sometimes they don’t know how to or what to say.

5. Flaunt your arthritis gear and aids.

Wear that kick-ass T-shirt, drink from that arthritis awareness water bottle, wear that sweatshirt with pride. If anything, you will get people asking you where you got it! Also, do you use a disability card because of your arthritis? I have been using one because of juvenile rheumatoid arthritis since around the time I was diagnosed. I’ve had people give me weird stares, have had the cops called on me for someone complaining that I “improperly using it.” (Which was not the case.)

Moral of the story: Do not care what people think. If you need to use a placard, hand splint, brace, cane or any other assistive device, use it proudly. If it helps you in the short or long-term, that’s all that matters.

6. Take your medications and supplements as you normally would.

Don’t hide what you wouldn’t otherwise. If you’re out and need to take something, by all means do so. Don’t be embarrassed. I use to take my supplements quick if I was out eating at a restaurant, before anyone would see me. Now I just take what I need to take without feeling worried what people may think.

7. Post a picture and share on social media.

You can reach a lot of people through posting an arthritis awareness picture. Organizations such as, Cure Arthritis National Research Foundation and The Arthritis Foundation, provide banners and photos each May specifically for social media usage. Hashtags were created for a reason. Use them and get the word out there. The hashtags #arthritis, #awareness, and #rheumatoidarthritis have connected me with a ton of different people in the community that I wouldn’t have come into contact otherwise.

8. Give and donate.

The term, “It’s in giving that we receive” is true. Share donation links with others to give at least one dollar. Anything towards finding better treatments and eventually a cure can count. Next time you see someone, show them what to do, because I have had people tell me that they don’t know how to go about donating online. It can be confusing to people so offer some help.

Here are two donation pages:

https://www.arthritis.org/donate.php

https://www.curearthritis.org/donation/

9. Google it. Google is your friend.

Research and post your story on message boards. Connect with others and you will find that many people share a similar story as yours. Also, back up what others may say who don’t have your condition with facts. If they say, “Oh I heard this can help, you should try it,” but you know it would actually harm you – then speak up to inform and educate them with researched based information. People mean well, but they just don’t know!

10. Share good sources with others.

When I was first diagnosed and throughout the years after that, I have researched several different websites, bloggers and organizations for information in order to help myself and also share with those around me. Here is my go-to list of legit sources that offer each their unique perspective, guidance and information.

11. Self-love is the best love.

As I saw my body physically change from rheumatoid arthritis, I entered into the realm of sadness, grief and depression. I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror and my confidence took a nosedive. When we learn to love ourselves flaws and all, we can bring in positive people who support us. Vibrating at a high frequency attracts what we most need in our lives. When we see ourselves in a bad light, we will attract those who don’t appreciate us. It’s in finding your self-worth and love for your body no matter what, that only then you can grow out of the muddy waters into the beautiful lotus flower that you are. This is a month to really tune into our worth and self-love and let go of any self-pity, self-sabotage, low-self-esteem and lack of confidence.

My top picks for non-profits, organizations, bloggers and information:

1. Rheumatoid Arthritis Guy

2. Rheumatoid Arthritis Warrior

3. Barking Dog Shoes

4. Chronic Sex

5. Cure Arthritis National Research Foundation

6. The Arthritis Foundation

7. Top 40 Arthritis Blogs and Websites to Follow in 2018

Getty Images by itsarasak thithuekthak

Credits: Original Content Source

0 notes