#i have nothing i can do and all the healthy methods ive been taught are practically fucking impossible or just dont work

[bigendershadowthehedghog]

god why can't I have a normal conversation I can't do anything for two fucking minutes without something clicking deep in my brain that it decides it can't handle this even though it was FINE before I fucking hate myself and my body and my brain why can't I just keep composed for one second without becoming a train wreck at the smallest goddamn thing

#im sorry for making you guys read about my problems #i want to ask my mom to help but shes asleep and everytime i wake her up for anything at all she gets mad #god knows what she would be like if its something stupid like this #it never works when people try to help anyways im prsctically already dead #i couldve just had a good life if i just fucking kept it together but no i couldnt even do that #nothing works and the only options i havent tried are the things i cant do #i cant do drugs because damnit i saw what happened to my half sister when she was even involved with that #i cant smoke because it would fuck up my lungs and also id just be like my dad at that point #i cant take prescription pills because theyll do anything but even try to consider that #i have nothing i can do and all the healthy methods ive been taught are practically fucking impossible or just dont work #sure i can escape through fiction via writing but i fucking hate everything i write and the fact i write so goddamn much #when none of its worth it #and sure i can try and draw to make myself feel better but it doesnt work it doesnt make me feel anything at all other thn the feeling that #the fact i made a drawing it doesnt change my mood at all #sewing isnt relaxing because i end up just poking myself in the finger a thousand times and with some shitty fabric #thats barely held together #i am basically dead theres no changing it theres nothing i can do to fix myself or my life or how i feel #im just a walking corpse for people to talk to

[seventeensarmy]

(3) Stuck With You (OT7!HybridAu)

Pairing: OT7xReader, Jungkook x Reader, soon Jimin x Reader x Jungkook; rest will come in the course of the story

Warnings: a tiny bit angst, fluff, toxic relationship to food, abuse (Like one slapp), flashbacks of JK´s past, tell me if I missed something

Words: 4.204

Summary: Jungkook´s shopping trip brought something home that wasn´t on the shopping list

A/N: I planned to upload this earlier, but TikTok came in the way, sorry

Previous / Next 

Chapter three

“ You're older than me? But you are soo small ”

Taglist: @imezz​ @anxietylovesme​ @holaaaf​ @ot7purple​ @calling-dips-on-j-hope​ @greezenini​ @givebuckysomelove​

(not my gif)

One year ago (Reader 20/ JK 20/ JM 22) "Kookie, can you buy me some of that matcha detox powder?", you asked your boyfriend who was about to leave to go groceries shopping. You sat on your knees on the couch, hopping to appear bigger so he would see you. Jungkook groaned and looked at you, "What do you need that for?" You looked passed him, thinking of your next words. It was powder to help you lose weight, with Jungkook forcing you to have at least to meals and one snack a day you felt like you gained weight. Weight that would have made your mum make you go on an ice cube diet for weeks. So you felt like your solution to lose weight should be taken better by the bunny than what you could have done instead. Jungkook wasn't stupid, he knew what you would use detox matcha powder for, but he wanted to see if you would lie to him. He started to inform himself about diets and work out methods as soon as he could, he wanted to better understand what you doing to yourself and he himself wanted to work on his body. He was trying really hard to get you to understand, that your way of viewing food, weight and your body was a toxic view that your parents taught you. And while you knew, that your parents weren't the best, you found it hard to let go of the way that things have been. "Baby, look at me. What do you want that for?" Jungkooks voice was gently, but firm enough for you to understand, that he wouldn't ask again. You looked at him and bit your lip, "Well first of all, it's really good for your body, it gets rid of all the bad stuff in your body.", you started and Jungkook scoffed, doubting that there would be too much 'bad stuff' in your body, seeing as you were living strictly plant based. Claiming you couldn't eat animals, when your boyfriend was last animal and you didn't want to hurt anyone. Jungkook had cooed when you told him that, thinking how cute his little dancer was, though that didn't stop him from sometimes enjoying a nice steak or fried chicken (not too often though, because he also had a strict diet, due to his rabbit parts). But not only did you live plant based, you also never ate any junk food and sweets. So what bad toxins were you keeping in your body that you needed to get rid of? "Is that all Baby girl? Just having a little detox?" You wanted to scream, you didn't want to lie to him, he would be able to tell right away, you knew that he knew, but you didn't want to see his disappointed face. You sighed defeated, "It also helps with weight loss" You didn’t know what to expect, would he yell? No, Jungkook never raised his voice at you, but he didn’t need to. He could voice his disappointment just fine with a calm voice. "y/n. We talked about this." Jungkook let out a tired sigh. You felt bad, biting your lip, you knew he worried about you, but you didn't really see any other solutions. Your mothers’ words burned too deep in your head. "I know Kookie, but, the competition is just a week away and Ive been eating a lot recently" you tried to tell him, stuttering. You hadn't noticed that he had moved from the door to the couch and was now kneeling in front of you. Jungkook furrowed his brows, what should he do. He saw your slouched position and how you were avoiding his gaze, he knew you were wary if his reaction, because now it was his move, you told him what he wanted to hear. "Okay" Jungkook breathed out, having decided on plan. "I'll buy it. But I'll keep it and you only get to take some after you ask me. Got it? And no other tricks." He was stern, but he figured, that this way he could help you easier. He just needed to slowly show you, that there was no need for such radical diets. He saw a documentary on eating disorders and while he was no expert, Jungkook realised that people suffering from it, often didn't even realise it or don't see it as abnormal behaviour. So he tried to reteach you, trying to destroy the ideas of beauty your mother gave you. Helping with and controlling your diet plan was a new strategy, but he was sure, it only could be better than the last. Over the years Jungkook had tried again and again to make you see your toxic behaviour towards food, sadly it often ended in arguments. Leaving you crying and Jungkook frustrated. You knew Jungkook didn't like how or what you ate and you saw the disappointment every time you turned down a new dish, because you didn't know how many calories it had. Your eyes met his and though you were happy, this win for you came with a lot of guilt and you almost told Jungkook he shouldn't buy the powder, then your mother’s voice reminded you, "It's important to look pretty, the judges will like that. So even if you can't dance, you can at least be pleasing to the eye" Jungkooks hand came to cup your face, "I love you, you know that right? And I only want you to be happy and healthy" you were looking into his eyes, nodding. Jungkook wanted to say more, telling you that he knew that being happy and healthy was lying in two different directions right now, but he knew that this would upset you, so he kept quiet. "I love you too Kookie, I know you want me to be happy and I'm happy whenever I'm with you" you smiled, turning your head to kiss the palm of the hand; that was cupping your face. Jungkook pulled you down for a real kiss before standing up and grabbing the shopping bag again. "I'll be back in like an hour or so okay? Be good, love you" Jungkook yelled and left the house. You knew what he meant when he asked you to be good, don't train. You already practiced for hours today, so he would expect you to rest for the remaining day. And you found yourself listening to him, being actually exhausted from dancing all morning. You grabbed a book from the study your dad used to work in; you changed it into a reading room purely. There were beanbags and a bunch of pillows and two large shelves full of books. Since the weather was nice you decided to read in the garden, sitting down on the Hollywood swing in the back of the garden. Jungkook was walking to the supermarket. It wasn't unusual that he was the one going out for groceries; you were often too tired after your training to do anything. The bunny was sure that part that was due to you not eating enough, he noticed how after a tough day you would shakily sit down and sip your water. He hated how he felt like he couldn't help you. He walked past your elementary school; he remembered how he would always wait for you in your garden. Sometimes you brought your homework with you and explained what you had to do to him. He couldn't always follow the explanation of an eleven year old, but he was thankful for trying. Nowadays he had also started to study with you. Jungkook couldn't do the maths that you could, but he wasn't too worried about that, he saw that school didn't always teach you what you needed to know for life. Best example was biology, why would you, a dancer, need to know about photosynthesis? He didn't understand why they would teach that, they should have teaches you that eating is fu*king important. He crossed the streets, Busan was pretty, he thought. You would be soon, after finishing school in six months, there was nothing keeping you here. Both of you had a lot of bad memories here. You, from your family. Jungkook from his days on the street, he can't really remember if there was a time before he was on the street. He never met his parents, or at least he can't remember them. He also can't remember ever having an owner before meeting you, he just knew the streets and it wasn't easy. The nights were often freezing, he remembers breaking into a shed one night, because rain was pouring down and the bridge he sometimes slept under was flooded. The next morning he was woken up by a screaming woman, who then quickly proceeded to kick him out, yelling something about calling the cops. After he met you, life became easier, but not completely. In the beginning he still didn't have a place to sleep, it had taken you some time till you realised, that he needed some place to sleep. Jungkook wasn't mad that you sometimes kept forgetting to unlock the shed in the back of your garden; you were young and had your own problems. But as soon as you had realised you came running to him, apologising and bringing a bunch of food for him. When it got colder you started to steal some of your dad´s overalls and took pillows and blankets from the guest rooms, your parents never bothered to enter. All so Jungkook wouldn't freeze. As soon as it got cold you also always started to bring him some traditional Christmassy snacks and tea. Jungkook couldn't believe it when you stood in front of him on December 25th, with a present in your hand. "It's not much, but I thought you'd like it. I got it myself”  you said proudly and when Jungkook opened it, he saw a pair of headphones. He was excited that he got a present for the first time, but he was confused what to do with it. He didn't own anything he could plug them into. You noticed this and handed him another box, in it was an ep3 player. Jungkooks eyes grew wide, "Why would you gift me something like that?"  You grinned, "Because I know you'd like it" Jungkook swore he could have started crying then and there, but he opted for pulling you into a bone crushing hug. That night he fell asleep, listening to the music you downloaded onto the player. Jungkook kept walking, thanking whoever was responsible for him ending up with you. While he was walking he realised, that there was your old dancing studio on the way. He remembered the time, where the teacher didn't come to your house and someone had to drive you here, your mother never wanted to do it, so she hired a private trainer for you, who came over. Sometimes he would even pick you up from school, so you could immediately start practicing; those were the days when you were too tired to even wave Jungkook who was living in the shed in your garden. You told him that having a private teacher had a lot of pros, seeing as the teacher had his whole attention on you, but that also meant that you couldn't dance with you friends anymore or have a group play, from that point on, you always danced alone. Jungkook stopped at the window of the studio, watching the children dance. As he continued to walk, he saw someone dance in the back. Jungkooks eyes grew big, that was a hybrid dancing. He tried to make out what kind of hybrid though, probably cat by the way he elegantly jumped, his bushy tail helping him keeping the balance, but a beanie covered his ears, so he wasn't 100% sure. Before he could continue to walk, Jungkook saw how an elderly man came up to the hybrid, starting to yell at him. Jungkook couldn't tell what they were talking about, but he guessed it was about the hybrids dance, because the man kept showing him with gestures what the hybrid should do. The hybrid said something; his tail was slowly swaying from side to side, meaning he was getting angry. Jungkook had his fair share of meet and greets with stray cats, so he knew when to back off. The man didn't apparently, because faster than Jungkook could track the movements of the man’s hand was the hybrids face slapped and turned to the side. The man had slapped him, the hybrid stood stiff. Jungkook didn't know what happened next, because something wet hit him, then again. He looked up to see dark clouds forming in the sky, he cursed and started to walk quickly to the store, knowing you didn't like him being out when it rains or starts to get dark. As he arrived at the shop he pulled out the shopping list you wrote him and he marvelled again how pretty your handwriting was. He grabbed the veggies that you needed for dinner tomorrow and decided he would try to prepare steak again. The last time he tried to make it, it ended up being really though and he couldn't even chew it properly. He grabbed to already cut steaks, in case he would ruin one again and headed to the next aisle. The shelf in front of him was full with protein and weight loss powders, how was he supposed to know what to buy. He sighed and texted you, if you had any specific wishes. While he waited for your reply he continued to stroll through the market, grabbing some snacks, dips and frozen berries that you could use to make smoothies with. When you didn't answer after ten minutes he decided to just grab something himself. He studied the content of the boxes and compered them, because he still didn't want to just grab anything, when it was you who would consume it. Jungkook was a bit worried and annoyed when you didn't even answer, after he was already on his way back home. It didn't help his mood that the rain was still pouring down. Jungkook pulled his hood deeper, regretting that he bought so much, that he was now carrying five shopping bags. It was starting to get dark and there was almost no one on the streets, that why Jungkook was surprised to see someone sitting on the ground. He scoffed at first, why would someone sit outside in the ground while it was raining. When he walked closer he recognised that the building the person was sitting in front of was your old dance studio. And then he realised who that person was, it was the hybrid who got slapped. Next to him a small bag and Jungkook put two and two together, not thinking much before coming to a halt in front of the hybrid. The hybrid immeasurable looked up, hissing at Jungkook and Jungkook quickly understood why. His hood covered his ears and the rain probably washed most of his scent away. He slowly pulled his hood down, revealing his bunny ears and the hybrids position changed. "What do you want?" asked the hybrid a bit annoyed, but Jungkook didn't let himself be irritated by that, he had seen that the hybrid had a bad day. "I- I was wondering if you are alright? I saw you dancing earlier. I also saw what that man did." Jungkook didn't sound as confident as he wanted to, but while he was speaking he realised that he had no idea what he was even doing. The hybrids eye grew wide, "You saw?" Jungkook felt guilty as he looked into the hybrids eyes. Should he have done something? He couldn't have just walked in there and told the man off, maybe if he was a human, but not as a hybrid, he would have been probably slapped too. "Yeah.. I was passing by when I saw. Did he kick you out?" Jungkooks eyes landed on the bag next to the hybrid, "Gee, what gave you that impression?" the hybrid scoffed sarcastic, but quickly caught himself, "He was unsatisfied with my dancing for a while now, I guess me talking back didn't really help my cause. Who knows, maybe he's right" the way the hybrid talked remembered him of you, before his mind told him otherwise his heart already spoke for him. "Do you want a place to stay? It's supposed to be raining all week. Trust me; it’s not fun looking for shelter in the rain." The hybrid narrowed his eyes, looking for a sign, that this could be a trap, but he only found Jungkooks sincere eyes. The hybrids gaze softened and he agreed, he too thought it would be hard to find a place to sleep, so when a nice bunny hybrid offered shelter he wouldn't say no. "Great!" Jungkook smiled his bunny smile, "I'm Jungkook, by the way. And since we have the same destination, how about you take one or two of the shopping bags?" The hybrid stood up and Jungkook smiled as he saw, that the man in front of him was smaller than him. The hybrid pulled off his hat, combed quickly through his blond hair and put the beanie back one. Jungkook saw that the hybrid in front of him a cat was, which should have made him feel unsafe, but right now Jungkook could only focus on his dripping wet clothes. It must have been an hour since he left you at home and you also still didn't text back. The cat took some bags, before looking at Jungkook, "I'm Jimin" The men walked in a quick pace back to your home, doing some light small talk. "You're older than me? But you are soo small" Jungkook exclaimed, earning an evil glance from the man next to him which made him shut up real quick. They didn't have long till they reached the house when Jimin spoke up again, "So your owner..." Jimin realised that Jungkooks owner probably didn’t sent him out to get groceries and a new hybrid, he didn’t want the younger one to get in trouble, but when he saw a loving smile growing on the bunny’s face he relaxed a bit. "Oh y/n! She's amazing, she'll be surprised when she sees us both, but I'll talk to her. She won't mind you staying with us, we have more than enough room at the house" Jimin wondered how the house would look like if Jungkook said, that the house was big. His last owner lived in the tiny flat above the dance studio, so Jimin couldn't imagine how a spacious house would look like. Now that he saw Jungkook up close he recognised that the clothes he wore were from pretty big and expensive fashion labels. Jimin couldn't deny it, Jungkook was pretty handsome, he could imagine how the bunny would look under him. "It's just around the corner", Jungkook said and Jimin looked at his surroundings, they were definitely in the more wealthy part of town and Jimin started to think about how you would be. Jungkook said you were amazing, maybe you were a lawyer or a business woman, and you were probably pretty busy if you sent Jungkook for groceries. He imagined a woman in her thirties maybe, you would have to be pretty rich to be here. Jungkook opened the gate to the house and Jimin looked amazed. It was a two story building, not necessarily a mansion, but big enough that Jimin understood why Jungkook said, that space isn't an issue. They walked through the front door to be met by silence. "She's probably sleeping" Jungkook said as he took off his shoes and Jacket, telling Jimin he would take his Jacket so they could dry it. Jungkook explained Jimin were the kitchen was and asked him to put the groceries there while he sorted out their drenched jackets. Jimin was amazed as he walked through the house, almost scared to get to close things in case he broke them. There was a sculpture in the entrance hall that he was sure cost more than his last owner would make in a year. He looked at the pictures in the hall, almost everyone had a small girl in it, he decided that this was probably the daughter of y/n. He smelled the place, but Jungkooks was the most prominent, though he could make out something sweet, which alone gave him a comfortable feeling already. "Yah, you're slow" came Jungkook from behind, carrying the rest of the bags. They quickly sorted the food in the kitchen, well more like Jungkook did that and Jimin was amazed by how many things they had in the kitchen. "Okay, you should meet y/n real quick then you can have a shower", Jungkook said looking at the older who nodded, a bit nervous. There was a chance that you would tell him to go, he looked out the window, it just stopped raining, but that would only be for today. "She should be in the living room, I looked in the bedroom already" Jungkook mumbled and walked with big steps to the next room, only to find it empty. Jungkook groaned and threw his head back, exposing his neck, hut Jimin shouldn't focus on that, y/n was missing apparently. Not for long though, because the second Jungkook saw the open garden door he huffed annoyed. "She better pray she only just went out now and did not fall asleep in the rain. I swear to god" there were a few more curse words and Jimin looked at Jungkook, why would he talk like that about his owner? It's not like the bunny could actually do something. But Jimin was even more confused when Jungkook came back with the girl from the pictures. That couldn't be y/n the owner, you were so young. Your sweet scent filled the room, but it didn't match your whiny tone or Jungkooks mad face. "Kookie", you whined, curling further into his arms, as he was carrying you, your clothes were wet. You had fallen asleep on the Hollywood swing and had luck, that it was partially covered, so you weren't completely exposed to the rain. "Don't 'Kookie' me, baby. I told you to be good didn't I? And where to I find you? Outside, completely soaked and asleep" Jimin turned his head to fast he swore he got whiplash. 'Baby'?! Jimin had the feeling this wasn't really an owner-pet situation, the way Jungkook spoke, even if it was low, because you were still sleepy, made Jimin want to drop to his knees. Which would never happen of course, seeing as A) Jungkook obviously already had someone and B) Park Jimin would never fall to his knees to submit to someone. You opened your eyes to look up to Jungkook and pouted, "I was good. I was reading, it's not my fault I fell asleep, I wasn't planning on it" Jungkook chuckled quietly at how whiny you sounded at the aspect of not being a good girl. He quickly kissed you, forgetting the cat that was looking with big eyes, only as he sat you down, he realised he should maybe make you aware of your new guest. "Baby, there is something I should tell you. On the way back, there was a small incident, that lead me to take a hybrid with me" he carefully watched your reaction, while Jungkook was pretty much in charge, this was still your house and in a way he only had power because you let him. He knew with other people it wouldn't be like that. You blinked slowly, "Wait a hybrid? Another bunny?" you asked him, before your eyes found Jimin and quickly realised, that he was not a bunny. "He has nowhere to go, baby. You know we have enough room", Jungkook continued and you nodded, "A serious incident?" You asked and both men nodded. "Okay, stay as long as you need. I'm y/n" A smile grew on both men’s faces and the cat quickly introduced himself as Jimin. After that you and Jungkook showed him his new room and the bathroom he could use, before leaving him on his own. In your shared bedroom you removed your clothes, shivering in the cold, quickly jumping into the shower with Jungkook, who started to massage shampoo in your hair. You lean back and enjoy the sensation, "Such a good girl" he praised, "Letting someone in need stay here. My little dancer has such a big heart. Love you" you didn't know, why he was thanking you for letting Jimin stay, as if you would let him back on the streets. You smiled up at him, "My big bunny saved him in the first place didn't he?" you asked, only to sneeze immediately after, Jungkook groaned. "Of course now you're getting sick. Because you just had to fall asleep in the rain", he complained, but you both knew that in the end he didn't mind taking care of you.

Next 

#stuck with you #hybrid!bts #hybrid!au #bts imagines #bts #bts x reader #poly!bts #bts fluff #bts smut #bts angst #jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #ot7 x reader #ot7 #park jimin x reader #park jimin #jimin imagine #jimin #jin #jimin fluff #jimin smut #jimin angst #yoongi #min yoongi #yoongi imagine #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut

[ast-heljar]

tw abuse

EDIT: On a computer, added the read more. I know they only work in the app about half the time, so I left in the spaces.

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so my mom decided we cant cook in the house any more so we are looking for a new place to live. Nothing I could say about the situation sounds the same out of context, but it all boils down to the way patterns of abuse move through generations.

It just makes me think about how... if you want to change something in a drastic way it has to be on purpose. It isnt impossible, its just a decision that has to be made.

I work really hard to unlearn the behaviors I was taught by my family (or learn things I wasnt taught by emotionally shallow people), and right now Im really frustrated because living with them means resorting back to things I dont want to do anymore. I dont want to make myself small anymore. I dont want to go unheard anymore. I dont want my illnesses to be disrespected anymore-- they have limits! I cant clean like my sister can! Im exhausted after working 8 hours, but I have to work 10!

Im tired of my family thinking everything is okay because they dont get violent like their mother did.

Im angry and I was never taught how to manage anger effectively. Im not an angry person naturally, and I dont destroy things get violent, but i feel like anger is the only option left for me. Im not allowed to be upset. Im not allowed to be tired. I have adhd, im autistic, im depressed, i have anxiety AND PTSD.

Im so done.

Ive worked hard. I was an alcoholic and now Im not because I. WORKED. HARD. I got help when I needed it. I go to therapy, it doesnt work out, I become my own therapist. Its not easy. Its painful. Its slow. I still talk to a therapist. Ive been able narrow down 3 diagnosis as one problem. My ADHD is bad yall. Im trying to get more help.

I do this for me. I do it for my wife. I do it for the six kids I want but probably wont be able to afford to have. I do it for my dream life of a little goat homestead and little queer youtube channel where I can cry about being queer and look at my baby goats and my ducks and the purple breadloaf I made.

DID YOU KNOW YOU CAN MAKE PURPLE BREAD WITHOUT FOOD COLORING??? I DONT WANT TO HATE MY LIFE I WANNA MAKE PURPLE BREAD!!

Im tired of wanting to die at every little inconvenience. Then I discovered that I dont want to die at all what I actually want is for other people to carry their own emotional baggage instead of handing it to me. I want people to feel something for just me instead of doing all the emotional work for them. I want to be the center of all the right attention that Im not getting.

Im tired of feeling like the only way I will get it is at my goddamn funeral.

I dont want to be at odds with my wife because her coping method is to shut people out and mine is to get loud. I dont want to be angry that our trauma means reacting in ways that oppose supporting each other.

I want to be healthy. I want to be happy.

The good news is that our budget can afford 800$ a month in rent. The bad news is that that I dont know if we will be able to find a place for that price close enough to work. or more acurately find a place for that price that will take our money because even tho I have a really good stable income my renting history is less than ideal.

Two ladies at work are so nice tho. I came got a hug at lunch from one. The other is helping me find places to call after I told her we really needed to move out as soon as possible.

Ive also never procured my own apartment before and Im super intimated. All ive had are abusive property managers.

Im hurting yall. im tired. and i still have to figure out how to feed us.

#tw abuse #tw caps #tw suicide mention

[fulcrum-agent]

About the Character - Ashe of Dalmasca

NAME OF YOUR CHARACTER:

Ashe of Dalmasca (Princess* Ashla Manasse)

ALIAS OF YOUR CHARACTER:

Ashe, Phoenix (Little Phoenix), the Princess of the Heart, the Lioness Rampant

ONE PICTURE YOU LIKE BEST OF YOUR CHARACTER’S FC:

Dark Embers (Balmung)

While I am updating all of the graphics for the FC, I still really love how the original logo (which is above, once you ditch the Year Five! subtitle) turned out for the FC. The new one is in progress, as I lost all of my layer styles and PSDs during the issues with my PC.

TWO HEADCANONS YOU HAVE FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

[ Twinthings ]

Most twins have some sort of innate bond, particularly monozygotic and bi-monozygotic (there’s a third, yet unnamed type of twin science is looking into, so I gave it a name, your welcome science), but the bond shared between Ashe and Rel exists on a deep and complex aetheric level. The existence of such has manifested several times over the course of the Manasse Twins lives.

While minor changes to her aetheric configuration, such as colouration changes or ‘hiding’ her freckles, don’t affect her twin all that much, major changes to Ashe’s aetheric configuration - like longer-term aetheric dispersal - do have an impact on Rel.

Despite being in their 40s, Rel looks remarkably young, though not quite as young as Ashe does. He’s only just starting to get his first grey hairs, and there aren’t many of them. This discrepancy stems from the handful of times that Ashe's aether has shattered, for a total of somewhere around 7 - 10 years of ‘missing’ time; while she looks barely 30, Rel looks to be in his mid-30s or so.

Major alterations to their forms brought about by things like injury also reflect from one twin to the other, to varying degrees. While Rel’s hands were nearly destroyed during the battle at Nalbina Fortress, his sister frequently has arthritis-like symptoms in her hands, particularly within the palms, which is where most of the damage to Rel’s hands occurred. And while his scar has faded quite a bit more than hers, the scar across the bridge of Ashe’s nose is from an injury her brother suffered not long after Nalbina.

There’s quite a number of additional scientific and anecdotal things involving twins that I’ve as headcanons for the Manasse Twins, but the above is the most modified version of such.

[ Aetherology as Particle Physics Science ]

As much as people baulk upon the initial hearing of this phrase, the game has plenty to support the idea that a lot of aetherology has roots in quantum and particle physics. The most notable being the way the aetheryte systems and other forms of teleportation are described/how they work.

The specifics of Ashe’s Echo gift are all based on this concept, built on the same sort of idea as the Sphere Rote system of Mage: the Ascension. The applications of this are only limited by the person’s imagination and their ability to think on their feet - much like on the fly Rote casting in MtA, which I got pretty good at (I also dodged Paradox like a champ, but that’s for another post).

However, much like MtA’s Sphere system, there are a number of things that can limit how much or how fantastical Ashe’s use of this can be. While it’s not quite like the Paradox system, there’s a similar underlying concept. There’s checks and balances on this, even though they weren’t all that clear near the beginning of playing Ashe, due to having to frequently make the Storyteller call of removing the limiters to deal with certain RP situations.

Underpinning all of this is Ashe’s core Echo gift - the ability to ‘see’ aether in its rawest forms. Much like Neo in the Matrix, the minutiae structure of aether is plain to her, though how it’s actually seen is more like the colour/shade overlays of the Miraluka sight in KotOR.

THREE THINGS THAT YOUR CHARACTER LIKES DOING IN THEIR FREE TIME:

Cooking - While she’s always been a capable enough cook, after spending time learning the more granular layers of the art from Elric, the Roegadyn chef employed by the Knight-Captain, cooking has become something that is relaxing, even though she’s constantly challenging her skill level with new styles, techniques, and recipes.

Writing - Although she’s thus far only published translated works since arriving in Eorzea, Ashe writes frequently. Sometimes it’s just updating her journal (though I’m shite at that since a couple of months after starting the character), or working on writing the modern history of the Kingdom, or working on the occasional piece of fiction. Aside from long-form novella writing, she’s got some skill with poetry and prose and can write song lyrics, when such a fancy strikes her.

Dancing - Most make the mistake of thinking that Ashe learned how to dance due to her family’s station prior to the invasion, however, they would be mistaken. Ashe loves dancing, having learned and taught herself myriad of different styles and techniques, as well as creating something of a fusion style with all she knows. Though she doesn’t get to dance often, she does really enjoy such.

SEVEN PEOPLE THAT YOUR CHARACTER LOVES/LIKES/RESPECTS**:

[ I. Her Knight ]

{ @thelionofdalmasca }

There will always be a soft spot in Ashe’s heart for the squire that had been assigned to guard her when she was a child. No matter the trouble she got up to, no matter how well hidden she was, he’d always find her, being sure to make her smile and laugh before guiding her home.

[ I. The Lion of Dalmasca ]

{ @thelionofdalmasca }

Despite the passing of decades, the man the squire became ultimately didn’t fail in keeping the promise he made to her when they were but children - that he would always find her. Though the passage of time has greatly changed him, and though their paths have since parted, she’ll always care about him, and always - though sometimes begrudgingly - respect him.

[ II. Her Starlight ]

{ @jurien-ashur }

If someone had told her how important he’d become, how integral a part of her life he’d be, the day she met Jurien, she would have laughed and brushed their words aside.

Perhaps it’s as much of a surprise to her as it is to everyone else that she and Jurien have become something far more than anyone ever imagined. After everything that had come to pass between herself and her Knight, the last thing Ashe was looking for was something that lay between philia, ludus, and pragma***.

Despite the fact their marriage was something of an accident, she can’t bring herself to take off the ring from their eternal bonding ceremony; thus far, he’s given her no reason to want to, and she’s hoping he never will.

[ III. The Doctor ]

The level-headed nature of this Raen, along with his penchant for tea and the higher sciences, led to Ashe coming to respect and trust Doctor Briggs in short order after their first meeting. Before she began her rapid trips between Dalmasca and Eorzea, she considered him something akin to her royal physician, even though she knew he’d never enjoy such an unforgiving position amid the court.

[ IV. The Violet Mage ]

{ @gal-the-violet }

Despite initial uneasiness between the two, Ashe developed a healthy respect for Galtara during her few moons with the Desert Sapphire Company. The woman’s passion for knowledge, both practical and theoretical, gave the Mage something of a foot in the door with Ashe. Her capability as a combatant, as well as her quiet method of leadership, also garnered respect from the Dalmascan.

[ V. The Axe-Maiden ]

{ @vayduh }

While there is still much Ashe doesn’t know about J’veda, what she has seen from the Seeker has earned the woman an odd sort of respect from Ashe, one that’s quite unique to Veda.

The warrior’s confidence with her feelings, stating her mind, and particularly her body and sensuality - while sometimes overwhelming - creates something of longing respect for the Seeker. Ashe would very much so like to be as carefree and confident about such things, but always feels the grip of noblesse oblige and the expectations of her behaviour it places upon her.

[ VI. The Gilded Lily ]

{ @mai-takeda }

Although they’ve not interacted all that often, soft and quiet respect has been growing for the Raen. While initially, she seemed far too naive and far too shy, Ashe has realised there’s more to Mai than she initially expected, finding her wide-eyed selflessness to be incredibly endearing.

[ VII. The Playwrite ]

{ Return to Ivalice NPC }

Despite the fact that he’s a Garlean pureblood, she has nothing but respect and admiration for Jenomis cen Lexentale. His love for her kingdom and the kingdom that came before it, coupled with his passionate sacrifices have deeply touched Ashe, and given her hope for the Garlean people.

With her understanding of auracite, knowledge of the Lucavi, and the geography of Dalmasca, Ashe became something of a fixture within the group attempting to prove the writings passed down within the Lexentale’s family correct. The journey from a return to Rabanastre, to the Lighthouse of Ridorana, and finally deep within the Golmore Jungle to discover the strangely familiar Orbonne Monastery has been something she’s quite thankful to have experienced.

For some time, she’s been working on both a written adaptation of Lexentale’s precious artefact known as the Durai Papers and an adaptation of the play he’s created from the Zodiac Braves myth that’s more palatable to foreigners with no background to the story - primarily, Eorzeans.

TWO THINGS YOUR CHARACTER REGRETS:

Her time as a conscript within the Garlean Military.

Revealing her childhood love to the person whom it was for.

A PHOBIA YOUR CHARACTER HAS:

Arachniphobia****

Tagged by @jurien-ashur (This was sooooo long! And I crashed like six times and lost most of my work on it. YOU HAD BETTER APPRECIATE MY FINISHING THIS.)

Tagging: Everyone in the list of seven people are tagged for this, along with @snow-and-sea, @the-ruby-rogue (WHY YOU CHANGE YOUR NAME ON ME, I WAS SO CONFUSED), @kazexvoss, @arcanakiller, @galla-xiv, @rinrin-rinalys, @aelathetrashcan, @catdette, @velarishiku, @thewitchofthechocoboforest, @zhauric, @garlean-nonsense, @hei-lowell, and anyone else who’s wanting to torture themselves for a few hours!

ANNOTATIONS

* - I made the mistake of not hauling down my line of succession information off my SCA document backup before working out the Manasse family’s place in the nobility and lineages. As it turns out, it all put Ashe into the line of succession, and given the death toll in Dalmasca, she’s now fairly near the top of such. Until there are more clarifications on the leader of Lente’s Tears, and/or perhaps the B’nargin twins’ life before the Garlean invasion, it leaves her within the top 5.

I considered retconning it but got encouragement to keep it, and so I did. It should be noted, that unless something is really super wacky with the Dalmascan story that’s unfolding, Ashe is so not going to become the rule of Dalmasca - and even then, I’d feel awkward as hell and probably not. XD

** - Choosing just seven people was rough because there’s more than that many people that Ashe gets along with, or has respect for while saving space for some of the NPCs she deals with. In the end, I picked just one NPC, even though there are three or four who fit the bill.

Please don’t feel like your character isn’t important to Ashe if they’re not mentioned in this list. All of Ashe’s friends and colleagues are important and cherished by her - and by me.

*** - Anyone who knows me has heard me bitch about how terrible a language English is, in so much as the fact that we have words that have myriad and varying meanings, which leads to far more confusion than necessary. Often, when expressing some sort of ‘love’, I will revert to the 7 Loves created by the ancient Greeks. Because while they still don’t cover the various different types and levels of love, they do a hell of a lot better job of it than English could ever hope to.

Also, as English is nigh a requirement in this world, I prefer the Queen’s English. Deal with it.

**** - Most of my characters have this phobia because my RL arachniphobia is so bad, I can’t even fake that it doesn’t exist for role play fun times.

#a moonlit original #ashe.txt #prompt answers #the princess of the heart #ashe of dalmasca #ashe heiral #holy god juri this was long #also - had to steal screenshots of people because all mine were lost - please don't hate me

[believerindaydreams]

iv. saccharin

New Orleans, early 70s

tagged for suicidal idealisation. Tuco’s not doing too well on his own. Or too good, perhaps...

Blondie's not here. Tuco's just about sober enough to know that much.

He hasn't seen his partner for a year, or heard a word from him in months, but that doesn't stop him needing the only person who'd understand what's wrong with him tonight. Instinctively he reaches for the Duluth, before remembering it's not here. It's parked in a storage locker halfway across town, part of this whole attempt to pass. It should have worked.

It is working; he has somewhere to sleep at night, he's fed, nobody wants to arrest him for anything. He'd even picked up a girlfriend along the way, a waitress at the hotel where he washes dishes. Katie's tall, too tall for him, and redheads aren't his preferred flavour but she's a better class of woman than he's ever dared for before. Any man would count himself lucky to have her.

He's shaking. The prosecco's left a sour aftertaste in his mouth, and he wonders vaguely about pouring himself a glass of water, but moving off this bed seems more effort than he's able to muster. It takes as much as he can handle, just to dig a pen out of the bedside table drawer and start rummaging for a paper to write on. Something to do right this minute, that he can transfer to a post card when he's sobered up a little.

"Dear Blondie," Tuco says aloud. It's taken him several moments to remember that's how you start these things, and he doesn't want to forget before he starts writing it down.

The drawer's neat, organised, not like he lives here at all (he doesn't, it's just somewhere he's been renting). Bible. Keepsake earring, Katie had laughingly let him have that after losing the other one on a sight-seeing expedition into the bayou. Several little pink packets, the saccharin she's always coaxing him to eat- healthier, she says. And you can't taste the difference.

In his addled state, the notion of writing on those makes as much sense as anything; he rips one open, lets the small grains trickle down onto his tongue. Doesn't make any difference, if he can't be cheered up by straight sugar he's more broken than he thought-

all that's coming out of this pen are ink smears. Tuco throws it across the room, reaches for another one, realises he doesn't have any others.

Duluth. Passing.

That's it. He's done. Forget hanging on until Blondie has a chance to reach him, forget staring at the Golfo de México until the soothing lap of the water and the stink of dead fish had driven him back to life- he just hurts so much and doesn't know what could even bring him pleasure anymore-

(it's not even the pain, it's the flat-edged quality of the despair- jesus, he's only been like this once but there was reason for it that time, not like now which is inexplicable, but must be his fault-)

it's a bad sign that his body is letting him move now, to sit up and pull a shirt on and take his keys. Because he knows where he wants to go now, what he wants to do- it's taken him four days and far too much wine to dull his instincts enough, but he's managed it now. No more piddling around with water. He owns a gun and he knows where to find it.

When Tuco reaches for the doorknob, the door suddenly springs to life and smacks him, knocking him ass-flat on the neatly patterned carpet. He yelps; that'd hurt. A lot, actually-

and maybe it's gone straight to his head and broken something there, because he'd swear that's Blondie. Standing over him with that indefinable mystique, compassion in there but it's half something else-

pure smugness, part of his mind supplies. The part that resents being saved.  

"Came as soon as I could," Blondie says. "Pablo didn't wait to forward your postcard this time, he looked up the address and called me straight. You feel like getting up?"

"No."

"Okay." His partner sits down next to him, with casual indolence- that's something he'd taught Blondie, years back. Not too many white boys who know how to sit on a floor without looking nervous about it, they make such a meal of squatting down.

If he put out his hand, he'd be close enough to touch that smooth blue expanse of leg. His choice. Blondie won't touch him first.

"He knew it was that gonna be that bad, huh? That's more than I did- I guess my brother knows me pretty well."

Father Paul, though, what does his brother care about being taken for something he isn't; and his whole body cringes.

Blondie ignores him, in favour of removing a cigarette from a pack and lighting it. Not a cigarillo. The smoke drifts over him as Blondie breathes out; his body craves it suddenly, urgently, but he fights down that urge the same way he's managed to do for the last two months. If he takes it maybe that will mean the same as coming back to life, a signal he's unwilling to give...the pain's wearing off. It'd reminded him what real hurt feels like, but he's forgetting just as quickly.

"He wasn't sure," Blondie says at length. "I was sure. That's why I'm here."

"You want to help, you could get me a gun." It might be superstitious, to doubt if he'd be able to hold to his intent after feeling the familiar weight of that pack on his shoulders again, but he'd rather not take the chance. "Just let me have it. I'll do the rest."

"If you want to die so bad as that," Blondie says, in his quiet drawl, "might be better all around, if I just took care of it for you."

And Tuco jolts backwards, away- hating Blondie for this, that his partner knows him inside and out and exactly what buttons to press to make him live-

"You try, Blondie. You just try-"

and he lets loose then in a torrent of Spanish and English curses mixed, their sharp and heavy mouthfeel such a contrast to the politeness he's been living with. Every insult and invocation and scatalogical comment doing its part, drawing him in, until he's run out of words and rests exhausted, with his head on his partner's lap.

He weeps for a while, after that. Gets spit and tears and snot all over Blondie's jeans, knows it doesn't matter. It's okay.

"Feel better now?"

"Yeah."

After that they're quiet for a while. There's always this to be said for Blondie, a silence with him will never be uncomfortable.

(Not like Katie, who liked to blab bad as a hustler herself, as if pauses scared her.)

"So she broke up with you?"

"I broke up with her," Tuco says. "After I said- after I said it-"

calling ciao, because he didn't grow up in the neighbourhood for nothing-

and Katie had turned, waved, called back to him. "My gorgeous Italian lover!"

then he'd just fallen to pieces

"She didn't mind, even, she told me that. I'm crazy. I told her, go fall in love with a spaghetti-eater and never talk to me ever again. I quit my job- Blondie, I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Think of her as a mark," Blondie says, the picture of calm. "You took her in with a hustle, and she fell for it. That makes her stupid. You don't want to go with a girl who's stupid."

That's not a fair way of putting it, Tuco knows that (she's smarter than he is, working on a college degree by correspondence course)- but it's a version of events that fits with who he is, and gives him back some dignity. A story he can live with.

"I want to fuck you. But later, not now."

"We'll do that." Blondie stubs out the cigarette on the carpet, where it'll leave a burn. Lights another one, takes a drag, places it between Tuco's lips.

It's good. It's very good. He finds himself sucking up the smoke with eager pleasure.

"Where's your pack?"

"Bus station locker. I was trying to go straight, prove to myself I didn't need it anymore."

Blondie snorts. "You still want to do that?"

"No." He misses it; and besides, when Blondie's around he always needs to be ready for a crisis. "We can go pick it up tomorrow before we hit the road. I don't want to see this city again in my life."

"That suits." Blondie stands up with graceful ease, looks around the place with that quick, assessing glance- such a sexy way he has of doing it, maybe later on he'll mention that. "You should eat something, you look like you need it- what the hell's this?"

This being one of the pink packets, which Blondie holds between thumb and forefinger like it's some sort of poison; and the contrast between the delicate package and his furious demeanor is so ridiculous that Tuco nearly falls over laughing. Too much, probably. But he hasn't laughed at anything in four days, he's catching up.

Blondie waits for him to stop, with tired patience.

"Something she left," Tuco says, when he's recovered. No need to explain which she. "She said it was healthy. Better for you than sugar."

"Well, that's all nonsense-" (Tuco's always enjoyed this, his partner getting hot and bothered about something that is in no way either of their faults.) "This is just chemical sludge. It's useless. Tastes sweet but that's all it does, it won't feed you."

"She said-" Tuco says, and then stops, his mind working out the implications faster than he wants. Suppose he'd gone out on the road again, without knowing that. Hungry and anxious and not knowing why the coffee isn't doing anything for him, thinking it was all in his head- he expects lies when people have something to gain or something to lose, but this? This is something else again, and he doesn't understand it at all.

"You see," Blondie says. "She was hustling you, too."

Not the way it happened; but between them, that'll be good enough. Giddiness rolls over him in waves. Too much shock today, too many changes, his body feeling ill-used and cheated. "I'm hungry."

"I thought you might be. Come on, you get cleaned up and we'll go out somewhere. I've got money to burn right now."

"As long as it's not spaghetti. Or a goddamn pizza. Or-"

he has a wide and extensive knowledge of Italian dishes and starts methodically cursing out every last one he can remember, while Blondie chuckles and lounges on the bed. It's a good thing, to have his partner back like this.

(The whole night, it never once occurs to him to ask what Blondie's been up to.)

#70s au #the good the bad and the ugly #blonco #whump #sorry for doing this to Tuco #he's my fave and I am rough on him

[veryangryhedgehog]

“Rabbit Heart Part IV” an Ede Valley story by Hedgehog.

Part IV

Around them, the ground had begun to harden, and the trees had ceased to droop so violently. Yet Murine was not pleased. It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful for the respite from slogging through inches of mud, but now the wind had begun to blow through the trees, shaking the leaves, and freezing her already wet skin.

That night wasn’t much better, nor the morning after. The wind blew harder and harder, so hard that occasionally Muirne thought she could hear voices among them. The name “Forest of Whispers” was beginning to make more and more sense. Worst of all was that they increasingly seemed to be walking in circles, Muirne was sure she recognized the knots on some of those trees.

“So,” she finally began about mid-afternoon on the second day, after realizing that she might not get a better opportunity. They were taking a break from the endless walking on a moss-covered log, trying to not get blown away. Muirne didn’t want to push Gilveidan, but now she really wanted to know his tale.

He sighed. “I promised you a story, didn’t I?” to which Muirne nodded vigorously. “Where do I begin?” he paused, glancing off into the distance. “I had a sister, Viola was her name. We’ve lived in the wilds for years since our parents died. A monastery took us in, taught us how to use our powers. You think I’m skilled? I’m nothing compared to Viola. She could have destroyed the world, had she had an evil bone in her body.

“I suppose that’s why it found her. Her power.”

“Found her?” Muirne frowned. “What do you mean?”

The wind almost seemed to pick up more around them, and Muirne clutched her thin blanket around her.

“The monastery was built on top of some ruins, it was long forgotten what they were originally for, in the center of the continent.”

“The center of the—” Muirne’s eyes widened.

Gilveidan cut her off with a nod and a grave stare. “This ‘evil’ you’re so eager to defeat? It found her, whispered to her. It corrupted her mind, and she destroyed the monastery. Had it latched onto her further, she and It might have ended the world. So I...” his voice caught. “I killed her before that could happen.”

Muirne opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“I’ve been wandering the wilds ever since,” he looked down at the ground. “And now you think I’m a monster.”

“No,” she said quickly. “No, I don’t. From what it sounds like, your sister was already gone. And you might have saved the world. It is horrible, so much so that I can hardly bear to think about it. But... you did what you had to do.”

He looked up at her, slightly surprised.

“I’m just sorry that it had to be you.”

“Thank... you,” he muttered, not quite sure how to respond.

“Here,” Muirne reached into her pack and pulled out the drawstring bag of nuts that Eimheer had given her. “These won’t be good for much longer. We might as well share them.”

She grabbed out a handful of nuts and made to hand them to him, but before he could take them, a particularly strong wind blew them from her palm, away into the dark trees. Muirne sighed, but just as she reached into the bag again, the wind stopped. Not slowed or quieted, but just stopped mid-rattle.

Muirne and Gilveidan stared at each other. The wind had been blowing for the last day straight. For it to suddenly stop... it seemed so quiet. They waited for what seemed like hours, though it was probably only seconds.

Then, with an ancient creak, the branches on the trees to her left began to part, forming a tunnel. At the end, a grey light shone through the leaves. The two glanced at each other, then stood and started walking.

Outside the edge of the trees they could see the beginnings of some marble-white ruins, and Muirne was so focused on getting out of the woods that Gilveidan had to grab her arm to stop her from passing directly over a message.

“What?” she asked, and he pointed down to the roots that she had nearly just stepped on. Against all odds, they seemed to be spelling out words.

“Ahead:” the roots seemed to read, “3 doors. You seek the 3rd.”

“That’s... strange,” Muirne said. “Think it means anything?”

Gilveidan started walking. “After everything we’ve seen, I’d be surprised if it didn’t mean anything.”

Muirne ran to catch up with him.

“I don’t supposed those were all the nuts you had?” Gilveidan asked. “They looked good, and I feel cheated.”

She rolled her eyes and handed him a few nuts just as the sky came into view beyond the trees. “You better not eat them all,” she grumbled. “If your cant of doom comes to fruition, I’ll never get any more.”

“All the more reason to eat them while you can.”

Yet try as they might, they couldn't keep up the witty banter as the ruins began to rise around them. At first, there were just a few buildings here and there, bits of rubble or stone foundation, but as they continued walking, the ruins grew into monolithic structures, piles of marble like bones reaching desperately towards the sky.

“Your monastery was here, right?” Muirne whispered.

But Gilveidan shook his head. “We certainly didn’t take up the whole ruins,” he said. “The main building was on the other side. I doubt we’ll see it.”

They wandered on, not knowing quite where they were going. Now that they were here at the center of the continent, they had no idea where they were meant to go.

Until Muirne saw an open doorway. By all means it should have just led to the crumbled foundation behind it. But instead, the interior was black, as if its destination was somewhere else entirely. Muirne almost passed it by, before freezing abruptly.

“What’s the matter?” Gilveidan asked.

But she wasn’t listening to him.

“Muirne!” called the figure behind the doorway, getting closer every second. A boy, a human boy, almost grown and healthy and proud.

“Ceallach...” she barely managed to whisper.

He smiled at her, and waved, a real wave, and a real smile. “Muirne!” he said again, his voice echoing oddly in the space beyond. He reached out to her, but he was so far away that the distance seemed insurmountable. Unless she went through the door.

“Muirne...” Gilveidan frowned, his breath on her cheek. “What are you seeing? Is it... your brother?”

But Muirne couldn’t quite hear him. He was fuzzy and transparent, and Ceallach was growing closer and more real with every second. She took a step forward, reaching out a hand. “I’m coming, Ceallach...:

“This is a trap,” Gilveidan warned, and grabbed her arm.

She pulled against him. “No, let me go!” she screamed, kicking and punching at him. “I need to get to him! I won’t lose him again!”

“It’s not real,” Gilveidan grunted through clenched teeth. “Listen to me: listen to my voice. I am here.”

“Muirne...” Ceallach was growing fainter, fading away.

“Let me go. Let me go...” she cried in frustration, grabbing at Gilveidan’s arm weakly.

“Look at me,” he said quietly, then louder as she shook her head. “Look at me!”

He touched her cheek gently and pulled her face away from the door. “There’s nothing there. It’s just an empty doorway.”

After staring into his eyes for a moment, the world seemed to clear. Muirne briefly glanced back at the door, only to see that he was right. It was just an empty frame. She found herself shaking, and took a deep breath to calm herself.

“Why Gilveidan,” she smiled slyly as she realized how close they still were. “If you wanted to touch me you could have just asked.”

Blushing bright red, Gilveidan stepped back. “It seemed to me that tactile stimulation would be the most effective method of getting you to focus on reality, ehem, as it were.”

She laughed. “I’m joking, you know.”

Ah, yes. Of course.” He cleared his throat. “Regardless, it seems we are to follow the forest’s advice. That door was not the correct aperture. One more false door awaits us.”

He turned away from her rather quickly and started walking, while Muirne laughed and followed behind.

As she truly looked at them, Muirne found the ruins oddly fascinating. She imagined all the people who had lived here in this city, and wondered just what had happened to them. As her eyes traced the entwining vines and greenery, she thought about Atlantis, and how someday the great city would also be so much stone and silence.

So lost in thought was she that she didn’t realize that Gilveidan had stopped until she ran into him. “Gil...?” she asked. “Are you...?”

She followed his gaze to an empty doorway. This must have been the second door.

“Vi...” he shook his head. “You’re... you’re not real. You’re dead. I know that.”

Yet, seemingly out of his own control, he took a step forward. “I... I’m sorry.”

And then stopped and Muirne wrapped her arms around him. “I’m here,” she said. “You’re right. She’s not real.” It felt like he might struggle, and Muirne wasn’t sure she was strong enough to prevent him from breaking her grip, but she gripped tighter anyway. “I’m not going to let go. You want to be forgiven? Help me end this thing that really killed her.”

“I...” he struggled, unable to look away from the door.

“It’s time to let her go,” Muirne whispered. “Believe me, I’m more of a hypocrite than you can possibly imagine saying that, but if we make it out of this alive, I’m going to let Ceallach go too.”

Gil sighed, slowly closed his eyes, and slowly turned away. “Goodbye, Viola,” he muttered, and then, locking eyes with Muirne. “Thank you. Let’s get away from here.”

And they did, very quickly. It wasn’t until they had wandered out of sight of the door and onto a weed-choked plaza that Gil began to breathe again. He gripped Muirne’s hand so tightly that it was almost going numb.

Once, this plaza had probably been a peaceful garden, a piece of the sky amidst a bustling city. Now the flora was overgrown, creeping over each other and up and round, ever upwards, until it had become a knot of vegetation, around which the dilapidated walls barely contained it.

There was only one place where the plant-life had avoiding growing at all costs: an actual door, still intact, the plants creating an unnatural arch around it. Though the building behind it was mostly destroyed, the crack under and round the door made it seem as if it was dark inside.

"It appears we've reached out destination," Gil said as they both stopped.

“Ai.” The word came calm, but inside Muirne was a ball of fear. There was something on the other side of that door, something powerful. It felt as if Muirne’s skin was trying to get up and crawl away.

Gil glanced over to her. “Are you ready?”

“No,” she replied. “But I don’t think I’ll ever be.” They nearly leaned on each other for support. “Well, it won’t do us any good waiting here. Let’s go.”

They went. And as they approached, the door opened quite on its own accord. It was waiting for them. They didn’t even stop, lest their nerve fail them. They just kept walking, into the darkness beyond.

And they found themselves somewhere else. The door did not lead to the crumbling building beyond, but to some other place entirely. Gil produced a ball of light, but there was nothing to shine it on except Muirne’s face. Around them was pure, pitch blackness. The only thing that they could be sure of was that they were going downwards.

It was utterly silent around them, and out of fear, Muirne drew her sword Brandubh. It almost seemed to be... glowing. She could hear the roar of blood thumping through her ears, and Gil’s breath beside her, and that was all.

They both stopped as they saw something ahead of them. A small point of... something, distinct from the inky blackness.

“What is that?” Muirne asked, but Gil didn’t have time to answer, for the point quickly expanded into a ball, growing bigger and bigger until it nearly consumed the darkness around them.

And then Muirne’s head exploded.

It was everything all at once. Every birth, every life coursing through her body. Every first love, every birthday, every laugh, every smile.

Every heartbreak Every fear Every pain Every lonely moment

We are so ALONE

Until we            (die)

Everything            (ends)(dies)(stops breathing)

She was in a bed, coughing and wheezing just wishing the pain would go away please take me away I don’t want to be here anymore I’m going to explode.

She was staring into the empty face of her creation, a perfect replica of the boy who was taken too soon, but it wasn’t him it wasn’t him it could never be and out the window the cold stone rushing past can’t take life without my sweet smiling boy.

And she was trembling as her older brother stared down at her, the blood of so many turning his cheeks rosy as the Truth whispered in her ear they all must die there’s nothing here it all ends in silence don’t kill me brother please I’m scared make it go away.

It all It all ends It all ends in It all ends in silence 

Silence

S

 I

   L

     E

        N

           C

              E

..................

.................

M

Muir

Muirne

“Muirne!”

Tears were running down her face. Tears were running down her face and someone was calling her. “Muirne, the sword!” Gilveidan was shouting. “Use the sword!”

“There’s no point,” she whispered. The Truth was bare before her, the nihilism of the universe closing in. “Nothing matters.”

“It does!” A light bloomed in the darkness. There was Gil’s face, his weak ball of light pushing the Truth away. “Yes, everything ends, everything dies. But the point is that right now, you’re living. You and everyone else on this earth! Take my hand!”

Through the darkness, through the pain and crushing loneliness, there was his hand.

And she took it.

“Don’t look at it, look at me,” he said. “I have good news and bad news.”

“Good news first,” she nearly had to gasp out.

“This whole place,” he began, “Is a small pocket. Small as a pinpoint. You strike it, and we can seal it away in your sword.”

“And the bad news?” she asked.

He paused. “It isn’t just the Truth that will be sealed away. Everything in this pocket will go with it.”

Muirne’s heart fell. “We’re not getting out of this place, are we?”

After a moment, Gilveidan shook his head. “Unless someone breaks the seal, we’ll be here with it forever.”

“Alright,” Muirne nodded. “As long as you’re with me, I think I’ll be alright.”

The ball of light in Gil’s hand grew stronger. “I’ll only be able to hold it off for a moment. Go!”

Muirne turned, Gil’s light burning the Truth as it shrank away, its unearthly call vibrating her bones.

Fear, loneliness You are alone

No, Muirne wouldn’t hear it. She screamed, running towards the Truth, and struck.

The world shattered while the Truth shrieked. But Muirne would not let go, she would not yield. For Atlantis, for her family. She would give her life for there’s. Her tiny rabbit’s heart beat wildly.

And they all fell away, into darkness.

#Ede Valley #Muirne D'Irn #Gilveidan the All-Knowing #The Truth #writing

[stretchjournalemerson]

Pain Management

By Maura Grace Cowan

For decades, I have been told, Mema’s fingers smelled of nicotine, trailing the scent of a pack a day and a love that ate away at my grandfather until it swallowed him whole just five months after I was born. After that, an already vicious candy habit became a lifelong method of staying cigarette-free. She said that it kept her mouth busy and her head on straight.

We were alike in that way– her weakness was See’s Candies butterscotch lollipops, and I favored peppermints to focus. It was not uncommon, during the five years that she lived in our home, to find us next to each other in the living room, teeth clacking on our respective hard candies until I finished my work or she tired of the barrage of bad news.

Her other method of oral fixation was toothpicks, little orange slivers that she dropped as she hobbled from room to room. Truthfully, that was about all she left behind– plastic wrappers and wood chips, breadcrumbs that led me back through the years after she was gone.

I was home for Christmas during my freshman year of college when she passed, as suddenly as one can pass after almost a century of life. It was California dreary out, with a blank sky and a bad attitude. She was three thousand miles away by then, but the West Coast was mourning. That night, I popped a coffee-flavored See’s lollipop in my mouth. It was the last thing I would bite into for days.

My wisdom teeth were never wise enough to grow in the correct direction, and with my already small jaw, their removal was an inevitability. We had made the appointment the previous summer, hoping to control the problem before it started. The timing could not have been predicted. But I would have signed away a world of hurt down the line if I could have absolved myself of surgery on the morning after my grandmother’s death.

My orthodontist was a genial Scottish man in his fifties. I had met him just once before, for our consultation. He charmed me immediately by recognizing my name and its correct pronunciation– “Gaelic, o’course,” he had said cheerfully. Mema would have been smitten. She always loved accents– anything about people, really, cultures and language and history. She told me once that she had lived so many stories that she couldn’t help wanting to hear everyone else’s. This was what I was thinking about when he began to rattle off the medications he would prescribe me for the weeks after the operation.

“Oh, I don’t need the strong stuff,” I interjected. “I’ll be just fine with the Ibuprofen, I’ve got a lot of grit.”

He chuckled, handing me a stack of forms.

“I don’t doubt it, Maura. Let’s just see how you’re feeling afterwards, eh?”

I was the last of my friends from high school to get their wisdom teeth out. I had stayed the night with Amelia right after the surgery, brought ice cream for Tyler every day for a week. I knew that there would be no conversation or ‘seeing how I felt.’

I am not taking those pills.

I have never lived at extremes. Modesty and moderation were ingrained in me before I could pronounce either word, by my mother and Mema and their working-class sensibilities. And if nothing else, I have held myself to those principles. In high school, even on the rare occasions that I allowed myself to go out on weekends, it was a point of pride that I knew my limits. I was never the least sober in the room– often, I was the most by far. I never, ever, lost control.

The assistant was a young, lanky man– almost a boy, really, I noticed as he plunged the IV drip into my arm. I imagined babbling to him when I woke up, making a fool of myself, having to be carried out like I once carried my high school friend when she mixed Vicodin and vodka.

“Don’t give me too much,” I remember pleading. “Look at me. Promise me that I will walk out of here on my own.”

He must have listened, because when I came to, it was with a surprisingly clear head. At least, the part of my head that I could feel was clear. I spent the car ride home in silence, poking at the numbness, pushing down the tears that were welling up in my eyes.

Healing happened, slowly and awkwardly. A prescription of Hydrocodone sat on my dresser unopened; I refused everything but aspirin and a steady supply of vanilla pudding. Instead, I spent my days drifting between sleep and discomfort, but I suffered in silence. The whole house, after all, was suffering too.

Mema was not an affectionate woman– in the years that I knew her, she was not even particularly kind. She was stubborn and abrasive, with a Southern drawl turned scratchy with years of smoking and sighing and complaining.

She was also the strongest woman I have ever known.

After she quit smoking, she kept as far as possible from any sort of vices that would shorten her lifespan, replacing them instead with virtues… temperance, fortitude, and CNN. Even in her last years, when my parents begged her to have a glass of wine each night just to help her get to sleep, she refused. Her pain management was a strict combination of stubbornness and grit, and her health remained remarkable for her age.

But when you are close to one hundred years old, regardless of how healthy you are, on some level, every part of your body is begging you to just stop. To rest. Sometimes, it’s even in your own mind.

Once, I heard her ask my mother, “Why am I still here?”

“You know that we can’t get you back on a plane safely with all this oxygen, Mom.”

“No,” she sighed. “Why am I still here?”

But she accepted it. She held firm, and she stayed. Even when we ran out of money and resources and patience, when we had to fly her those three thousand miles to move back in with my auntie Beth, she stayed until she could not stay one second longer.

When I was seventeen, I once stood staring into her medicine cabinet on the precipice of explosion. I had my father’s gin and my mother’s anger in my stomach, and I knew what matches it would take to light that fuse. But I stayed, strong and composed, just as she did every day. I couldn’t do it for myself. So I did it for her.

I am not taking those pills.

I was, at the outset, correct about my ability to push through the discomfort. My constant fear of losing control had given me an acute awareness of how much I could handle, and I walked that line confidently. I did everything right, took the antibiotics and cleaned the surgical sites with a ritualistic reverence. All of my focus went towards the pain in my mouth. And the other pain, the ache that had settled into the bones of our house and deep into my chest, went untreated.

Until it couldn’t anymore.

I pushed myself too hard, I understand that now. I had convinced myself that I was out of the woods entirely, that I hadn’t felt any real soreness for days, that I was ready to shut the door behind a miserable week. That afternoon, I went hiking with my best friend, and we caught up over coffee and pre-Christmas peppermint bark. She tried to mention Mema, and I pointed out a hawk in the trees ahead.

By the evening, I was curled up in excruciating pain, convinced that the left side of my jaw was cracking and splintering as I laid with a bag of ice that did no real good. Taking Ibuprofen was like trying to stamp out a forest fire.

With gritted teeth and an apology, I cracked open the bottle of Hydrocodone.

That night was one of the worst of my life. I dreamed apocalyptic wastelands, bodies fetid and festering after the pestilence of the pandemic that had already defined that year. I saw my grandmother, sweating in and out of sleep– alive for a moment, but dying again and again. In the confusion and haze, for just a moment, I thought she might have been a god.

My fever dream ended as a weak winter sun began to stream through the window. I was drained, more exhausted than I had been the night before, but the ache had disappeared and my head was clear. I stripped the sheets and washed off the night, plugged in my headphones, hit shuffle perched on her old bare mattress.

And I was catching my breath/

Staring out an open window, catching my death/

And I couldn’t be sure/

I had a feeling so peculiar, that this pain would be for/

Evermore

I didn’t even notice I was crying until the drops hit my legs. I do not think I could have stopped myself if I tried. But I had run out of the desire to control.

Hey December, guess I’m feeling unmoored/

Can’t remember what I used to fight for

Everything, my grandmother and mother have insisted, exists in moderation. But what is moderation when we feel in extremes?

I rewind the tape, but all it does it pause/

On the very moment all was lost/

Sending signals to be double-crossed

We are made for vices, for cigarettes and coffee and chocolate cake. We are made to cling to any semblance of control, and then to watch again and again as it slips away, and then we are made to try again.

When the tears ran out and the last notes played, I pulled myself up and grabbed my keys. On my way out of the door, I caught a glimpse of something on the kitchen counter– a small glass bowl filled with See’s lollies. We had bought a box to send her for Christmas the day before she died.

This is what she left behind. Plastic wrappers, wood chips. A gap in the family and four gaps in my jaws. Ninety-nine years of stories and stubbornness and Southern sensibility. I carry the weight of her within me, her love and her loss. I manage our pain the way that she taught me, with control and composure. But I’m learning my own ways too.

And I couldn’t be sure/

I had a feeling so peculiar, this pain wouldn’t be for/

Evermore

My fist closed around a butterscotch.

#stretch2021 #memoir

[webmarket01]

10 Tips I've Personally Learned in My Weight Loss Journey that ACTUALLY Work

New Post has been published on https://weightlosshtiw.com/10-tips-ive-personally-learned-in-my-weight-loss-journey-that-actually-work/

10 Tips I've Personally Learned in My Weight Loss Journey that ACTUALLY Work

Ok, so I’ve been up and down with my weight over the years. At one point I was losing 15 pounds in 1 month (no exercise), and then I gained it back again a few months later.

But in my journey to having a permanently healthy and strong body, I’ve also learned some strategies that helped me keep my weight down.

I know that there’s a TON of info out on the internet, and much of it can be the same such as getting enough sleep or water. And while this still is good info, I wanted to give you some helpful advice that you might not have heard or thought of before.

ALSO, if you have some good tips, then scroll down and let me know in the comments; I might just add them. 🙂

Warning: Make sure to ask your doctor before trying any new weight loss methods if you have any health issues.

Keep ONE Small Goal

Ok, I can’t tell you HOW many times I’ve told myself things like, “Oh, I’ll lose 20 pounds this month” or “I’m drinking a gallon of water every day now!” And you know what? They’re all big goals, and I gave up.

And if you’re someone (like me) who has a hard time keeping promises to yourself, then one of the best things you can do is to stick to ONE SUPER TINY GOAL for at least a month.

PROVE to yourself that you can stick to something for a certain amount of time, and then you can ramp it up from there.

This could be one glass of water before you eat or drink anything else. Or it could be doing 3-5 situps.

Make it SUPER tiny! Something you know you won’t give up on. And then, if you accidentally miss a day, continue on with it the next. This will help build confidence in yourself.

TEST TEST TEST!

Ok, I can’t emphasize this enough. 

I feel that one of the BIGGEST reasons for people giving up on weight loss is because they’ll try one thing, realize it’s not for them, and then stop.

I’ve done this plenty of times. So here’s what you want to do:

Max Things Out

If you want to see results in one area sooner, then you have to max it out.

Here’s what I mean: if you wanna speed up your metabolism, then buy a whole bunch of foods & drinks that are known for doing just that. Then, while sticking to your daily calorie limit, start cooking with them or straight up eating or drinking them. 

Understand this Mindset Hack

When you lose weight, then things start to stack.

So for instance, you do a 30-minute workout, and that encourages you to want to eat healthier. Because one, it motivates you to not want to mess up the progress you made with the uncomfortable and sweaty task you just did. And two, you start to build an appreciation for your body. Once you do one good thing for it, then you’ll want to do more.

Find Out Why You Eat

For me personally, eating was an experience for me. But I also, ate fast which meant I was done with my meal sooner. THEN that led to me being disappointed (because my fun experience was cut short) and making excuses to go ahead and get more (even though I was already full).

So you want to find out why you eat a certain way. Are you bored? Is it a habit for you to eat while watching something? Is it a comfort to you? 

Then, once you find the reason, you can start to work on it. So if you eat while watching something, why not make it something healthy but tasty? Or find a fun hobby to do so that you cut down on TV time. Is it a comfort for you? Then you need to understand what it’s helping you cope with. And once you figure that out, seek counseling or find a fun and healthier way to cope and take steps to eliminate that negative thing from your life.

If You Don’t Like it Then…

If you don’t like it, then don’t eat it!

There are SO MANY times where I bought something I thought I would enjoy eating. And then once I took my first sip or bite, I realized it wasn’t for me. But then I would feel like it was necessary to finish it because I felt that it would be a waste.

Well, it still is a waste if you consume it. For one, you straight up don’t like it, and two, it’s empty calories, it’s not helping you in any way.

Side Note: Empty calories are calories that come from food with no nutrition. 

Now, if you’re hungry, and you don’t want to spend money on something else, then, by all means, finish it. But if you’re not, then there’s no harm in tossing the food.

Mindful Eating Helps in 2 Ways

There were times where I used to gorge myself on food, but then, I found that I wasn’t able to enjoy the food as much. And especially since it was gone a lot sooner.

So when I started to do mindful eating, where I slowed it down and appreciate the smell and taste and appearance of the dish, I found that I filled up faster AND was able to have seconds (or more) for later! 

A pretty cool result I think. 😊

PRO TIP: A great way to make sure you keep to mindful eating when at a restaurant is to ask for a to-go box early on. Then when your food arrives, put half of it away and close the box. Then you can make sure that you only eat a certain amount and have leftovers for later!

Lack Mentality?

Many people out there (including myself) have dealt with a lack mentality at some point.

It was started in my young years; the ones who raised me didn’t feel like there was enough (even though there was) and taught me to feel the same.

And I found that this ‘lack mentality’ fed into other areas of my life. And one of those areas was food.

I realized that I didn’t feel that there would be enough for me or that somehow, I would never get this type of food again (even though I easily could), and so I would eat fast and eat WAY too much. And I even realized that I felt I was “missing out” if I stopped before I overate.

And if this sounds like you, then one of the best things you can do to combat this is to stop and ask yourself, “Will I have the opportunity to eat this again later?” “Is there enough for me?” “Am I really missing out?” And when you do this, you start to change your mindset from a place of lack to a place of abundance.

Intermittent Fasting

Intermittent fasting was one of the coolest things I found that helped me lose weight.

Here’s why:

If I did it for even just 1 month, I found that it helped speed up my metabolism and keep it sped up for months. We’re talkin’ around 5-6 months after I stopped intermittent fasting. 

But I also talk about that more in my post here on how I lost 15 pounds in 1 month with no exercise; so feel free to check it out!

Losing weight isn’t always the easiest, and especially when it feels like NOTHING is working. But I do hope that these tips above help you out. And if you have any questions at all, then just let me know. 🙂

10 Tips I’ve Personally Learned in My Weight Loss Journey that ACTUALLY Work was last modified: September 18th, 2020 by Silas & Grace

This content was originally published here.

[cyrelia-j]

[fic] Invictus IV (Kelas Parmak, past Garak/Parmak)

Which will soon be just Garak/Parmak but don't think it'll stop there because this is going own a pretty dark well. Kidfic turned damn serious, Federation through a warped and bitter lens, and morally bankrupt not nice Garak. This is NOT healthy/cuddly forgiveness Kelim. Written for @guljerry

So for anyone still here, you can catch parts 1, 2, and 3 HERE, HERE, and HERE

Summary: Post Canon Cardassia story (AU from the novels) After The Fire, Kelas Parmak finds himself a father seven times over to orphans left behind keeping an underground clinic and garden going even in this dystopian future. But Vakem Parmak taught him the importance of survival- even if the enemies are his former lover Elim Garak or The Federation itself

This Chapter: Garak is interrogated, though who's really the one with the screws put to them?

Warnings: Language, references to torture, a lot of angst, emotional manipulation, not nice Garak, mental instability

Also you can check my notes on the biology/genders in this AU HERE

There are two things that Kelas Parmak fears most in this world; that’s what Elim Garak would say. Parmak would say that he is afraid for the future, afraid for his children, and perhaps even afraid for the “undesirables” that he treats. Garak would dismiss those as mere worries, not true fear. And perhaps he’s right. There are only two things in this world that can bring Parmak to his knees shaking, screaming, vomiting, blacked out in terror. Those two things are Garak’s eyes and his own reflection.

In Garak’s eyes he sees the souls of the dead that he buried as a child, the lifeless eyes staring at him, some frozen open in horror as he dropped them in the hard ground. He sees the dead coming for him. He sees everyone that he couldn’t save, those who cursed him as a monster, as a harbinger of death. And they always come for him, raging angrily in his head, reaching out from the cold slits of Garak’s pupils. Kelas still dreams of those eyes at night, waking up with a scream dead in his throat, unable to breathe. Before he looked in Garak’s eyes he might have said that there was nothing that he was afraid of. It was easier to forget about the mirror. The mirror had stopped haunting his dreams when the plague came.

Before the plague, there was only one true fear that Parmak held. When he was a child, his mother told him that he was beautiful. She told him that he was precious and perfectly made as he was. In spite of the rest of the village speaking of him and his family with pity for such a poor child, in spite of the taunts of his appearance - his white hair, his “pink little vole eyes”, his “sickening skin”, his “gross” hump - he had never considered his appearance one way or the other. He could breathe, he could move, and he could feel the warmth of the lamps they used to light their camp. He was also born with poor vision that had gone undiagnosed until his sixth year.

Before that he could see the shapes well enough to get by though the world still shook out of focus from time to time. He tried to express it but didn’t understand what was wrong to verbalize. But eventually there came a time when he didn’t need to- when his parents understood what was wrong with him. He never understood the reality of his physical “corruption” as they called it until he happened to glimpse himself once in a large bucket of captured precious rainwater. He had seen the collected water before but this was the first time that he’d though to peer at it closely, the light that day hitting it just right to reflect.

And he saw a monster.

He screamed and backed away, looking frantically around for the monster that he saw in that vision, turning, dizzy, seeing one of the older men walking back to his tent. Kelas remembered the man was Eron and he was always somewhat kind to him. He told Eron about the monster in the water and that was when the old man told him with a sympathetic shake of his head that he wasn’t seeing a monster but his own reflection. His mother would tell him later that it was merely his poor vision coupled with his child’s imagination which conjured the image but he knew she was only being kind. He’d dared to look one other time, at the Placement Center in Central telling himself the same things. He told himself that it wasn’t real. He told himself that he was fine. He was wrong. He requested after that for them to please remove any such objects. He didn’t look again.

Parmak supposes he should be thankful that the fear Garak had put in him supersedes such childish things. Sometimes he almost wonders what it is that he looks like. Sometimes he’s almost tempted to stare into a piece or glass or a cracked window pane, a shiny bit of metal just to see what it is that others see… what men like Michael see when they stroke the side of his face and don’t seem to be afraid. But Garak’s eyes are another matter. He still feels bile rising in the back of his throat and his heart start to race even at the thought. He doesn’t have the fearlessness of his youth but… Perhaps, he thinks, perhaps he can look just for a moment. That would shift the balance of power to his favor. He forces his feet to keep from shuffling so that he doesn’t betray his unease.

Parmak tries. He starts from the bottom, from the floor but there’s a freeze that seizes him when his eyes move up Garak’s body. He can’t go any further once his gaze reaches Garak’s neck. Parmak can feel his heart start to pound even harder as he tries. He feels dizzy. He feels sick. He forces his hand to remain steady with the quickly mixed drug in the vial but he knows any moment it’s going to start shaking. He counts the ridges on Garak’s neck knowing the count moving to his ear, moving to his lips until he almost thinks that it’s close enough that he can fool him. He used to focus on Garak’s chufa before. The lips are better, he thinks. He opens his mouth and closes it again tightly.

“Ya’?” he hears whispered beside him. It’s… especially humiliating to have to rely on his daughter to speak for him. Parmak shuts his eyes and opens them again. He looks down at the vial.

“You’ll have to excuse poor Kelas, I’m afraid he doesn’t respond particularly well to shock. He’s always been sensitive.” Parmak grips the vial tightly when he hears Garak’s biting honeyed words.

“And Elim for his part has always had an amusing habit of talking more than the subjects he was meant to interrogate. I recall hearing it said once that his most effective method of interrogation was to recite Preloc until a subject broke under a wave of overwrought and dramatic verse.”

“Here you told me that you found my recitations enchanting, you wound me, my dear.” Parmak breathes deeply, that specter of Garak the interrogator falling back behind the old banter.

“Ah, I did… Mm, I suppose then you’re not the only one of us proficient with lies.” Parmak holds up the vial knowing that Garak can see it. “Do you remember that I told you once that my father said lying was a disease that would rot the tongue?” Parmak imagines Garak sticking out his tongue in response as he usually would when Parmak would make that remark. “You’re sticking it out now, aren’t you, Elim?” He asks, smiling in spite of himself.

“Perhaps you should look and see for yourself.” There’s a darkness underlying that tone that makes him nearly shiver.

“I’m not going to be playing that game with you today,” Parmak says, barely managing to project his voice above a whisper. He hates it.

“Bet he’s got a thickie, don’t he, ya’?” Roka’s timely interruption nearly makes him jump but it breaks the tension of that moment neatly. “S’always them old’uns with the thickies mess your head up good like that.” Parmak nearly drops the vial.

“Th-that’s… ah… really no one’s concern,” he says blinking a few times.

“Guls with the whore talk,” Parmak hears Yihot muttering on his other side.

“Like ya’ ain’t heard worse from thems come in middle month needing to drop an egg,” Roka declares loudly.

“Doesn’t mean I need to hear it now. Look at him, preening like that. Hey! Why don’t I yank it out and slice it off right now, Obbie!?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to need a bigger knife. Isn’t that right, Kelas?”

Parmak smiles, eyes to Garak’s throat, feeling a morbid satisfaction seeing the chains around his neck.

“Right as always,” he says and walks over in two hasty strides. He grabs a fistful of Garak’s hair just as he imagines the wide grin painting Garak’s face, yanks his head back, and pours the vial into his mouth, sure to press the chains into his throat and force a swallow. Parmak barely steps out of the way as Garak begins to cough. He knows that the dosage is higher than necessary, but he’s tested it enough times over the years to know that even if the entirety of the vial makes it down Garak’s throat there won’t be any ill effects- at least none that he can’t handle, none that he doesn’t deserve. “There we are, now that should take a few moments for the effect but it should work.” He looks to Yihot. “I appreciate your efforts, but you would be wise,” he looks to Roka now as well. “-not to engage him. Although Elim is quite capable in a variety of areas, although he can certainly kill with a myriad of implements, his most potent weapon is his voice.

Roka snorts.

“Ain’t nothin’ impressive ‘bout this old’un yet,” she says not looking intimidated in the slightest.

“All he’s got is his voice, old man. We made sure we searched him thoroughly. Nothin’ on the screens either?” Parmak smiles at them weakly.

“No, nothing, It would seem that he really has come to us unaccompanied. Would you give us a moment, please? We need to discuss a few things and… there are certain subjects I’d rather you weren’t present for. Especially if Elim is going to insist on vulgarity.”

“The only vulgar thing in this world is a common mind,” Garak quotes Iloja of Prim rather nicely.

“You can’t even look at him, old man,” Yihot growls under his breath.

“Mmm, well I don’t expect that to change any time soon,” Parmak agrees.

“We got this. Let me loosen a few of his scales and I don’t care if he names every son of a whore his mother ever made it with I’ll get what we need,” Yihot insists.

“It’s fine,” Parmak says holding up his hands. If one of you would bring me a seat though, that would be the most help you could give right now. It’s been long enough that I’d be at ease if you were to check on the others and start with dinner. Roka looks uncertain as does Yihot but they both agree.

“Anything goes up, ya’ I got something what’ll fix ‘im right.” Parmak laughs softly at that giving her wrist a squeeze.

“Ah, I should have let you know that Order agents are quite immune to most common street drugs, Trap included. But I’m proud of you. You’re strong. Be well both,” he says dismissively, Yihot taking a moment to drag another wooden chair in from an adjacent room. “Facing him is fine,” Parmak says, sitting down once the chair is situated, facing Garak. He waits until he hears them leave before smiling at Garak, focusing his eyes up, on a point on the wall that he’d already decided on. “Well, Elim, I think that you should be sufficiently prepared so shall we begin?”

---

“Nothing could prepare me for glimpsing your loveliness again, my dear. For once my eyes have beheld your glory, I should slay you for fear that my devotion to you might eclipse my life’s duty.” Garak says the line, watching Parmak’s face go still. Still so lovely, Garak thinks. The effect is exactly as he imagined. He sees Parmak unsure if the serum had worked. It hadn’t of course. The nice little drug cocktail that Lok had supplied him – mindful of his current pharmaceutical indiscretions – will easily counter the outdated concoction that Parmak had developed for Tain. But the lie will lead to the truth and it will lead to Parmak’s believing anything that Garak tells him. You’re concerned, Kelas. You know that it should have taken effect by now. It’s been years since you’ve used it or I wouldn’t be able to plant that doubt in you. You’re uncertain. You’re off balance. You should have kept the young ones in here instead of trying to “spare” them the sight of seeing you supplicant on your knees at my feet. They gave you strength, Kelas. It’s unfortunate.

“You can’t lie to me,” Parmak says.

“As I breathe, I lie,” Garak says indifferently, seeing Parmak frown. “Perhaps you should test me like you used to. Remember you once said the true efficacy of any truth serum lie in its ability to trick the truth from my tongue.”

“I used to say a lot of things, Elim,” Parmak says softly. He laughs - a subtle shake of his shoulders - “I used to tell you that I was unbreakable. I used to tell you that you didn’t scare me.”

“I could never be with a man who wasn’t afraid of me,” Garaks offers charitably.

“You were the only one who saw through me even then.” Parmak crosses his arms sitting back, looking at the ceiling. Garak scents the air again pleased to be only tasting him now.

“And now? Do I still see through you, my dear?”

“I’m not going to look at you,” Parmak declares to the ceiling. “I’m going to kill you.”

“For every life you take, you must give back a hundred,” Garak quotes. This time from the old doctor who’d raised Parmak: Vakem Parmak. “But I count eight including yourself, not a hundred.”

“Maybe I’ll kill an eighth of you then,” Parmak retorts defiantly. Garak smiles amused.

“I assure you in spite of your daughter’s colorful commentary my manhood doesn’t quite constitute an eighth of my person.” Parmaks snorts in response to that.

“Mmm… well I’m sure that the serum must be working then, since I recall you once declaring that your everted ch’och easily spanned two regnars end to end.”

“Perhaps I’ve held back for you out of consideration.” Garak feels his tongue thick in his mouth as a result of the drug. It has a bitter taste though he’s certainly swallowed worse. He imagines that Parmak would laugh but instead he sits back up. Garak notices that his eyes fall briefly to Garak’s lap. “Fear not, Kelas, it’s still intact in spite of your hatchlings’ overzealous searching.”

“Why are you here?” Parmak asks looking at Garak’s chest.

“Untie me.”

“Bury me,” Parmak hisses, leaning forward in the chair the anger finally starting to rise to the surface.

“Untie me.”

“Why are you here?!”

“Because of a foolish oversight on my father’s part, same as you, dear Kelas.” That stops him. It’s as good a confession as any but Garak doesn’t take any satisfaction out of it. Parmak’s guilt in Tain’s death was never in any doubt. “But what I don’t understand is how you were able to get close to him a second time. Your holes are sweet, but they’re hardly that magical.” He’s as vulgar as possible in that declaration - another “tell” that the serum is working for Parmak to grab. He sees Parmak’s eyes flash, and he sees an aborted snap of his head. Parmak wants to look him in the eyes but he can’t.

He’s silent again for a long while and Garak is impressed that he isn’t rising to the bait further.

“Oh well, I think that neatly answers any question as to why you’re here, Elim.” Assumptions are the poison of any interrogation. Garak could easily tell him that and he thinks that Parmak should rightly know better. He’s harder after The Fire; that much Garak can tell. But that steel also seems to have come at the expense of his analytics. That would be convenient. Garak would sooner deal with a brave idiot than a smart coward. Still as for his erroneous conclusion, there’s a simplicity to it that’s beneath Parmak. Garak is pleased that he seems to realize it as well. “No, that’s not it,” he amends softly. “You wouldn’t want me to think that either. If you really wanted to kill me, we’d all be dead.”

“Ah but I would also miss an opportunity to acquaint myself with your handsome little brood Kelas. Tell me, are any of them Tain’s?” he asks glibly knowing full well that shouldn’t be possible.

Parmak’s face gives him the answer that his mouth doesn’t.

“For once, you’re not the one asking the questions.” Garak doesn’t need to. He knows. The answer is no.  

“Yes, and I find that being in this position affords me an insight into the process that I’ve had little opportunity to experience. I must say if the work of my colleagues to this point had been so frightfully dull and unimaginative… I can see why I was the only one who could break you.” Curiously, Parmak tilts his head at that remark and sighs deeply. He surprises Garak by slowly beginning to unlock the chain from around his neck.

“You didn’t break me, Elim,” he answers softly before moving to the ropes around Garak’s waist and chest. “I was broken long before that.” His hands work the bindings on Garak’s arms. “I just didn’t realize it. Please be silent a moment. I need to untie your legs and your voice grates on me when you’re being particularly smug.”

Garak is obedient. Parmak is supplicant. At least that’s the picture he makes on his knees before him, Garak staring down at his white head, at the obscene slip of a shirt that billows out just enough for Garak to look down it. He looks in silence, scenting the air again, scenting Parmak, scenting his body, scenting that fear, seeing his chest, fragile, soft, the swollen dirty nipples of a live bearing Northerner who’s been wet nursing a little suckling not theirs.

Garak shuts his eyes and breathes in as Parmak moves to his other leg. He wants him. He wants to put his mouth to that chest, he wants to pinch those barbaric mammalian throwback things until Parmak sobs and begs him to stop. He wants to turn him around, drag him onto his lap and fuck every thought of Tain from his body. Which is exactly why he told Lok that he shouldn’t be used for this assignment. It was a foolish objection and he knew it the moment he’d made it. Lok may have also quite perceptively pointed out that one of the strengths that Garak developed over the years was turning his tendencies toward the emotional to good work.

“Why are you here, Elim?” Parmak asks, still on his knees, eyes on the floor and Garak has never felt more powerful or more vulnerable with Parmak in that position. Good work, he hears Lok say to him.

“I’m here for you, Kelas,” he answers honestly.

“Are we back to that again?”

“The Order is back again.”

“The Order should stay dead with the rest of Old Cardassia.”

“The New Order is going to build the New Cardassia, Kelas, and once there was no one more determined to build a new Cardassia than you.” Garak flexes his hands and slowly begins working feeling back into his arms. The tingling, the pain of blood flow is bit of nostalgia.

“And you find yourself in need of a doctor?” Parmak asks with a soft laugh. Surely you can dig out some of the camp relics if you’re willing to track me down. Doctor Medek would suit your purposes far better than I would.” It never fails to amaze Garak how young Parmak always looks no matter how tired, no matter how he slumps or shuffles or whispers quietly to the walls.

“Our beloved Doctor Medek didn’t kill Enabran Tain,” Garak murmurs.

This is where the subject’s heart skips a beat. This is where the subject will either lie or ask-

“How did you know?”

“Because I saw Tain at Internment Camp 371 when he was dying. Shall I list the symptoms, Kelas? Shall I tell you that I knew within a matter of hours that the toxin build up had to have been over the span of months, possibly years to still be in his system? Shall I tell you how I suspected and how my suspicions led me to you upon my return?”

“Mmm… I’m sure if you did you’d weave quite a fanciful tale, Elim.” Parmak bows his head, hands between his knees as small as he can make himself, pillowing his forehead to Garak’s knee. “I’m sure you already have. Ah… I know how you love these grand moments of drama so I should hate to take that from you but… but it was a test, you know,” he hears Parmak say and in a way it’s almost… beautiful. “You and me,” Parmak continues before Garak can say anything else. “That was a test. You breaking me? Was a test. Me returning to Tain after 3 years there…” Garak sees Parmak jump, that laugh he gives because he’s incapable of tears.

“That was a test,” Garak supplies for him glad the drugs already leave him cold.

“That was a test. And then I decided thoughtlessly without consulting you that your life might find some value if you were to be finished with tests.”

“I see…”

“Don’t misunderstand me,” Parmak says, lifting his head and smacking Garak’s knee. “Our relationship wasn’t the test. Mmm, likely Tain saw it as ah… convenient means to begin the test…”

“Tain was fond of his “tests”,” Garak agrees thinking of Palandine, of Doctor Bashir, even so far back as to remember the little regnar. “Clearly, I passed that one,” he observes mildly. Of course he would; especially after seeing Parmak and Tain that night. “So then-”

“This is my interrogation, Elim.” Garak sees Parmak’s hands on his knees with the old familiarity. He holds them apart. He looks up at Garak’s chufa – the closest that he ever comes to looking him in the eyes. “So what will you do if I choose not to dirty my hands for you?” His mouth is set hard. It’s the look of a man who’s had his fill of death.

“I never asked you the first time. That was your decision- your life, your mistake, your assassination. Your hands are already dirty, Kelas.”

Parmak slaps the inside of his thigh hard.

“Then bury me, snake!” He yells standing up and turning away. Garak grabs his wrist tightly, muscles protesting the sudden movement. “Let go of me,” he hisses. Parmak is old, Parmak has always looked weak but he’s always been exceptionally strong. He doesn’t try and pull away.

“I will lay in the dirt with you Kelas,” Garak swears, their eyes almost meeting when Parmak turns back around slowly. “But first, I’m going to tell you a “fanciful tale” as you would say, a tale worthy of a snake.” He can see Parmak’s eyes darting, twitching unconsciously. Parmak easily slips his hold but then hooks his index finger around Garak’s. He keeps looking at his chufa.

“Doctor Parmak use to say the only trust that you can hold in a snake’s tail is that you cannot trust it at all.”

“I can’t lie to you, my dear,” Garak lies. “Not here, not in this honest little patch of darkness.” Parmak really is stunning with the shadows from the dimming light along his ridges. It makes him look stronger, it makes his eyes look bigger behind his spectacles. Garak sees those pupils continue to shake with that albino’s weakness.

“Why are you here?” Parmak whispers, middle finger hooking around Garak’s next. Garak looks at him speculatively, knowing that he has to play this exactly right.

“Perhaps some time when this unpleasant business has passed us we might hear of my adventures upon the dying monument to the Old vanity, but for now, what you need to know. Before The Fire, before the war, before the Occupation, I discovered the Founder home world.” He pauses, seeing a tension in Parmak’s shoulders, feeling it through their fingers. “I was going to destroy it. I could see what was going to happen, it rang in my head more clearly than anything I’ve ever felt. It was one of those visions that I’ve always had.”

“That’s...” Parmak swallows looking down at their link. “That would be genocide, Elim. That would be an unconscionable massacre.”

“One life for a hundred, Kelas. What are our lives worth? What are eight hundred million, what are a billion Cardassian lives worth?”

Parmak doesn’t answer him right away, Garak letting that sink in.

“They stopped me, of course. The Federation, the moral Starfleet like you, could hardly condone such a despicable act.”

“Of course they wouldn’t. That’s one thing I’ve learned about them. They value life.” Parmak stares at the gray wall behind Garak.

“Ah, but we’re not to the end of the story yet, my dear Kelas. For in these classic human tales, I’ve learned there’s always a twist, always a grand unmasking of the villain at the highest moment of tension.” Another finger hooks - the ring this time - he’s getting to him. The last finger follows at Garak’s initiation, the eight digits twining around each other, Parmak looking at the wall like it’s about to come for him looking anxious, uneasy, almost as if he knows what Garak’s is going to say. Garak wants Parmak to look at him. He will- when the moment is right.

“So now we come to the, as the humans say, coup de grâce, that final merciful blow. It should hardly come as a surprise to you that the vaunted Federation works in the shadows same as we do. They call it Section 31, one might say the dark puppet masters really pulling the strings behind that noble front. Shall I tell you what delightful little egg they birthed into existence, Kelas?” Parmak twists his hand holding it tightly. He breathes in hard, closes his eyes, no doubt bracing himself. But there is no brace, Garak thinks, no mercy as he tells him plainly and simply. “A virus. Once the Federation casualties became too great, once too many of theirs had been lost, that’s when Guls damn genocide became acceptable.” And he watches Parmak shutting his eyes with a soft whimper, a tight press of his lips a nearly painful squeeze to Garak’s hand but he revels in it. This is what he needs. This is what Lok had wanted from him. “You told me Kelas, you told me as you sat in that miserable cell that when you looked in my eyes you saw the dead coming for you.”

“Elim-” Frantic, scared, as if Garak with his words alone could force him to look. “Please...”

“How many dead do you think you’ll see now? How many “disposable Northerners” that they deny exist? How many starving Nokarans? Kranessans because of the “evils” of bio mimetic gel that they refuse to give us? How many more have to die to serve their sick self righteous hypocrisy?”

“I don’t... I don’t know what you want from me, Elim. I’m a doctor... I’m not a...”

“I want you to help me eliminate a virus, Kelas. That was your specialization after all. Communicable disease, infection, pathogens, microbes. That’s what the Federation is.”

“A virus...” Parmak whispers, breaths coming faster, more shallow and Garak suppresses the urge to smile.

“Look at me, Kelas, my dear Kelas. I’ve spent these last thirty miserable years dreaming of those enchanting eyes of  yours looking into mine.” Sweet, soft, like the thick poisonous honey filling the deadly Elaran bowl flowers; they always trap their butterflies. Garak begs him softly, intoning his Nokaran name as he does. “Pleassse Kelasssar...” slips sibilantly into the air between them like a spell.

And Parmak looks.

#star trek ds9 #star trek deep space nine #ds9 fanfic #post canon cardassia #au #Kelas Parmak #Elim Garak #kelim #dark #angst #Garak is fucked up #But so is Parmak #update #fanfic #cyrelia-j

[becomingstrong1289]

5/17/17

Ive been sad lately. I’ve been sad for a long time. Years i think. Maybe decades at this point. Life is so hard. This bipolar thing is really starting to make sense. Its like I’m so depressed and then i get an energy about me and i want to do everything all at once and then i get too overwhelmed and irritated and go right back down to depressed. Is it normal to feel like this. It surely is affecting my life. My job is on its last leg, my relationship with Shawn is all over the place, i lose it with the kids and dont have enough energy to be what they need. But this is who ive always been. In highschool i was a depressed mess. Growing up the way i did really didn’t give me a good baseline. is that possible to not have a healthy baseline. 

Work: My plan has been for awhile, go to coding and find a job in that. Annie said it started at $17/hr. Eventually figure out how to go home to work. Once Owen is in school go back for nursing at Saint Anthony’s for my bachelors. It seems so easy. Cardiology is just a cluster fuck with a lot a lot of attitude. I hope this new girl comes in and makes it back to the way it was. I was thinking about attempting to take over putting on holters. Maybe that will get the nurses off my back. Its just unfair to me that i spend so much time on something that isnt necessary and then on a whim get asked to do something for someone else when no one is willing to help me. They only room pts if it is absolutely necessary. I guess nursing is all in the computer now. They cant even look away for a moment. i know there are better ways to deal with things. Today i wanted to figure out how i was going to take a lunch break. That meant asking Tana for help. But she had a meeting at noon and wouldnt be back until 3. So i thought i was fucked. She said i could go at 11, i was so negative and pessimistic i didnt see any other option. I feel like ive been sick for 3 weeks and its bringing me down. I got strep, the antibiotics affected me very negatively, and then i thought i was pregnant for like 2 weeks. One test even came out slightlly positive. Then i finally get my period and it is awful. The pain today was almost enough to make me go home. My body is throwing me for a loop. Im scared to take this stupid medicine for my thyroid, i feel sick, i have a fever constantly, my head is crazy, i have depression and anxiety, this divorce is killing me, i dont want it, i never did but its just happening anyway. i got the paper work. josh is starting to become a stranger to me. its just the weirdest feeling i hate being a single mom of two kids. im so tired and stretched thin. i put all my effort into things like cooking healthy and making sure they bath and brush their teeth twice a day correctly and doing natalies hair nicely and keeping my house clean for us. i see other people who dont do these things. Jodie said i should be more proud of myself for what i do. its hard to be proud and exhausted. is it worth the effort. are there things my energy could be put forth. is health and hygiene and cleanliness so important. Im so down, its getting harder and harder to see the joy in things. im so scare of getting on antidepressants. i dont want to be a zombie. i dont want the sexual dysfunction that comes along with that. I guess i just need to get through work and do everything i can. if someone asks me to do something, just do it. if i get behind on charts, just work until i get it done. if i have to not take a lunch break to get it done, then thats how it will be. a new coworker and a new boss might help the situation. who knows. im scared of the future i have there. i know i had it cushy with jeanette. i dont see it being like that with Laura. Bosses named laura are always “fun”.... just work hard. get yourself out of this rut. stop talking about outside life too. just focus on work. stop with your phone. i deleted fb off my phone. i need a break from that. dont let them see me on my phone. be perfect so theres nothing they can say. fake it til you make it i guess. 

Kids: Owen is thriving i think. Hes a good little boy, eats well, understands and communicated well, funny and loving. Natalie is a ball of anxiety. i want so much to get into her head. my goal was to always have an open relationship with my kids that they would be able to tell me anything. that is definitely not the way it is. She doesn’t tell me anything. Its all a secret and then i get made because its a secret. Today she had an accident and tried to hide it from me. she trashed my bathroom. Im not sure why my 6 year old is having accidents. thats scary in its own right. i am perpetually scare my kids could get molested or something without me ever knowing about it. anyway, i got mad when i went into the bathroom and saw what she had done. there was shit everywhere. just everywhere. Later when things were calmed and she did her punishment i asked her why she has been getting in trouble at school. she opened up when i asked if she needed more attention. she actually got emotional about it. she doesn’t think her teacher spends enough time with her, she doesn’t get enough play time, and the recess people are mean to her. She genuinely teared up over it. i asked her what she needed from me. she wants me to play more games with her. i bought a deck of cards a few days ago, i was going to teach her how to play some games. its so hard to fit all of it into a night. i get home at 530. i have to make dinner by 630. its been nice so weve been spending a little time outside. soon ill have my garden i would like to stop there a few times a week before we go home. anyway. 645 is bath time. They stay in there for about 30 mins 715. then its time to relax. I guess this is a good time to read books. Im so freaking tired by this point. but 715 to 730 would be good for books. and 730 to 8 would be good for games with natalie. sometimes they have been going to bed later. for 730-45 for books and 745=815 for games. by 83o everyone is in bed. i guess ill see how that goes tomorrow. i want the one on one time with natalie and owen. i enjoy it so much. i love friday afternoons with owen. its amazing to have him all to myself. and then when me and natalie are alone its really nice too. we need more of it. i dont know how to be someone she can come to honestly and authorative. i want a relationship that she knows the rules but stays open about if she broke them and takes responsibility for it. I have no idea what any of that looks like in real life. Maybe that kind of thing only exists in movies and adulthood. im her mom, not her friend, i know that but i need her to feel comfortable talking to me and she isnt. The mental health group class i went to talked about “has anyone taught you how to deal with being sad”. No one taught me. it was looked down upon if i was sad or emotional. it annoyed my mom and she made me go away. i remember when my aunt died. i was fine until i saw her daughter and realized she didnt have a mom anymore and i wanted to cry but i had to excuse myself because i was taught inadvertently that is how you deal with sad. i didnt even feel comfortable crying at a funeral. thats sad. and even now, my sadness is isolation, crying alone and hiding everything. and how guilty i feel, just this weekend natalie got sad that we were going to pull out her tooth with plyers, we said it as a joke, and she started crying. i asked her why she was crying but she just clammed up. i was so frustrated i sent her to her room. im my mind i thought it would be a way for her to cool off but now i think if i would have just given her a hug and reassured her we were just kidding she may have opened up to me. im going to put more effort into her. 45 mins per night will be directly spent with them and only them. Im not going to take it away if they were bad. we need time together whether they misbehaved or not. i need to research better discipline methods. besides beating children i was never taught how to properly discipline a kid. time out was good before but natalie is too old for that now. i know things like cleaning and going to bed shouldnt be a punishment because then cleaning and going to bed normally will always be a punishment. i take away her snack but that makes me scared she’ll see food as a reward also. just how the fuck do i discipline a kid that doesn’t affect the rest of her life. one guy i knew made his kid run when she was bad. well i bet exercise will be a punishment when she gets old and shell die of heart disease from being sedentary her whole life. im going to bed. i hope getting some of this out of my head makes for a better tomorrow.