#she really needs grief counseling but instead

[arcadiabaytornado]

What are your thoughts on David? Are his actions understandable at times?

The thing about David is that he's often not totally wrong. However, the ways he chooses to go about things put him in the wrong, even though he could have had a decent point if he hadn't escalated the situation to an elven.

For example, I agree with him that Chloe is way too reckless. Her impulsivity is to the point that it puts her and Max in very dangerous situations multiple times. HOWEVER, the right way to address this isn't to put her under surveillance and slap her around. What she needed instead was a stable home environment and grief counseling. And if she did do something so bad that she needed to be punished (by nonabusive methods), then Joyce should stepped up and been the one to do that. 

Same thing with a lot of his investigation. He was dead on in a lot of what he suspected, but he handled it so poorly that he helped drive Kate to the roof and spiraled into paranoia to the point that he put surveillance cameras in his families home without their permission. He had the right answer but the wrong equation.

David is a really interesting character, even though I don't like him. Unlike Mark and Nathan, who are really gross, I do understand more of where David is coming from, and I do think he has good intentions even though he screws up at every turn. That doesn't excuse his actions, but it makes him more than a black-and-white villain.

#lis #life is strange #asks #david madsen

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Exile

Andy Barber x Reader

Author's Note: Its been like two years and I'm still not over this song. Summary: Five years after their break-up, one person's still reeling while the other's moved on. Warnings: Angst. Masterlists

It must have been ages since he’d last seen her; three, four years? Maybe five. It felt like a lifetime ago though, and still, he was stuck. Andy was stuck; stuck in a moment that might have been reduced to chump change for her, stuck in the hurt of their end, stuck in the confusion of their strange reality. How could one person feel like home one minute than become like a stranger the next?

Andy still didn’t understand where, or when, it all went wrong. 

But it obviously had and now Y/n had found someone that could do better by her. From what he’d gathered, his replacement was also an attorney, but instead of putting criminals away, he was in-house counsel for a big pharma firm. Allen? Adam? Aiden? Andy couldn’t quite remember his name, though, he was sure he’d heard it when he’d asked another guest to confirm that he was in fact, seeing Y/n across the room, wrapped up elegantly in crimson satin.

“Oh, yeah. It’s her. She’s here with her finacee….”

Fiancee. 

He couldn’t believe his ears when he’d heard it; Y/n was engaged while he was still trying to pick up the pieces. He’d lost his home, while someone else had found a haven- he wondered if the man knew how lucky he was; back then, Andy hadn’t. The news had been like a sucker punch in the gut and it had taken three whiskeys- neat- before he could even begin to believe it. And then another two to propel him out the doors when she slipped away to the balcony, following her the way he should have all those years ago. 

She’d spotted him from the minute they’d entered, and at the sight of Andy, Y/n had shifted uncomfortably in Aaron’s embrace. He’d asked if she was okay and she’d lied and said yes, but really, Y/n was quaking inside. Figures that the first big event that she and her fiancee attend since getting engaged involved her ex, and not just any ex; Andy Barber, the only one she regretted breaking up with. 

Though, it wasn’t like he’d given her much of a choice; for the most part, Y/n had felt lonelier in that relationship than she’d been while she was single. 

“You okay?” He glanced down at her, easily picking up on her discomfort. Affectionately, he rubbed his hand up and down the small of her back, following her gaze before adding anything to his earlier concern, “Wait,” he knitted his brows, “Is that him?”

Him. His predecessor. In Aaron’s mind, the one that had, by some sort of divine consequence, made their relationship that much more worth it. Because of the carnage Andy had wrecked, Aaron had worked that much harder.

Still, without effort, she loved him. 

“Yeah,” she elicited, “I didn’t think he kept in contact with Tammy and Greg,” Y/n mused absently, glancing down at the dry bubbly half filling her delicate champagne flute. 

“Is this hard for you?” Aaron probed, bending to press a kiss to the top of her head, all while she kept her gaze trained on Andy, who suddenly looked ready to punch through walls- his pain always had a way of getting muddled with fury. She’d wanted him to see a therapist, he’d been adamant that he didn’t need one- or her. “I know its been a while but……” 

But she’d once made a messiah of Andy in her mind; he was on a pedestal and she’d excused so much in the name of protecting what they had , until the grief of it all had become cigarette burns on her soul by their end.

“No,” she shook her head, finally breaking eye contact with Andy to meet Aaron’s hazel gaze, “Its not hard. Why would it be?” She drew in a large gulp of her champagne, all but finishing off the glass. 

He knitted his brows, “Because….nothing. I’m glad you’re good,” he bent a bit lower, while Y/n tipped her chin, meeting his lips. It was a short one, though, she struggled to get through it; suddenly, Andy was all she could think about. When they broke, Y/n glanced back towards where he’d been standing, across the room only to find that the anger in his expression had melted away, making room for something else;

Jealousy? 

Apathy?

If he was anything like the man she’d left behind, it would remain indecipherable; he had a knack for hiding what he was really feeling under stoicism. When they’d first met, she’d called it brooding and thought it gave him the most attractive edge but towards the end of their relationship, it had become one of their most glaring points of contention. 

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like if she’d stayed; would he have ever changed? Or would they have gone to that wedding as strangers living in the same house- as opposed to strangers that stared at each other from across the room. 

“I’m just gonna run to the restroom,” Y/n smiled tightly, finishing off the remainder of her champagne, handing her glass over to Aaron before slipping away. She didn’t know why she excused herself or lied about it, she actually had no intention of going to the restroom, nor did she think that it was wise to be alone with her own thoughts, not when they’d been run amuck with memories that were as sharp as broken glass……and others that were as delicate as daisies. Yet, despite that, as her fiancee took her empty glass, Y/n bent her head and crossed the large room, only glancing backwards to ensure that he’d turned to chat with someone else before heading for the balcony doors instead of the hall that would lead to the ladies room.

The frigid air hit her face, as well as the skin let exposed by her one shoulder gown, in a rush as a gentle gust of wind stirred the city the minute Y/n stepped onto the balcony, shutting the door behind herself. Inhaling deeply, she took a few quick steps towards the railing, only stopping when she could grab the cold wrought iron in her hands. 

She shouldn’t have gone to that wedding, it wasn't enough to think he'd stopped hanging out with their friends. 

She shouldn’t be giving that much consideration to a man who hadn’t appreciated her worth. 

She shouldn’t-

“Hey,” the sound of an all too familiar voice was enough to make her breath audibly catch in her throat. Instead of turning around, Y/n clutched the railing tighter and squeezed her eyes shut; maybe if she pretended he wasn’t there, he’d go away. 

Maybe she didn’t want him to go away. 

Sucking in a sharp breath, Y/n whipped her head around, taking a moment to drink in Andy, illuminated only by dim city lights and the traces of intimate lighting that seeped out of the door, opened just a sliver. He looked like a dream; dressed to the nines in a tailored tux and when he absently smoothed his hand over the lapel of his coat, she caught a glimpse of cuff links she’d gifted him on his wrists- diamond encrusted horseshoes, for good luck. “Hi,” she breathed, shoulders falling, as if she’d just defeated herself. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Here at the wedding, or here?” Andy probed, finally shutting the door in favor of stepping closer. 

Y/n shrugged; the correct answer might have been ‘both’, but saying it felt wrong somehow, so she didn’t. “How have you been?” 

Andy licked his lips, “Clearly not as good as you,” he nodded to her engagement ring; a stunning trilogy of diamonds set in delicate, twin sapphire encrusted bands. Scoffing, Y/n rolled her eyes; of course one of the first things he’d say to her after five years was a snarky swipe about her moving on. “Sorry,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’ve been um….” He raked his short nails through his beard, and as she saw him do it, Y/n longed to do the same- she used to love the roughness of his scruff under the softness of her palms. “I guess I’ve been better,” he huffed a lonesome, dry chuckle. 

Frowning, Y/n reached out to grasp his bicep, and while she knew the gesture might have been a tad too intimate, she couldn’t help but look at him and feel like he needed comfort; broken and tired. “What’s wrong?”

He shook one shoulder and threw a glance at her hand on his arm and relented, “You’re gone.”

Y/n sighed again, dropping her hand and taking a step back, “You can’t-”

“I know,” Andy hung his head. 

“And that was on you anyway,” she continued pointedly, the twinge of heartbreak evident in her tone. She hated thinking about it; the moment that she’d come to terms with the fact that Andy was never going to change and being in a relationship with him meant always being kept at an arm’s length. 

“I know,” he threaded his hand through his hair while stuffing his other hand into the pocket of his black slacks, “God,” he hissed, suddenly, driving his side of his fist against the top of the railing, “But I don’t fucking know. We were good, Y/n.”

She shook her head, “Don’t do this Andy,” Y/n reasoned, adding with emphasis, “We’ve done this before,” the whole song and dance; her explaining why she needed to leave and him arguing that he’d thought they were fine. “And its been five years,” she licked her lips, “You’ve had too much to drink and-”

“Its been five years,” he shook his head, “Five fucking years and I still don’t get it where it went wrong. Five years and I  can’t get over you- you were everything, Y/n.”

She scoffed, casting her gaze towards the darkened distance, only illuminated by little yellow and white dots peppered in buildings, “You kept saying that-”

“Because its true,” he promised earnestly, “You were all that I had, you mean everything to me, and you left like it was all nothing.”

“I left because you started acting like were nothing! I was always the last thing on your mind,” exhaling heavily, Y/n shook her head, “You never talked to me-”

“Oh, come on,” Andy scoffed, “We talked-”

“Not about anything that mattered,” Y/n snapped, “You kept everything all…..bottled in. I felt like…..like I was looking at you through a window or something; I never knew what was going on with work, what you were feeling.”

Andy scrubbed his hand over his beard again, shaking his head, “You could have asked.”

“I did,” she stressed, moistening her lips, “But talking to you was like talking to a fucking brick wall,” he glanced away and Y/n could see him resisting fact; refusing to believe that he could have a hand in her leaving,

In their end.

“I don’t get it,” he shook his head, “Its like everyone knew but me,” he slumped his shoulders, and even in the dimness she could see his deep frown.

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” she sniffled, “Everyone knew but you,” her voice broke pitifully, “We’d been falling apart for months; all of our friends could see it, my parents- everyone. And you were just….” Y/n shrugged, “It was like you weren’t even there.”

Or maybe, it was like she wasn’t there. 

“Do you know what that felt like?" Her shoulders slumped and she gestured absently with her hands, "You’d come home and barely say anything. We’d have dinner together and you’d work right through it- wouldn’t even notice if I got up,” she sighed, “When we went out, you’d spend half the time answering emails- or doing literally anything else. God," Y/n scoffed, "I honestly started to think that you thought the weather was more interesting than I was,” she chuckled dryly, “I don’t know if you were lazy or just comfortable, but it hurt like hell.”

“I was up for a promotion,” he argued firmly, “You know that.”

“Yeah, well that doesn’t mean I stopped existing," her tone was firm, despite the pain weighing it down, "I’m not a toy, you can’t just put me away when you don't have time to play,” knitting her brows furiously, Y/n folded her arms.

“That wasn’t how I meant it-”

“Well that’s how it felt,” she countered evenly.

Andy didn’t speak for a while and Y/n suspected that it was because he didn’t really have a way to defend himself that time. The silence must have persisted for at least five or six minutes, until he said softly, “I’m sorry, I should have been better. ”

Still angry, Y/n scoffed and swiped at her eyes, “Yeah, you should have,” so they could have stayed together, because as much as she hated to admit it, she still thought of him. 

“I want to be better,” hesitantly, Andy reached out for her hand, and despite knowing that it wasn’t entirely appropriate, she let him have it. “I can be better, I know it. You know it,” he professed earnestly. Andy lifted her hand between them, and spared a moment to glance down at her ring, before stepping closer. She knew she should have stepped back, or even just pulled away. But she didn’t, instead, when he bent his head a little, Y/n tipped her chin and tried to meet his eyes.

“Andy…..” She rasped when his lips had gravitated so close to hers that she could almost taste the liquor on them. 

He brought his free hand up to her face, touching her jaw in a backhanded caress and, unwittingly, Y/n leaned into his touch. “I miss you,” he elicited, “I lost everything when you left,” his nose was touching hers and Y/n’s breathing was heavy in anticipation of what was to come. 

Shutting her eyes tightly, she felt a warm trickle seep from her tangled lashes; every memory she’d made with him flitted through her mind like a film on a projector. Every date, every kiss, every ‘I love you’. They’d had so many good times, and in that moment, standing so close to him, the bad ones seemed muted. “Don’t do this,” she pleaded weakly, knowing that there wasn’t enough will in her veins to tug her away from him, “Please.”

Y/n wanted to kiss him. She missed him too. 

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he choked out, tightening his grip on her hand a moment before interlocking their fingers, “Do you think about me?” There was an urgency in the question, one that almost hurt her to hear. 

“Of course I do,” she admitted, breath hitching, “But you hurt me.”

“I didn’t mean to. I promise, I would never want to hurt you,” his thumb shifted to swipe her slow tears away and Andy sniffled softly, “If I could do it all again….” He didn’t need to finish for her to know where he was going; she’d only thought the same thing for the past five years.

“But you can’t,” her voice was thick with emotion as the realization dawned upon her; he was five years too late. She had a fiancee, her life had gone on after she’d walked out of that door and it wasn’t fair to Aaron, the man who never let her question his affections, to stand there with Andy like that. A strained sob broke from her lips as Y/n finally stumbled backwards, pulling her hand away from his so she could point weakly, “You can’t just apologize and expect everything to change.” Aaron was kind and sweet, he listened and let her in. They were solid,  he was safe- he didn’t deserve her betrayal. 

Maybe if they'd seen each other again before she’d gotten engaged. Maybe if he’d reached out after she’d left.

Maybe if he’d actually cared instead of throwing his hands up in defeat as she walked to her car.

“I should go back inside,” her low tone was husky and Y/n struggled to come by the words, “It was….it was good seeing you Andy,” swallowing thickly, Y/n turned away, headed back towards the doors. 

“You want the truth? You wanna know how I really am? You wanna know how I fucking feel?” Andy began desperately as she closed her hand in on the knob, “Bad. I feel bad, I’ve been bad; I’ve feel like shit everyday because….because I pushed away the one person that actually gave a damn about me. And I’ve known it for a damn long time but I couldn’t admit it, not even just now. I couldn’t admit it because…..” His voice broke, “I couldn’t admit it because…..then I'd have to accept that I threw everything away. My second act, " he gestured widely, outstretching his arms before dropping them heavily at his side, "The first person that took a chance on me after my life went to shit.” He paused for a minute, and Y/n couldn’t bare to look at him knowing there’d been pain written all over his face, “All those people in there, all of them- they only give a shit about me because of you. I couldn’t do that on my own; get myself together, move on, make friends.”

When she’d met him, Andy had practically been a shell; caught in a work/home cycle with not even a trace of a social life. He was still reeling from losing Laurie and Jacob and it had taken months- almost a year- of work on her end for him to even entertain her offer to grab lunch together. She used to joke that she’d wore him down while Andy adamantly argued that he’d only refused for so long because he’d thought she was only asking him out on a pity date. 

“I get that I’m not your problem anymore,” he added in a moment of tense silence, “But-”

“You were never a problem,” Y/n countered without turning around. Turning the knob, she tugged the door open, “But its too late now.”

Too late for apologies, too late for him to decide to work on himself. 

Too late for her to turn back. 

Clenching her jaw, Y/n headed back into the main room, desperately trying to keep it together. Like it had the first time, leaving Andy broke her heart, but like she had the first time, she promised herself it was the right thing to do- even if deep down, she knew it wasn’t. 

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #andy barber #andy barber x reader #chris evans x you #andy barber x you #defending jacob

[sheafrotherdon]

Nile quickly learns that living is exhausting. She isn’t ready to call it a miracle, the way her bones knit back together; there’s too much to take in, too great a weight of information and experience to sort through; she can’t yet give her resurrections a name. She knows barely anything for sure save the fact that it is goddamn tiring to heal and she didn’t expect it. As if immortality is a thing you can expect.

The first few times are a novelty, and she’s running on adrenaline, so the crash takes a while to take hold. But when it comes it’s totalizing, a wholesale inability to cope with one more thing, and god, if Joe doesn’t stop whistling, if Andy doesn’t stop looking at her, if Nicky doesn’t stop being so fucking reasonable she will absolutely lose her shit. She seeks out solitude as soon as she’s able, closing off when there’s no physical escape from her proximity to the others, and they all respect it, which is so fucking annoying she wants to punch something, maybe them. When there’s space and time she sleeps, falling into unconsciousness like she’s pitching over a cliff, waking up hours later hungry and disoriented, pursued by some vague sense of shame and guilt.

But no one takes her aside and tells her she needs to buck up, get with the program, respect the team. Instead Nicky feeds her, no matter the hour, meals that he seems to conjure out of thin air when all Nile was sure they could count on at the safe house was a packet of soup mix and four saltines. Joe is her physical anchor—the first of them, always, to lay a hand at the back of her neck, to knock her foot with his under the table, to jostle her elbow and throw her a smile. And Andy keeps her counsel, dropping wisdom when Nile least expects it, explaining what they’ve figured out about their shared metabolism, and the importance of a good pillow, fuck sleeping on rocks.

It's exhausting and humbling, and there’s grief running beneath everything she feels, and for all that her body can regenerate in a heartbeat, Nile thinks her skin maybe can’t contain everything it must. She feels drunk with feeling, like she’s staggering from one moment to another, hand always outstretched to find something to brace against. And every time it’s one of the others, in word or deed or touch, who provides solidity in a world made fluid. Every time they shore her up. Every time they wait and proffer and tease until she feels the snick of her sense of self falling into place. She’s more tired than she’s ever been, but she’s alive, too. It’s everything and too much and just enough, and she might survive this, she thinks to herself, she really just might.

#nile freeman #overwhelm #team #found family #patience #comfort #love

[iprefertheterminsane]

Ok, I just need to get this out of my head but

Dreamling Medieval Royal AU with King Dream and Knight Hob

So basically what I was thinking is (punched) aw fuck, I cant believe you've done this

In a somewhat canon compliant manner, the story TECHNICALLY starts with Dream (Morpheus) getting kidnapped and held hostage for 6 months

He does eventually manage to get himself free and find himself back to his realm, which had been near the brink of war with the absence of their king

He resolves most problems, other than the tension when his people discover he's been kidnapped by nobility of Desire and Despair (Eros and Oizys)'s Kingdom, which in itself had been in a form of civil turmoil for an ongoing year now. Theyre clamoring for retribution but Dream REALLY isn't in the place of mind to deal with clamoring for war with his own sibling rn

Lucienne, palace librarian and closest counsel, advises him to get his bearings and properly heal with Death (Thana), the sibling with which he was closest to in her kingdom (The Sunless Lands)

She welcomes him with an open arms, and receives him gladly. He mostly spends most of his time in his room or in the Palace, just relishing having a break from his duties, but Death is a hovering mother hen and he escapes from the palace to get some space from her

He spends time instead brooding in the smaller gardens behind the palace kitchens, where (here comes the fun part) Knight!Hob finds him for the first time

Sir Robert Gadling, also known as Hob to his compatriots, is among Death's favourite soldiers. He spars in the courtyard with the rest of the bros every day

Its been a rough couple of years for him as well. Hes only returned from a 3 year war outside the kingdom, during which his wife and son had died from plague when he returned. Death stayed with him in his manor to accompany him in his grief, and hes very indebted to her.

That being said, he Does Not recognize who Dream is.

He would have left the guy alone, he was just taking a bit of a stroll and see if a pal from the kitchens have a snack for him to munch on, but the guy looks so lost and mournful and sad, so like him when Hob had returned, and Hob knows more than anyone how desperately one would like a friend.

He strikes up conversation. They guy looked SPOOKED, like a stray animal ready to flee at the first sign of agression. It wrenches Hob's heart to think of what could have made him so scared and wary.

And Dream, considering his experiences and fresh trauma, WAS scared and wary

The man doesn't tell Hob his name, but he wasn't deterred.

The Stranger is a WONDERFUL listener, not speaking much but attentive and kind eyes, and Hob hasn't felt so free and unguarded with someone new for ages.

They depart at dusk, nearly dinnertime.

When Hob returns the next day, there was the stranger still where he'd left him

They would proceed to have similar little dates. Hob still doesnt know who this Stranger is. He doesnt know where he comes from or if he works in the kitchens (though his clothes looked too fine for that) or if he was some sort of mute fae or what.

However on their very last date, they had a bit of a fight where Hob suggested they might be friends and the Stranger just blew his absolute top off on offense for reasons Hob could not compute. He left their date early, very similar to canon timeline break uo scene

And Dream was pulled away to return to the Dreaming for a political emergency that evening, so he didnt even have time to apologize. He doesnt meet Hob the next day, but Hob waited past dusk, basically all day for him :( and hes convinced its bc he said something stupid

End of Part 1

#Dreamling #royal AU #knight Hob #Let Him Be Mine #LHBM AU #sandman #dream #death #hob gadling

[thedeviltohisangel]

I Heard From The Heavens//2

He nodded once, almost imperceptibly, but she noticed. She noticed the way it strained him to look away. She noticed the way he hit the pool balls with more force than necessary. She noticed the way he had to focus on not looking her way more than the game in front of him. Jake noticed that Daphne had blossomed in front of Bradley the moment she had seen him. Noticed that the walls in front of her heart that she had told him scared her spared no chance against the mustached pilot. Noticed she said his name like it was something fucking biblical.

Bradley & Daphne’s Infinite Playlist: What About Love? by Heart

masterlist is my url/writing or on ao3

this was a request to write about daphne and the other pilots. please send more!

The basement of the church was exactly how one might imagine it. Out of data tiled floor, flimsy paneling for the ceiling and lighting that washed out any semblance of life that could’ve been breathed into it. This was the setting for the grief counseling Daphne was currently keeping secret from Bradley. 

“Daphne, how about you start us off this week? Last week, you touched on the notion that your grief might be a cover for some other feelings.” She picked at the cardboard ring around her coffee cup and took a deep breath. Her friend from school had died and Bradley hadn’t been there. She had been sad and lost and alone and she resented him for it. It wasn’t his fault. But she told herself it was sadness over her friend’s passing to cope with the increasing anger she felt for the man she loved and was trying to solve it on her own.

“I think I’m lonely. I think my grief is really anger.”

“Is your anger targeted?” Her eyes flicked around the room. The conversations were meant to be kept inside of these four walls. Nothing scared her more than the idea that they might escape.

“Yes.” The facilitator looked at her like she wanted more but Daphne didn’t budge. She couldn’t verbalize her resentment and anger. There would be no coming back from that.

“I’d like to second something she said. When I lost a family member last year, I used grief to allow myself to act any way I wanted. I used it to amplify other actions or behaviors. It became a fragile shield in a way.” That was Jake. He had been a member of the group before her. Had helped her with the coffee machine at her first meeting. Had jumped in to talk every time the words died in her throat. She smiled at him gratefully as someone else took his words and carried the conversation away from her chair. He smiled back.

----

“Thanks for saving me back there. I should have never verbalized all that last week to you guys instead of the person I’m actually upset with,” Daphne said as Jake poured her a fresh cup of coffee. She had torn the other cup to shreds during the previous conversation. 

“That’s what the group is here for. Maybe it’s good practice so you can tell them,” he said, “Not to pry but sounds like boy problems.”

“My…boyfriend,” she grimaced as the word fell. That word had been the reason she had gotten no sleep the night before.

“Sounds like vinegar coming out of your mouth,” he teased as he took a sip of his own drink.

“Story for a different setting,” she answered. A quick glance at her watch said she needed to get home soon. Her excuse of working late at the office was only going to last so much longer. 

“Let me walk you to your car,” Jake offered with an extended hand. Daphne nodded and led him in the direction of the parking lot, chatting about simple things as they made their way outside. 

“My two cents, Daphne, is that you talk to him. Keeping it inside is tearing you up more than the actual emotion. And if you love him-”

“I do. More than anything,” she interrupted. She couldn’t let the universe think for one second her heart had faltered.

“-then he’ll help you heal,” Jake finished with a smile as they reached her car. “I’ll see you around.” She swallowed as the air between them suddenly felt thick. It made her heart tighten, the way he was looking at her. It was too intimate. Too vulnerable. Too honest. All she could do was nod and look away as the heat of his gaze became too much. Driving home that night, she couldn’t get the weight of his eyes off her skin. Couldn’t get the way his muscles strained as he stopped himself from touching her out of her mind. Couldn’t play her music loud enough to get the words he spoke of acknowledgement to stop them from echoing around her mind. The words she so badly wished she had the courage to say to Bradley but had only said to Jake. And the words he had said back that soothed an ache within her. And the way it was just one more secret she had promised never to keep.

----

Her and Bradley had been two ships crossing in the night for the past week. She had spent every day working herself up to finally talk to him about the lead of emotions sitting in her stomach only for him to get stuck doing extra PT or taking a new candidate on a certification flight or or or. It had only served to exacerbate the exact reason she had been dying to sit and communicate with him. But he had promised he would stick to their plans to meet at the Hard Deck Friday night so here she was, in one of his favorite shirt dresses with orange and purple flowers, nursing a beer at the bar. She was staring into space in the direction of some naval officers playing pool when she felt a towel hit against her arm.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Daphne smiled. Even though the on and off between her father and Penny Benjamin was in an off phase, she had always found her presence to be warm and welcoming. Especially now that she was here with Bradley while he worked to graduate TOPGUN, she could use all the familiar faces she could find.

“Bradley is meeting me here. Haven’t been seeing much of him lately,” she mused. 

“Training must keep him busy,” she offered. Daphne nodded, only imagining the picture of melancholy she was currently painting at the bartop. Did she expect too much of him? Was she not as understanding of this life as she thought she was? Was her mother right all along that it wasn’t worth loving a man who would always love the sky more?

“Must be,” she spoke back without any inflection in her tone.

“Well, well, well, I told you I’d see you around.” Her neck almost cracked from whipping around to see the voice behind her.

“Jake,” then her eyes absorbed his uniform, “you never said you were Navy.” It sounded like an accusation rolling off her tongue. 

“Not part of the program,” he smirked back. “Besides, you’re in a Navy bar.” He leaned on his forearms next to her and signaled for two beers.

“Don’t tell me you’re a pilot,” she groaned as he handed her one of the glass bottles and clinked their necks together.

“Best there is, sweetheart.” This was an entirely new Jake to her. He was self-assured, openly flirtatious and carried himself like the weight of the world on his shoulders was a single feather.

“Hate to break it to you, Hangman, but that seat’s taken.” She doesn’t think Bradley could have had worse timing. If she could crawl inside of her dress and never face the world again, she’d be happy.

“Bradshaw.” Jake’s eyes flicked to Daphne’s and lingered. “This your girl?” 

“More than that,” he replied evenly. Jake, for his part, stayed silent as he took a large swig of his beer and tried to read her expression. It was pleading. Pleading for him to walk away. Forget everything he had ever heard her say at group. Forget that he now connected a live wire.

“Enjoy the night, beautiful.” He winked and followed her wishes by departing. Daphne could finally breathe again.

“You good? If he was bothering you or tried anything-”

“You’ll shoot him out of the sky for me tomorrow?” she smiled as Bradley took Jake’s place and leaned on the bar next to her.

“Something like that.” He leaned in to kiss her hello, her hands interlocking at the nape of his neck to keep him there longer. Life always seemed simpler once they were together. As if the times they were apart allowed the shadows to creep in. “I’ve missed you lately,” he murmured as she let him come up for some air. 

“Me too. I don’t like this distance between us,” she whispered as if it was the most sacred thing. 

“I’ve felt it,” he admitted, all of sudden focusing on her fingers in her lap and twisting them with his. “I never want to let you down.”

“I’ve been letting myself down,” she chuckled as tears began to prick at her eyes. “I’m so lost here.” Moving to North Island has been hard.  Not only had she lost a close friend but Bradley wasn’t around to keep her busy. And everywhere she looked were memories of her parents. Her father, who had distanced himself after a particularly taxing interaction with Bradley last time he visited, and her mother who had grown to hate the man she met here. Bradley had noticed her struggling. Longer nights at work. No more dancing with him in the kitchen. The smallest of tasks exhausting her. He had noticed but he hadn’t wanted to ask. He was scared. Scared that this life wasn’t for her anymore. That he was on the verge of losing the one thing he had left. That was a loss he knew he would never be able to move on from.

“We’re gonna make it better. You and I are gonna fix this. I’ll fix it, I’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel safe here.” She nodded as the tears trickled down her face. “I can’t fucking lose you, Daph.” Bradley quickly pinched his nose to keep his own tears at bay. He hadn’t realized how much he had been keeping locked away himself.

“You won’t. Not ever, Bradley, I promise.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and he pulled her as tightly against him as their rib cages would allow. Over his shoulder, she caught eyes with Jake. He nodded once, almost imperceptibly, but she noticed. She noticed the way it strained him to look away. She noticed the way he hit the pool balls with more force than necessary. She noticed the way he had to focus on not looking her way more than the game in front of him. Jake noticed that Daphne had blossomed in front of Bradley the moment she had seen him. Noticed that the walls in front of her heart that she had told him scared her spared no chance against the mustached pilot. Noticed she said his name like it was something fucking biblical.

And when Daphne held tightly to Bradley’s arm as they walked to his Bronco later that night, Penny noticed another pilot’s eyes trailing after them. And she knew heartbreak when she saw it.

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #miles teller #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #rooster x reader #rooster #hangman seresin x reader #hangman top gun

[ohyangchon]

Morgan "Lite" Altea is someone with a weight resting on her shoulders that she really shouldn't have at her age.

Her fathers were good people, if not slightly eccentric - Chrom was sweet, patient and charismatic, a businessman who commanded the attention of so much that one would argue he was a prince. Robin was quiet and awkward, a military man who had worked closely with Chrom when they'd both served briefly during the second World War, and when they had finally gotten together, they had three wonderful children.

What was strange was that they were all named "Morgan", perhaps due to Robin's past and his need to escape his controlling prophet of a father - the ramblings of "truth" and "power" however followed the family despite this deliberate muddling, and Lite found herself leaving to serve in the Afghanistan War, applying her tactician wit to good use inheriting that from her father.

The war came and went. Lite would remain haunted by the lives she had marched to their deaths, and the lives she held in her hands throughout this, and when she had returned, her eyes damaged supposedly beyond repair, she had gotten news of the death of both her brothers, seemingly torn up by an unspeakably horrific beast that had whirlwinded through their family apartment.

By this time, Robin was no longer the father she remembered. He'd shattered from the death of both his sons, and Chrom, as much as he adored his remaining daughter, retired to devote all his time to ensuring Robin didn't run off attempting to seek whatever "truth" he'd glimpsed that fateful night.

Lite exited again, keeping her fathers out of her private life. Her hands, once skilled with a gun, now turned to working with flowers, and she became a florist instead with her pension, discreetly serving poisons to those she despised and those she determined were the root of her family's misery.

Meeting Kieran during mandatory grief counselling was really just the tip of their ill-fated iceberg. They grew closer, then tighter, and finally were irrevocably intertwined as Kieran offered her sight once more - on the account that she marry him to bury the scandal of his past resurfacing. With nothing left to lose, Lite agreed.

Even in her quiet time with Kieran, then Myron, Lite recognised the darkness pursuing all three of them. She understood Myron's unusual survival, and the way Kieran's arms would bleed ichor if he so much as thought of physically harming another with intent, were unusual occurrances. She keeps her sunglasses on, uncertain of what she might confront taking them off.

Lite escapes into the night. She needed answers - and it was time to stop avoiding her questions.

#the singular path #tadprompts #thinking about Dankyung in the Kult universe #I have to decide what archetype to make her

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

The Reaper and the Death Angel Part 28

Opie deserves better and he's going to get it, there's lots of mental health talk in the chapter so tread carefully. While it's all put in a positive light, I understand if this is where you leave me. I must also apologise for the filth in this chapter, Grammarly has seen things.

Series Masterlist

Part 27

Contains: Fluff, smut(phone sex, M and F masturbation, Dom/sub dynamics, rope bondage, fingering, sex toys, oral sex F receiving, P in V, CONSENT, aftercare), discussions of mental health, discussions of attempted sexual assault, loosely follows the plot of 2x04and 2x05. If I miss any, please let me know.

6.5K Words

Comment if you want to be tagged.

Time away and Clay has Jax frustrated.

You were in Jax's arms, even after the successful wrap party and the fun in the bathroom, his mind was elsewhere. "What's wrong dearest?"

Jax squeezed your arm, "it's Opie, I'm so worried about him."

You rolled over, resting your head on his chest, "did something happen at the meth house? Sam seemed worried too."

Jax buried his face in your hair, "he blew the house up without a remote, he was thrown off his feet by the blast. He could have been killed and he knew that."

You put a hand on his chest, "that's not good Jax, this on top of him walking into fire at that meet. You've got grounds to worry." There was no point in lying.

"What do I do?"

You drummed your fingers on his skin, "you make sure he's not on the brink of doing something harmful. I've been here a million times before Jax, the quiet ones are the ones you worry about. I'll talk to him; sometimes, a bit of tough love goes a long way. Plus, I did Donna's autopsy, it affords me a level of understanding."

Jax embraced you, pressing his lips to your ear, "thank you."

"Hey Opie, can we talk?" You didn't wait, the next day you showed up at the garage with some cakes and pulled Opie aside the moment he was free, "sure, is everything ok?"

You shook your head, "not really, I hear you've been taking some very unnecessary risks."

He didn't respond, "I understand you are in pain, probably the worst pain you've ever been in but so are your kids. Whatever idea you've got in your head has got to go, they need you here."

He looked at you, his eyes almost wet, "it has to stop Ope. This wallowing in your misery is an affront to Donna's memory. She took a bullet meant for you and instead of spending every day of your life grateful that you get to spend another day with your children, you're pissing that chance down the drain."

He looked away, his breathing rough, "she loved you Opie, with all her heart, she loved you enough to stay through everything. And you are tossing that love aside. I can't say anything that will ease your pain, but I can tell you that you're not helping anyone by thinking and acting the way you are." He looked crestfallen.

"Now, you are going unfuck yourself or I'll do it for you. I don't care what you do, take up knitting or fishing or stamp collecting, drag yourself to grief counselling or a widower group or turn to God. Hell, fix every broken down bike you come across. I've been to too many funerals where everyone is in mourning for someone who didn't need to die and I won't be going to yours.I will drag you to help, kicking and screaming if I have to. I might be small but I contain much rage and it gets me places."

You could see the resolve on his face, "you know my number, I don't care what time of day or night it is, if you want to talk about anything, I'll pick up. Don't give me another person to mourn Ope, I've already got too many people to remember."

****

"What's the run"

Jax was getting dressed, "blood drive, Eureka Children's hospital." You took a breath, "it's a shame your good work is covering the sale of weapons. How long will you be gone?"

Jax pulled you into his arms, "I'll be home late tomorrow."

You smiled, "what ever will I do without you? You know, idle hands are the devil's playthings, you should stay by your phone so I just in case I get any ideas."

He leaned down and kissed you, his hands gripping your tightly. Just as the kiss was getting heated, Abel started crying, "my boy, the master of timing." You shook your head and Jax pressed one last kiss to your lips, "I'll get him."

Upon Jax's return, you were sitting on the bed deep in thought, "what?"

You took a deep breath, "just thinking about Opie, how's he doing." Jax smiled, "whatever you said to him must have worked, he seems better."

You breathed a sigh of relief, "tough love, sometimes people need a smack across the head to knock them out of their pain. It's very different from my normal approach but oatmeal wasn't going to cut it."

Jax huffed a laugh, "you're amazing, you know that?"

You shook your head, "don't count your chickens just yet, I can't fix what's going on with Ope, I can only lend him a helping hand."

****

With the guys gone, it was time to put some plans into motion. You went into bone storage and took out the case you were looking for. The case was open and shut and the killer was already inside, which was why it hadn't been touched. The victim was a smuggler who got caught up with the wrong crowd and ended up getting killed. The reason you wanted it was a piece of evidence, a tobacco leaf.

Zobelle was outside when you showed up at impeccable smokes. You went up to him smiling, sticking your hand out for a handshake, "hello Mr Zobelle, I'm Dr l/n and I work at The Nothern California science and natural history museum. If you have the time, I'd like to ask you some questions about the cold case I'm working."

He took your hand and you squeezed hard, "I'm not sure I'll be able to help, don't you have experts you work with?"

You nodded, "I do, I have tobacco experts, leaf experts, and trade experts, but you add a different perspective. Sometimes knowing the emotional and situational context is just as important as factual information."

He invited you in and you smiled at Weston as you creasted to the threshold, "hello, I don't believe we've met are you helping Mr Zobelle set up his store?"

He nodded, "yeah."

You sat down at one of the tables and got the evidence bag out, "the killer has actually been caught and is serving life so the DA didn't feel the need to bother but I want to give the victim justice. Can you please tell me what kind of cigar producer would use this kind of leaf and curing process?"

He picked up the bag and looked it over, "someone who was being cheap, you can see that the leaf isn't the best from the harvest, I wouldn't even think of selling something like that here."

You nodded, "thank you Mr Zobelle, do you think it might be a part of a counterfeit operation, I'm sure you've run into that before?"

He tilted his head, "yes on the occasion but we always know what to look for."

You smiled warmly, it was false, "thank you for all your help Mr Zobelle, this whole thing has been very enlightening."

****

As you walked out the door, Gemma's car pulled up. You walked over to her when she got out, "Gemma what are you doing here?" She pulled out the Sherman's bag, showing you the mask, "wasn't that what they were wearing, how did you get it?"

She threw it back inside, "they sent it to me."

You put a hand on your shoulder and pushed her gently back to her car, "don't let them know it's gotten to you Gem, we're going back home and you're going to pretend you never got it, understand? There's a lot more going on than you think."

She gave you a dirty look but didn't resist, "what have you got planned?"

You looked behind you to see if they had noticed, "right now? I'm going to see Jacob Hale."

When you got to his office, he was in with his brother, as he came out, he met eyes with you and you walked up to him. "Hello Mr Hale, I have some concerns I think you need to hear?"

His slimy face broke out into a smile, "of course, I'm always happy to hear the concerns of a valued member of Charming."

"Are you aware that one of the men you rent to is surrounded by known and convicted Neo-Nazis?"

He was taken aback, "what?"

You stiffen your voice, "Are you aware that one of the men you rent to is surrounded by known and convicted Neo-Nazis?"

He shook his head, "no, I would never bring that kind of hate to Charming, if you have proof, please share it."

You smiled nastily, "I have proof, plenty in fact. I'll send it over to Unser, I'm sure he'll be interested to hear that those kinds of people are here, who knows what they're into or who they're working with. Don't you agree David."

The deputy turned to his brother, his expression righteous, "yeah I do, Neo-Nazi have no place here. Thank you for your concern y/n, I know we don't get along but I've always valued your input on cases."

You put a hand on his shoulder, "despite being a cop, I think you've got your head on straight. It's a shame your brother didn't do this due diligence. No matter, I'm sure you'll get it sorted, won't you Jacob?"

He nodded agreeably, "I'll be right on it. Thank you again for bringing this up."

****

Later that night, you called Jax, "how was your day, my love? I heard Piney had to leave to sort some things out."

You heard his chuckle, "yeah, Tig had a run-in with some bounty hunters."

You rolled your eyes, "do I want to know?"

There was a groan, "nope, you don't."

He could hear Abel babbling in the background, "how's the little guy?"

You chuckled, "Good, we had a very interesting conversation about geo-politics in perfume industry and I just put him down." There was the rustle of sheets.

"How was work?"

Jax had taken more and more interest in your job, if only to see you get all dorky. "Good, second case closed this week. Jack found a bug that led the feds to within two miles of the original crime scene, it's a slam dunk."

Jax smiled, "I'm glad things are getting better."

Jax didn't want to think about all the times you had crawled into his lap, close to crying because of unsolvable cases. "more good news, Anvil's contract has been expanded to another museum. Apparently, the curator for the California Museum of Technology was so impressed that security could answer questions about exhibits they wanted in."

"Did you end up getting that new fancy machine?"

He could hear the excitement in your voice, "the new mass spectrometer? Yes, it's amazing, it sings to us when it's done."

His tone changed, "what are you wearing?"

Of course he would start with such a stereotypical line, "One of your T-shirts, the white one with the hole in the arms and the faded Son in black. And those boyshorts you like, the ones with the ladybugs on the butt."

You could almost hear the smirk, "I like it when you wear my clothes."

You giggled, "I know, I like wearing your clothes. Are you busy?"

His voice got deeper, "no, you?"

You wonder if his hand was about to be busy, "nope, I'm in bed, all by my lonesome talking to you."

There was a grunt, soft but still there, "Jax, would you like me to touch myself?"

You heard his fist slam against something soft, "yeah Darlin, I'd like that." Jax was going to have a heart attack or faint, all the blood had rushed to his cock and now all he could think about was the vision taking place in your bedroom.

"You're on speaker." Jax could hear you opening the toy drawer, he was curious, aside from opening and closing it to get lube, you hadn't had the chance to enjoy the toy drawer yet.

"Are you having fun?"

With a light buzz over the line, the answer was more breathy, "yes, maybe you can sit and watch next time." His hand slid into hands pants, stroking his cock. Your hands were so much softer, more precise.

"Oh my God, Jax."

This was torture, hearing you but not being able to touch you, "you feeling good Darlin, bet you wish I was the one holding that toy."

Another one of your moans had his hand speeding up, "yes, your hands feel so much better."

He wondered if he had died somewhere along the road and this was hell, he could almost feel your hands grabbing at him. "Come on Darlin, I can hear how close you are, let go for me." The moment the words left his lips, he could hear it, the choked gasp that signified you had fallen over the edge.

Jax followed you violently, "fuck."

He heard you giggle across the line, "thank you Jackson."

His pleasure turned to smugness, "what have I told you about that?" Another giggle, "it's not like you're here to do anything about it."

He bit his fist, "listen here little girl, I'll be home tomorrow and after the day I've had, you are really in for it."

A huff, "oh really? I'm looking forward to it." So you knew he had a bad day and were offering an outlet, God he loved you.

"I love you y/n."

He sounded much calmer, "I love you too Jax. Goodnight beloved, I look forward to your return."

"Goodnight Darlin."

****

"Hello my love."

Jax pulled you into his arms, "you're a sight for sore eyes y/n." You smiled softly, reaching up to stroke his cheek. Jax had turned up at your office mid-morning, having raced home to see you.

"You want to talk about what's got you so upset or you want to deal with it tonight?"

Jax slumped in your arms, "both." You put a hand around his elbow and walked him to the couch in your office.

"Shit's gone to hell. You were right about Clay, his mask is off and he's pissed. I tried to push about Donna more and he told me he kill me if I brought it up again, no matter what you said."

Jax expected you to be angry, "good."

He tilted his head, "he doesn't think I can or will follow through. Underestimating me isn't smart Jackson, if he doesn't see me as a threat I can play him like a cheap flute."

Jax shifted, resting his head on your shoulder. "I'd be lost without you."

You ran a hand over his head, "hey, I need you just as much as you need me."

Jax smiled, "yeah, you need me to reach the top shelf."

You giggled, "that and you're very warm, I get cold at night without you."

He sat up and placed a hand on your cheek, "thank you, I feel a lot better." That was a half-truth, he was still thinking about bending you over whatever surface was available and fucking you until you couldn't stand.

"But I can tell you're still frustrated. My offer is still on the table, if you've still got shit to work through by tonight, I'm here."

His hand landed on your face, his thumb drifting over your lip, "you sure? It's not going to be sweet and romantic."

You turned your head, pressing a kiss to his palm, "nonsense, you're always romantic, even if you're bending me in half."

****

"Where to fuck were you?" Jax rolled his eyes, "seeing my old lady and the mother of my child."

Clay snarled, "don't forget what your main priority is, y/n can look after herself."

Jax's skin started to itch, "you're so fucking ungrateful. In the last few months, she has single handedly ended our war with The Mayans, ensured that the Italians will always be in our debt and tortured two men so we knew what we were dealing with when it comes to Zobelle, not to mention what she did for mum last month."

Everyone was quiet, they still remember Tig's face after church that night, all he kept repeating was how frighting you were. Bobby and Chibs said a quiet thank you, Juice did his best but couldn't find the words and the rest of them acted like it was an expectation and there was no need for thanks.

"ENOUGH." Sam stepped in front of Clay, making sure he didn't swing on Jax. "Both of you stop it. This is insanity, we have the enemy pounding at our door and you're bitching at each other." He stood over Clay. Sam always went out of his way not to make his 6'6 height stand out but not now, he was making sure Clay knew how big he was.

"You're a fucking Marine, pull your fucking head out of your ass and act like it. You have no control over your temper and you can't think ten minutes ahead, we are in the middle of it, unfuck yourself and stop thinking like a POG."

POG Person Other than Grunt, the most insulting thing you can be called by a fellow soldier other than a coward.

Clay stepped back, his eyes wide, "the fuck you say to me."

Sam wasn't having it, "you fucking heard me. You call Jax selfish but you're only thinking about yourself. We wouldn't be here if you and Trager had listened to everyone in the first place and got us out on guns six months ago."

Clay swung at Sam. Sam sidestepped, grabbing Clay's fist, "you want to try that again, old man?" It was like he was a different person, gone was the soft teddy bear, and in its place, a cold killer.

Clay pulled away and turned to Jax, "I should have figured you would sponsor someone so disrespectful." Jax was done, Clay might have well have said that about Thomas had he been alive.

Before Jax could hit him, Bobby stepped in, "that's enough. Sam's right, we have to focus on the bigger issue. Go home and cool off, we'll talk about this tomorrow."

****

A cloud of rage entered your home when Jax walked in, "bad day at work dear?" He grunted, "ok, we can talk about it over dinner if you like. It will be on the table by the time you have shower."

Jax was back downstairs and at the table within ten minutes, "Sam and Ima by themselves tonight?" He nodded and sat down, stabbing at his meal like it was the one that upset him.

"Clay went off again, Sam almost got physical with him."

Jax saw you swallow, "I'm sorry, after Caruso he's on a short fuse. You need to keep an eye on him Jax, I know it might not seem like it but he is a very violent man. I was able to calm him down after Donna but with all the trouble Luanne and the girls have been having, plus Clay, he's ready to blow."

Jax took a deep breath, "If you think he's scary when you spar you haven't seen anything, I've seen him beat men to death without blinking Jax. He'd shoot himself before he ever hurt someone innocent but Clay and Tig aren't really that."

Jax had never heard you this worried before, "yeah I think I saw that today, I'll make sure he doesn't go too far."

You smiled softly, "thank you, you have no idea how grateful I am that you're his friend."

Jax reached across the table and grabbed your hand, "I love you."

You squeezed his hand, "I love you too. Now let me wash the dishes and we can enjoy the rest of our night.

Jax's hand got a little tighter, "I'll wash up. Go to the bedroom, by the time I get up there, I want you naked, on your back, on the bed. Don't even think about touching yourself."

Jax took the opportunity to cool down a bit as he washed up, he could feel the race of his heart as he put away the last dish. Part of him wanted to wait, hoping to catch you disobeying him but the thought of you naked and waiting for him was too much.

He collected a jug of water and some snack bars and headed to the bedroom, pausing by the laundry to put some damped hand towels into the portable warmer you normally reserved for cleaning up on outings.

When he came to the bedroom and opened the door, he felt the anger renew. You were sitting at your vanity, rubbing oil on your nails. "I thought I told you to get naked and lay on the bed." You turned your head and smiled, not getting up. He put the items in his arms down on one of the side tables.

"You didn't say please."

Your disobedience had the desired effect. Jax was stalking over to you, lifting you up by your arm and tossing you onto the bed. "Take off your clothes."

You smirked at him, "make me."

He pulled you towards him by your hips, "take off your clothes, I won't ask again."

You put your lips within touching distance of his, "make me." Jax stepped back, he looked so angry. When he spoke, his tone was calm and not in a good way.

"Unless it's your safeword, or I'm asking you a question, I don't want to hear from you for the rest of the night. Nod if you understand." You went to open your mouth, and Jax's hand clamped over it, "nod if you understand." You nodded and Jax walked away, moving towards the closet, "do not move." You debated getting up, you could hear him getting rope out of the chest.

He was back before you could move, dropping multiple lengths of thick silk rope next to you and kneeling down at your feet, "give me your arms." You kept them by your sides, shooting Jax a defiant look. Jax was yanking you up by your upper arms, ripping off your T-shirt and bending you over, grabbing both your forearm to keep you from moving away.

He shifted, holding your wrists with one hand while he reached down to grab the rope. He threw the rope on the bed, flipped you over, and re-grabbed your hands.

He crossed your wrists, putting a folded up bit of the ruined T-shirt between them as he tied them together so nothing pressed uncomfortably. He bound your wrists in the thick cuff, the knots were expertly done and with each new loop and braid, he checked the tightness and if it would give you rope burn.

When he was done, there was a palm width cuff tie holding both your wrists together, "wiggle your fingers." His tone was soft, his role forgotten for a moment, "anything feels strange or painful? I need a verbal answer gorgeous." You wiggled your fingers and clenched your fist a few times.

"No, I can comfortably move my fingers and there's enough room for me to flex my forearms."

Jax nodded, "good. Now, you're going to do exactly what I tell you to do and maybe I'll let you cum tonight."

He stood over you, one hand holding your cuff wrists before yanking you up the bed and tying you to the headboard. He fluffed the pillow and placed it under your head, loosening the rope and adjuting it so your shoulder and elbows were supported and comfortable before retying your hands back up to the headboard.

"Are you planning on doing anything, or are you just going to stare at me?"

His hand was wrapping around your jaw and chin, being careful not to press on the sides of your face and set off a migraine, "what did I tell you about talking. One more slip up and I promise you won't get off for the rest of the month, let alone tonight."

He picked up the other bits of rope, spread your legs and tied each one to a bedpost, checking in again to make sure you were comfortable. Then he was opening the top drawer. He picked up the wand, the one that ran on wall power and plugged it into the powerboard next to the bed.

Jax put the wand next to your hip, picked up his K-Bar off the bedside table, and slipped it under the fabric of your underpants, slicing the sides. He took in your soft smile, and he had sudden flashes to the day you almost reduced Tig to tears for having a dull knife.

He was going to say something but he noticed the wet patch on the cotton, "at least there are parts of you that aren't defiant." He moved, sitting on the bed next to you. His hands were warm as he ran them over your skin, one made a path up your hip and to your face, turning your head to meet your eyes.

"I think I've been too lenient on you, maybe it's because you're so sweet to me or because I love your fire, but I'm going to fix that tonight and make sure we nip this attitude in the bud." Your raised eyebrows said it all, you can try.

He picked up the wand with one hand, the other resting lovingly on your thigh. He took in the hard look on your face, clearly stealing yourself for what was about to come and smiled. He enjoy the rebellion, it only made the acquiescence sweeter.

You heard the soft buzz and then Jax was putting pressure on your leg so you couldn't twitch away, with that Teller smirk, he pressed the toy to your slit. It was in the lowest setting, just enough to be distracting.

The thumb of the hand on your thigh was rubbing softly, Jax's attention was on your face. When your breath stuttered, he put it up one notch. "Nothing to say?"

He watched your jaw clench, "try harder." He closed his eyes, he didn't know it was possible for intense frustration and madding arousal to exist in the same space.

He turned it up by two, rolling it back and forth over your slit. He watched you suppress a grunt, your eyes moving to stare at the canopy above your head. He held it there, pressing down softly, with another swallow breath, you composed yourself and he shifted the placement of the wand so he could touch you with his other hand.

When his fingertips met your entrance, he groaned. "Jesus Christ you're wet." With agonising slowness, he slid two fingers inside you, then he was scissoring them open while pushing his fingertips against your G-spot. He could feel you getting closer so he turned the wand back down to the lowest setting and paused his fingers.

Other than a wet inhale, you made no indication of the change in touch. When Jax could tell you were away from the edge, he turned the toy back up and moved his fingers again. He watched you carefully, stopping each time you got close and when the time between pausing got shorter and shorter, he spoke.

"Don't you dare cum until I give you permission. If you do, I promise you'll regret it." But he didn't stop, in fact, his fingers became more insistent and the vibrations were ratcheted all the way up.

You whimpered like an animal, turning your head to bury it in the crook of your arm. Jax did not relent, leaning down to kiss your neck. The angle couldn't have been comfortable but he didn't care.

But then he heard a hard grunt you and met his eyes with nothing but determination. Jax had to change his strategy, being harsh clearly wasn't working. He shifted so he was more on top of you and pressed and soft kiss to your lips.

You returned the kiss, your lips pliant against his. You were gasping more, unable to disconnect from the sensation now that he was so close. "Don't you dare."

His voice was tender, the words spoken right into your ears, "I can't hold it any longer."

Jax felt his chest swell, he was winning. "Jax please." He didn't stop and you flew over the edge, contracting around his fingers while you tried to twitch away from the intense sensation.

He touched you gently as you came down from your high, "now what am I going to do with you, huh? If you had just done what I asked you to in the first place we wouldn't be here but you just can't take simple directions."

He tutted and wiped his wet hand on your leg, "you got any ideas?" You opened your mouth slightly, trying to gather some saliva to soothe your dry throat, "can't think?" You shook your head, "what a shame, I guess I'll have to come up with a solution all by myself."

Jax laid on his side next to you, his upper body propped up by his elbow with his skin against yours. He put a hand on your face and ran his thumb over your lower lip. His soft smile had a sinister edge as he turned and kissed his way down your body. When he got to your core, his breath caught in his throat, you were utterly soaked.

"Oh, that must be very uncomfortable. Let me make it better." He kissed your inner thigh, slowly moving to your centre. He dispatched with any teasing when he got there, sucking your clit into his mouth and sliding three of his long, thick fingers inside you.

It was overwhelming, he knew exactly what to do and he was paying attention to each gasp and twitch. He pulled back and slapped the outside of your thigh, "if you tug on the ropes one more time, I will tie you up so tight you won't even be able to think about moving."

You relaxed and he went back to work, his free arm coming to rub your leg. It couldn't have been long before you were ready to cum again, "Jax…I"

You felt him smile, "I know Darlin, you can let go." The words were barely out of his mouth before you reached that peak. He didn't stop, his fingers pushing harder and harder.

"Jax, I can't."

Another slap to your hip, "what did I tell you about talking?" You slammed your head against the pillow and resigned yourself to whatever he had in store for you.

You had no idea how much time had passed, only that the orgasms never seemed to end. He would occasionally pull away to kiss elsewhere and you would be eternally grateful for the momentary break. You must have started crying because you could feel the wetness on your face, if Jax noticed, he didn't let on.

"Please Jax, no more, I can't." Finally, he took pity on you, kissing a path up your body and to your lips. The lower part of his face was wet and your could taste yourself on his skin.

He was still wearing his PJs, stepping back to take them off your eyes raked over him like he was a piece of art. You always looked at him like he was the most attractive thing you had ever seen.

Jax rested his weight on top of you, pushing your hair out of your face and wiping the tears off your cheek. "You good to keep going?" You could feel his cock against your stomach as he lay on top of you.

You nodded and he kissed you, "a nod isn't an answer."

He watched you take a ragged breath, "please, I…..yes Jax."

He smiled lovingly, "I'll go slow."

Jax knew he wasn't going to last long, he had been painfully hard since your first 'fuck you' glare. That didn't matter, you were shaking around him after a handful of soft thrusts. He couldn't hold it any longer, he let out a grunt and came inside you, his hand coming to grip yours.

Jax untied your hands and you wrapped them around him, pulling him into a kiss, "thank you." Jax felt a little lost as he moved to untie your legs, he had spent the last two hours tossing you around, doing whatever he wanted to you and you were thanking him.

He cleaned you up, wincing when you flinched away from the warm towel. You took the water, laying on hand on his as you drank then climbed into his open arms.

Jax was content to just hold you but part of him was worried about the silence, "you doing ok?" As much as you wanted to enjoy the lingering high, Jax's tone let you know it was time to come back to Earth.

"I'm great, amazing in fact." You felt him relax under you, "yeah, that was really fun, we should do it again."

He chuckled, "remind me to ask you again in the morning. You're not sore?"

You shook your head and put your hand on his cheek, "no, not even a little. I'm really grateful that we get to do this stuff together Jax and if I didn't want or enjoy something, I would tell you."

The nasty voice in Jax's head was fading fast, "you have no idea how much I love our time together. It's one of the only things that turns off my brain's constant noise. Truly, it's nice not to have to worry about the world falling to bits because I'm not on top of everything." Jax squeezed you into his arms, every doubt in his mind banished by your honesty.

"However, if you don't coil my ropes back exactly how you found them, I will dye you hair in your sleep. The fabric for those ropes was obscene and if they're not put back right they will fall apart."

Jax laughed, "Of course Darlin."

****

"Are you still that sore?"

Gemma nodded, "I'm just so stiff." You put the cup down, "blunt force trauma causes swelling, there's some meds you can try, I'll write you a list."

Jax came out of the garage, asking his mothers about an old Harley manual. "Hello Chibs." Chibs came in with a smile on his face, "is Kip getting his implant today?"

He nodded, "wee man's completing himself."

Jax kissed you goodbye and left, and you took Gemma to the drug store. You went in and spoke to the pharmacists, handing him the scripts that you got off one of your labmates.

When you came out, Gemma locked eyes with a woman and then she was running after her. She watched the blonde jump into her car and when you went to touch her shoulder, she swung back and you narrowly missed an elbow to the face.

"Are you ok, who was that woman?" She was still staring at the empty car space, "Gem?"

She shook herself off, "she was there the night I was taken."

You nodded, "I'm not surprised, that's Zobelle's daughter."

****

You had just finished an autopsy when you got the call, "Luanne, slow down. What happened to Otto?" She was a mess, all you heard was her stuttering that he was stabbed in the face, "Ok, ok. All I need you to do is authorise me to see his intake form and talk to his doctors, we'll go from there."

Half an hour later, you got the call from Stockton, it was bad. The moment you hung up, you called Jax.

"Jackson, are you busy."

He could hear by your tone that something was wrong, "is Abel ok?"

Abel was fine, tossing his toy around the crib next to your desk, "Abel's fine, have your heard about Otto."

There was a pause, "no, is he ok?"

You took a deep breath, "did any of you talk to Zobelle today?" There was a huff, "Clay did. He went after him for protection money."

You put your head in your hands, "Otto's been stabbed in the face, he's lost his good eye. When I got off the phone to Luanne, I got Anvil's analyst to do some digging, it had to be the Aryans."

Jax took in your clipped, to the point summary, "this is Clay's fault, he won't fucking listen to anyone."

You shook your head, "I know my love, but right now we can't do anything. When I get off work, I'm going to go see Luanne and the girls then talk to your mum and I'll call you back ok?"

"Ok Darlin, let Luanne know we're here for her."

****

It was late afternoon by the time you were able to check in on Gemma, "How are you after this morning? That running couldn't have been fun."

She shook her head, "I'm fine." She wasn't.

"Gem you need to talk to someone, this isn't good for your health."

There was silence, "I know what it's like. When I was sixteen and in college, my first boyfriend attacked me, almost managed to rape me after bashing my head in. You can't keep it to yourself, it will eat you alive."

She turned to you, "does Jax know?"

You nodded, "I told him a few days after we got together. It was tough and I was terrified he'd stop loving me but he was good about it. I felt he needed to know, if anything just to explain the occasional nightmare."

She took a deep breath, "Clay's not as understanding."

You handed her a card, "I've made an appointment for you, a counsellor who works at the museum. She nice and she'll help you, you're going to see her or I'll have you charged with attempted assault."

The guys had just finished church so you and Gemma walked out to sit with them at the picnic tables. "Did it go the way you wanted it?"

Jax nodded, "yeah, it's all good for now."

Jax put his arm around you, and tilted his head towards Opie and Lyla, "they seem cosy."

You smiled, "yes, they do."

"SHIT" You looked towards to source of the noice and Chibs was running at breakneck speed away from the grey van in the lot.

BANG

There was a fireball that engulfed the car and Chibs was thrown clear off the ground. Jax and the rest of the guys were towards him, "DON'T TOUCH HIM." Jax paused before his instinct to shake Chibs took over. Sam ran to your car to get a spinal collar while you went over to Chibs.

"If he has spinal damage and you move him, he could die." Sam placed the collar around his neck while you called 911 and checked him over.

"Hello my name is Dr y/n, I need an ambulance there's been a blast and a man has been injured. Late forties, early fifties, decent health, no preexisting conditions to my knowledge, bleeding from a head wound."

You turned to Jax, "you guys have a real problem on your hands.

He looked over his bleeding friend, "I know."

Part 29

Another super long chapter, please let me know what you think. I've noticed there are a lot of new readers and I'm very happy to have you here.

#Jax teller #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #fluff #soa #jax teller #sons of anarhcy fanficton #sons of anarchy fluff #jax teller imagine #jax teller fanfiction #jax teller x you #jax teller x reader #jax teller x oc #samcrow #jax teller fluff #charlie hunnam #fix it fanfiction #jax teller smut #charlie hunnam imagine #charlie hunnam fanfiction

[raincamp]

7 - 27 - 23

today has been... a lot. i have a lot to talk about because it really just keeps snowballing, ive had the worst fucking BPD episode today

so i wrote this this morning, expecting to get to actually have a session with my therapist today, since yk, i did finally make an appointment with her referral (for context if you didn't read my last posts, she basically said: no appts until i start addiction counseling bc she can't treat addiction) //

"i've been having the worst and most painful fucking week of my life only for everything to be entirely made up by my imagination, oh how i fucking hate paranoid ideation

as i'm writing this i have about an hour before my therapy appointment— which i was one hundred and ten percent sure was going to be rescheduled, and that i was going to be terminated, because apparently my therapist doesn't like me— and i'm having so many urges to like, hurt myself, or do something to prove that I've been in pain this week because now that i've realized it was all just paraoia my pain no longer feels valid, or justifiable, or even real because of my emotional impermanence making it literally impossible for me to relive the emotions i was experiencing even 5 hours ago.

im partly glad that i only blew up at her once, i think i would be so much more embarrassed had i not. not to say that im not entirely ashamed of my entire reaction to something as small as this, but i also feel like she would've been able to understand how much I've been struggling this week if i had. and since I can't wholly remember how it felt, if it exists in somebody else then it makes it more real. idk. i just want my pain to be validated by her so much."

i was fully ready for her to text me today and be like "oh chill you made an appt see you in an hour" but what i got instead was radio silence. so i checked my appointment portal only to see our standing appointments for the next 3 weeks cancelled.

believe me when i say, my heart fucking dropped, i mean like, it was on the fucking floor, i was hit so hard i couldnt breathe for several minutes.

so, yk, i text her begging for an appointment like the pathetic emotional parasite that i am, and all i get in response is a "we can reschedule once you've attended your intake appointment" so i was like, welp, that sucks bc my intake is next week on a Thursday, so now i have to go two weeks without therapy. absolutely triggered the fuck out of me, i was crying, SOBBING on my floor, it just hurt so fucking much. i felt like i was being ripped apart and sewn crudely back together again, over and over again, everytime i calmed down enough to breathe it would start over again, wave after wave of sadness and shame and abandonment and rage and grief and desperation. i just wanted to stop feeling so much PAIN.

and yk what i did, instead of hurting myself like i nornally would, i texted my therapist like i've been taught to in DBT. she's SUPPOSED to be there to help me when i need it. thats literally in her contract.

mid-sob i typed out a message that was more akin to me begging her to pull me out of a sea of misery and perform CPR on me than professionally asking for help, but i genuinely didnt know what to do, and i STILL don't, because distress tolerance only goes so far, ive been feeling like this, constantly, since our last session.

and she just responded with reminding me that she set the boundary a week ago and we talked about a referral 11 days ago, but she was available for an appointment in two weeks (meaning ANOTHER week without therapy, total: 3) . completely ignoring my plea for help. it felt like she was telling me "hey just a reminder, this is entirely a consequence of your own actions. have fun dealing with it yourself!!"

i have fucking BPD, the only way i KNOW how to deal with anything is by hurting either myself or the people around me. and im THIS close to self destructing and quitting therapy altogether.

i am so fucking pissed at her, idk how she can expect me to survive three weeks without stable treatment. especially after i was hospitalized last month for a suicide attempt?? she knows how much im suffering right now. is keeping a boundary really so important that she can't even help me when im hurting this much?

all i want right now is to scream at her, and im definitely going to, at the very least, be as much of an arse as i can over text, idk, i feel like i deserve to let myself be angry at her. its definitely justified, despite what i said before. theres clear evidence now that I wasn't being paranoid.

i just feel so abandoned by her, physically and emotionally, i feel like i have nobody, i feel like im back to where i was before i started treatment. its so frustrating, and painful. and the fact that this is due to an addiction that i dont have any control over is making me feel even worse.

im trying to figure out why she's doing this, like, she's shown shes competent, i genuinely cant understand how doing this is supposed to help me. how is putting me through this much pain going to help? its making me so unstable. and ik im going to relapse again at some point before i get to see her again.

im trying not to think about it anymore, because everytime i do i start crying again. its to the point where i have a killer headache and my eyes hurt so much from the amount of tears ive spilled.

i fucking hate this disorder so much. nobody but me would be this attached to their therapist. normal people would be able to cope with someone setting boundaries easily. this shouldnt be causing me to feel this way. its not fair. im so exhausted from having to hurt so much all the time, at this point its chronic, its become background noise, its my idle state, and im enraged about it.

i hope good omens season 2 lives up to my expectations.

- andrew

#tumblr diary #journal #tumblr journal #vent #bpd vent #therapy #mental health #bpd #borderline #actually bpd #im not mentally stable #actually mentally ill #borderline personality disorder #mental illness

[amethystpath-writes]

Are You Here, Villain?

(NOT A PR0MPT) inspired by the song “He Died in Dreams” by Ross Wylde

******

Villain died.

And, of course, Hero knew this. She knew this because the halls were cold, and because her sheets, no matter how long she laid beneath them, were never warm like before. She knew because the tea kettle wasn’t hot every morning like it was when Villain was here, when he inevitably awoke before her because the sounds of birds intrigued him.

Villain was dead.

Yet, Hero occasionally felt a brush of fingertips along her shoulders when the breeze picked up. It was as if Earth were reminding her what accompanied the delicate swoop of her hair. Rather, it was as if it were reminding her of what was missing.

Then again, the clasp of Hero’s necklace appeared at her front. No hand fixed the chain then.

Today, though, she heard a voice, and it tickled the back of her brain. “I need to stay with you,” it said at first. Then, “But I don’t know what to do.”

Tears sprung to Hero’s eyes because- yes- she knew that voice.

“This grief,” Villain’s voice said, “it hurts, and I know it’s hurting you, too.”

“Villain?” she whispered to the wind. A part of her wanted to believe in miracles. She wanted to believe Villain would materialize on the balcony, beneath the moon, and that when he did, he would cup her cheek in a hand and tell her all was well. Everything was a joke, Hero wanted to say to herself.

“The trees look different here, less solid,” the voice- Villain- continued, off topic. “The leaves and pine needles are just a visual, so your hand goes right through them. You can still use branches to climb. I guess there has to be some kind of symbol of life within death, even if it is just a solid branch. I think you’d like it. You were always so fond of meaning, of symbolism, weren’t you?”

“Are you here, Villain?” The question was desperate and perhaps panicked. Was Hero finally losing her mind? Maybe it was she who was dead, or dying, or whatever phase this was. Surely, surely, Villain wasn’t dead and speaking to her from the Land of the Dead. No. That wasn’t possible. So, it was Hero who was dead instead.

“You don’t really hear me, do you?” Villain asked. “It’s just a coincidence that you’re responding.” A pause occurred, and the man, who Hero progressively felt convinced was unreal, continued. “I know death is as difficult as life- probably more so- but you-”

She was dead?

No.

But he said-

I know death is as difficult as life.

Why was he saying that to her?

Everything was so confused in Hero’s mind. She could so vividly remember…remember her lover’s…his…she could remember his body. Breathless. Lifeless. Dead.

He was dead.

Then why did she keep questioning it?

“-know that, don’t you? I have to leave at some point, and it should be sooner rather than later. It would save us both the grief. Then again-”

Now was one of those moments in which Hero could imagine Villain pinching the skin between his brows. He was frustrated, and she knew that only through his tone.

“-I could just stay and we could live like this. Two voices in two realms, only one able to hear the other. It’s cruel,” Villain explained.

Hero agreed, “It is cruel,” but not about the two realms. It was obvious the two could hear one another- Villain simply couldn’t believe it.

“Which one of us is dead?” Hero asked, and to her surprise, crickets of the night responded. The near-silence made her feel as if no one had been speaking just moments prior, and made her feel as if she truly had gone insane. Who was to say she wasn’t? The only voice she’d heard in days were her own and a dead man’s. If anyone else in the world heard that statement, they’d put her in counseling. Worser yet, they’d treat her for schizophrenia.

“I almost feel sorry for you.”

Hero jumped at the voice behind her, her hands leaving the balcony before promptly carrying her weight in a spin. She faced the man behind her.

“You really don’t understand which one of you is dead?”

The way Hero’s heart hammered against her ribs made her hesitant to speak. She watched. But watching did nothing as Supervillain approached the balcony of Hero’s apartment. Her body was frozen.

“I had your mind racing earlier,” Supervillain commented, “when I made you think you heard your precious Villain. What makes that mind so empty now?”

Her mind was a blank sheet of printer paper waiting for instruction.

“If my presence is that troubling then why don’t you turn back around? Face away.”

“That would make everything worse,” Hero finally had the sense to snap. In the same moment, her sweaty hands curled into tight, white-knuckled fists. “I want you out.” Her voice shook, but her feet remained planted.

As mighty as she looked, Supervillain chuckled, so lightly intimidated that he even covered his eyes with a hand as if to scoop away tears. “That was cute,” he said. “That was really cute, but here’s the thing; I know how scared you are. I can hear you begging the world to prevent me from reminding you what I did to that little lover of yours.”

Already, it was enough to make Hero see Villain’s body all over again.

“He didn’t deserve it,” she whispered. Hero didn’t notice the way her chin was angled down until Supervillain lifted it in order to wipe away a tear. Weakness like this wasn’t meant to be shown. It made her look vulnerable. It made her look easy to take control over.

Supervillain’s fingers left Hero’s cheek and travelled to her chin as it began to fall again. He lifted her chin slowly while cooing softly to her. “Sh, sh, sh. All traitors deserve what they get.”

The way he said it like a reassurance made Hero’s stomach roll. “Why are you here?” Why is he-

“Tormenting you?” Supervillain shrugged. “Villain betrayed me. I killed him in my anger, and frankly, I’m not satisfied with it.” Exposing Hero’s neck, he said, “Seeing the fear in your eyes is as satisfying as it can get.”

#NOT A PR0MPT #after 'He Died in Dreams' by Ross Wylde #Are You Here Villain #and with that- #hero x villain #hero x villain drabble #hero x villain snippet #hero x villain story #every time i type villain I have to delete the whole word because my eyes can't tell if i typed two L's or not #it's sickening- that second L #get rid of it #I can't friggin see the dang thing #away with the L #back to tags #hero whumpee #whumpee #supervillain whumper #whumper #i don't know why but i hate the whump tags #they make me feel awkward 👉👈 #oh yeah #murder #mentions of murder #is that it? #sure #have fun #don't let your heart be broken #see ya!

[motionbound]

hiyo!! it’s melo again with a second muse, sad human dude seong uihyeon who’s been going thru it since the festival 😭 he moved recently from jeju to work with the aeternals as a therapist, only to lose his wife during the festival to a berserk aeternal. he’s always idolised eden’s aeternals as true superheroes but their response after the festival has totally cracked his worldview & he’s still grieving so 😔 pages here ( stats, bio ), tldr & plot ideas under the cut! hit the ♡ if you’d wanna plot, this is a sideblog so i can’t follow/etc but u can call me beep me at @iinksplit​ or ask for discord!

*tw death mention—much of his backstory is tied to his wife’s death & the impact it has on him, so this is a general warning for the tldr & plots under the cut!

TLDR

just a dude from jeju; he grew up reading lots of comics & generally believing in the good of people, the world, the superheroes out there!

he’s always wanted to come to eden to work with the aeternals, despite being a human. one of those 'i dont have a superpower but i can help the ones who do!! so they can help more people!!’ kinda people, so he went into counselling and found himself a job with the aeternal psych unit once he graduated

uihyeon had it all: working with the aeternals to help people, married the girl of his dreams, started building a life in eden & all that

at least, until pax centennial festival

his wife died during the event, one of the many? few? casualties while the aeternals were going berserk with their powers. in my head it was probably something pretty instant & irreversible, and he’s entirely traumatised from witnessing it

the aeternal who killed his wife simply slapped an nda down & sent him off with a whole lotta money in exchange for his silence. it’s confusion & uncertainty & a considerable amount of pressure placed on him to sign that’s the reason he agrees to it, but now that the dust has settled, he’s starting to question... everything, really

so now he’s struggling to reconcile what he believed about the world, his trust in aeternals & the good of people shaken up totally. it’s starting to affect his job too, questioning what he’s told in his sessions with aeternal clients & having to pull himself back from it, because he still wants to do good somehow & he used to think this was the path for him but—is it?

huge chara insp is hughie from the boys w a tinge of butcher!

personality / misc facts: aquarius sun, cancer moon, capricorn rising. before the festival, he was honestly a really friendly, chill dude. helpful & accommodating, with a whole lotta idealism packed underneath his sensible sweater vest. prone to withdrawing & bottling things up, which has only become worse since his wife’s death. right now, he’s very much in the anger/depression stages of grief, sharper around the edges. easily frustrated, mostly at himself, but also at the world in general. grasping at what used to be familiar instead of processing the feelings like he knows he should, & not coping well at all

lil notes on his wife! in my head they were childhood friends & he had a crush on her for forever, finally got the courage to ask her out way too late when they were already basically in love & they fast-tracked their way through dating & marriage after that hehe she had a similar sort of occupation, wanting to help people too? a lil more practical than him, the half who had all her shit together. i’m so sorry for fridging her rip she’s gna pop up occasionally in his thoughts but more a manifestation of his grief than a real representation of her!

PLOTS

the aeternal who killed his wife—lots of plotting needed for this but i’d love to have this connection

the boys / anti-aeternals agenda—part of his ( non- ) healing has been thinking about taking revenge on the aeternals & he entertains thoughts of actually seeking help, until. he actually does contact them & now he’s not sure what to do

siblings—i don’t see him as an only child, though he was quite an independent kid. as his now only family in the city, though, i think he’d rely a lot on his sibling

good friends—someone who knows just how badly he’s doing & checks up on him once in a while / is trying to help him process this healthily, even tho he’s fighting accepting their help

aeternal clients—i imagine it’s a small-ish psych unit, so he’s familiar with a lot of the aeternals, even if he doesn’t work directly with them! might even just see a couple as work buddies instead of clients? although their interactions now are tense & often angrier than they’re used to him being...

meta friends—he believes ( believed? ) really strongly that meta abilities have a purpose. that they can do good. he’s not sure about that anymore, but someone he used to help out / attempt to learn more about their ability to help them?

people who knew his wife—maybe they knew her better than him, or vice versa? super open to different kinds of dynamics stemming from this! or maybe even a sibling-in-law?

#ast:intro

[snwqueen]

                         meet  elsa arendelle  !

                   32 — HEAD OF ARENDELLE ENTERPRISE

favorite song? bite the hand by boygenius 

sexuality: pansexual

pronouns?: she/her 

the ice powers of a young elsa arendelle were unexpected, to say the least. her parents had loved her regardless of whatever magic she held but it was clear that this was a magic that could grow and cause harm to others if not restrained. elsa couldn't see how much damage her powers could do until it nearly killed her own sister. an accident in the middle of snow-filled fun and games had left their family in a rush to get anna help. from then on, elsa understood the severity of her curse, she no longer saw it something playful but instead saw it as something to be feared. out of the abundance of caution, elsa hid away from everyone in her own room where she was able to protect those around her. if they couldn't come into contact with her then they were safe.

it wasn't until the death of her parents that elsa had realized that her problems were truly of her own, no one else knew about them, not even her sister. it was up to her to figure out how to control her powers. most of it involved following her parent's advice, such as her mother suggesting to equip a pair of gloves to block where her magic formed from and her father's counsel to suppress her feelings, holding them down deep within her. pushing through grief and hard work, elsa had managed to grasp an understanding of her powers. it wasn't perfect but it's what she knew she needed to do to protect the legacy of the arendelles.

the family business was long lasting, a growing hotel chain that had locations all around the world. for as long as elsa could remember, her father prided on the company being something he couldn't wait to pass onto his own family when the time came. anna was too young to remember the plans that the girls were only encouraged to follow but, of course, things changed when their parents suddenly died. it was under their father's will that both girls would be given an inheritance when they turned twenty-five, but for elsa this also included ownership of the arendelle company. at only eighteen years old, elsa was expected to one day take over a business she had very little knowledge of. she knew some idea of the work her father did, he talked about it when recalling his work day but this was much different.

for a brief moment, she weighed the idea of selling ownership as soon as she could but that didn't feel right for a family business. if that happened, the arendelle legacy her father worked so hard to maintain would be reduced to nothing. so out of her father's wishes, elsa did everything she could to make sure the arendelle enterprise would stay in the family. she threw herself into studying everything she could about business and the hotel trade. her life's dedication is all towards making decisions that she think would make her parents proud of her.

HC’s:

the very fact that the arendelles knew of magic was dangerous. when the hunters got wind that they might know of a magical being, anna and elsa's parents took threats very seriously. for help on the matter, they went to the order, not only for security but to prepare in the likelihood of their death. her father trusted that elsa would be capable of taking over the family company but she needed time to do so. with his permission, arthur pendragon would be the head of the company until elsa was ready to take over at twenty-five.

can seem very dull at times, she tries to keep conversations to a minimum. her reactions neutral or cold for the most part. one can feel a physical chill if she's really distressed but she usually tries to leave before her feelings and powers become overwhelming.

is good at her job but doesn't really like doing it. she hasn't had too much time to ponder on what she'd rather be doing, she just knows it probably wouldn't be where she is today.

still wears gloves to this day, says it's a germ thing but in reality, her own touch is cold so this is just protective gear not only for her but for everyone else around her as well.

#[ ❅ ] : i won't give into 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 ⇢ about #psd by notoriousaesthetics

[kavrillia]

A stupid [and quite spoilery] conversation/skit between myself, my muse, and two of my characters.  I wrote this almost two years ago and it’s been gathering dust in my drafts since then, so I figured I might as well post it for my own amusement.

This kind of cringe is straight out of 2001 Fanfiction.net, but A.) this basically is what happened in my head, and B.) realistically, nobody else is going to read this, anyway.

[Bold = me]

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

I need a Vincaran character who is neither an antagonist nor a cute little kid.

*waves writerly wand and makes a new character does a total overhaul of an old character from a sequel that isn’t canon anymore*

Hello, Sicara!  You’re a priestess of the fire goddess.  You rose above childhood grief and loss to become a compassionate young woman who is driven to help others.  Your faith is very important to you and it irks you greatly that a new sect is twisting your goddess’ message to one of blazing destruction instead of rebirth and renewal.  You’re bi, but single and not in any hurry to get into a relationship as you concentrate on your career as a priestess.  You went to school with Xorax, Zola, and Lynzari.

Okay, you’re all set.

Now, speaking of Xorax, it also occurs to me that I could bring him back into the story again instead of just sending him off to prison at the end of the first plot arc.  He’s the closest thing I have to a genuinely evil character.  I mean, he’s got his reasons, having been raised in dire poverty by a toxic grandmother who brainwashed him into carrying on her vendetta, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that he’s bloodthirsty, violent, and callous.

Wait, he should get a new outfit along with his new plot.  Here!

He could fall in with the sect that’s fracturing the fire goddess’ followers!  That would put him at odds with Sicara, tying together those plot threads.  Perfect!

*puts them together on a shelf*

All right, you two.  Interact!

X:  Hey, Sicara.  Long time no see.  I’ve been rethinking my life since I got away from my crazy grandmother.  I feel kind of lost.

S:  Well, I’m pretty wary since the last thing I heard of you was your attempted assassination of royalty, but my goddess is all about helping people burn away the past and start fresh, so out of religious obligation I suppose I can counsel you a bit.

X:  Thanks.  I’ve had a pretty shitty life, you know.  Cards stacked against me from the beginning.  I never really had the chance to find my own path.

S:  Oh, you poor thing.  Let me guide you toward healing.

Good, good, now earn her trust so you can betray her later by revealing yourself to be involved with the dangerous cult she hates, further highlighting how you’re a bad guy and she’s a good guy.

X:  Do I have to?

...  I’m the writer.  You’re the character I made up.  So yes, you do.

X:  You know, Sicara, I had a crush on you when we were teenagers.

S:  I know.  You were a scrawny, malnourished boy then.  But you’re, uh, grown up since then.  Prison food and exercise agreed with you.  *waggles eyebrows*

No.  Cut it out, you two.  This is not where the story is supposed to go.

X:  Thank you, Sicara, for helping me face my dark past.  This is the first time anyone really listened and cared about me as a person.

No, stop it!  You are evil!  You used to fantasize about ripping your enemy’s heart out with your bare hands!

X:  I had been brainwashed from birth.  I’m slowly unlearning all that and thinking about what I actually want to do with my life.  Having a little cottage someplace warm would be nice.  With Sicara and our three kids.

Three...what?!  No!  You are a villain!  The one truly evil character in my universe!  All the other antagonists are just scheming assholes, but you’re the one who actually tries to kill people!

S:  He’s just misunderstood.

No!  He’s evil!  And he has to die in the climax of the book.

X:  Can I get her pregnant first so some of my family legacy is carried on?

NO!

S:  But that’s what happened with the original version of me in the no-longer-canon sequel.

The original version of you was also a spy, a terrorist, and an explosives expert who was in the same prison as he was.  You’re supposed to be unequivocally good in this version.  You’re basically not even the same character except for a similar name and haircut, and the fact that you find Xorax attractive.

S:  But--

Ssh!  Your story is supposed to be about how you stand up for your sincere religious beliefs while others loudly try to twist them for their own political purposes which is totally not a thing going on in my own country these days that I would like to explore in fiction.  You are NOT supposed to get mixed up in some melodramatic romance plot with a would-be assassin.

S:  *looks at me, then at Xorax*

X:  *looks at me, then at Sicara*

Both:  *start making out*

*sprays them with a water bottle*  Stop that!

Both:  *continue making out while directing rude gestures in my direction*

My muse:  Bwahahaha!  You realize you totally deserve this for all the times you wrote fanfic to woobify other people’s villains.

*headdesk*

#Xorax #Sicara #stop it you two #author rambling #kavrillia spoilers

[womenblogger]

Doctor’s advice: 6 tips for pregnant women and new mums

“I just want to learn how to be a mom. 

I want to enjoy every single second of it. “

When pop star Cardi B shared her feelings while expecting her first child, she echoed the sentiments of millions of mothers around the world. Yet, three weeks after she gave birth to her daughter, she realised how “lazy” she had become and how she could not even move her legs, forget about exercising. We couldn’t relate more.

American model Chrissy Teigan got most mothers in splits when she called her new baby “milk monster”. She joked, “If you kind of do the math, you’re kind of breastfeeding for 10 hours a day, total. They just use you for your milk, and you just feel like you are just a cow all day.”

The joys of motherhood also bring with them a tonne of challenges for new mothers. One common challenge faced by lactating mothers is postpartum depression. Celebrities such as British pop star Adele, American actor Bryce Dallas Howard, Canadian singer and songwriter Alanis Morissette, and Indian-American actor Mindy Kaling have spoken openly about normalising postpartum depression and the need for awareness.

Every mother, regardless of her background, education, social status, needs help.

We sought help for new mothers by consulting two gynaecologists who have been helping young mothers cope with pregnancy and motherhood for almost three decades. They had a lot of good advice and tips. 

While Dr Veda Simons (MBBS, DGO)  believes too much information stresses out the mothers, Dr Anita Gupta (MBBS, MS – Obstetrics & Gynaecology) emphasises on the importance of listening to ‘your mother’s advice.’

We compiled a list of six health tips for new mothers from what the doctors told us. Dig in: 

Make a checklist for nutrition 

“Many mothers know what foods to eat during pregnancy and what they will need after the delivery, yet few really follow through. I suggest making a checklist for both pregnancy nutrition and after. I encourage them to maintain a diary or journal of their diet or get  their husband to do it for them. Make sure you are getting enough iron and calcium, it is okay to take prenatal vitamins and dietary supplements as long as you don’t suffer from severe side-effects, and you have discussed with your doctor first” advises Dr Gupta. If you need more guidance or have dietary restrictions, ask your doctor or consult a nutritionist.

Trust your gut

Dr Simons observes that today’s mothers are well-informed, and sometimes ‘over-researched’ on the subject. As a result, they constantly live in the fear of hurting the baby while neglecting their own health. “Trust your motherly instinct. When a baby is being made inside your womb, nature is producing this instinct within you. Trust that instead of spending precious rest hours researching on ‘Dr.Google’. That will open up time and window for your self-care – good sleep, healthy eating and exercising,” she says. 

Equip yourself against Postpartum Depression (PPD)

Postpartum depression is more common than we realise. Some mothers feel low immediately after giving birth while others realise a strange grief weeks after. Feeling low after pregnancy is a common emotional change called postnatal blues. However, when this feeling is prolonged for more than a few weeks, it may result in PPD. “Surround yourself with people who will expect this to happen and can watch out for you and can get help if needed. Don’t be scared of sharing your feelings with your spouse or close friends. Opening up itself unburdens you to a great extent. Good news is there’s both treatment and counselling available for Postnatal depression,” adds Dr Veda.

Breastfeeding needs learning

Some mothers get it right the first time, others struggle to breastfeed. “It is okay to ask your mother or mother-in-law or your best friend about the right way and process of breastfeeding. Seek professional help and support if need be. There are lactation consultants, and doctors who can advise,” says Dr Anita. 

Give your baby some tummy time

Dr Veda is an advocate of “tummy time”. She thinks if only young mothers trusted a human baby’s survival instinct, they could provide themselves with a lot of mental rest. “Holding the baby all the time or immediately when he/she begins to cry does no good to  the baby or the mother. When you leave the baby on a safe, cosy bed several times a day, the baby digests the milk better while giving you some rest. Your rest is as important as the baby’s,” she adds.

Bleeding is normal

Most mothers will experience a certain amount of bleeding in the uterus even for six to eight weeks post delivery. This is fairly normal. “Seek a doctor’s help when you feel the bleeding is heavy or you have a fever. In most cases there is no need to panic and the bleeding turns to normal periods soon,” informs Dr Gupta.

A last word as we go

Never lose the joy that this time brings: the joy of feeling the baby move inside you, the joy of hearing the first cry, the joy of holding the baby for the first time, the joy of being the source of nourishment for another living soul. 

But for this joy to come to fruition, you must take care of your own health equally. At Veira we are passionate about providing you with the information and the support you will need as you set out on this amazing ride. Make us a part of your motherhood journey. With Veira you will not walk alone.

#pregnancy #women health #doctor

[bo-nilsson-diaries]

Mom

When I was younger I use to apologize by slipping notes under her bedroom door, writing is often easier than speaking, especially when it comes to the truth. When it’s written, you don’t have to see their expression, whether happy or sad. It’s easy. When I was younger, she’d send me letters in return, right under my door, and it would always make me feel better, having concrete proof that everything would be okay. But it seems I’ve outgrown those letters. The last one scent was around a week before my dad died, he was in the hospital for a checkup, and I asked my mom if I could study abroad. I still thought dad had a few more years in him, and I thought if I started to pull away, when my time eventually came, it would be easier on her. But trying to pull away while my dad was getting sicker and sicker just hurt her more. I can see why now, it must’ve felt isolating, and I’m sorry mom. After my dad died my mom moved back to Canada, she took me with her, I was upset. It felt isolating for me, but if I tried I probably could’ve handled it better, I mean, I’ve handled worse, the constant pain, the teasing, the loneliness, I’ve endured so much. Yet moving somewhere with my mom was something I just couldn’t take. Maybe it was the fact that I couldn’t visit his grave, or maybe it was the fact that I couldn’t even sneak into his room and hug his pillow for comfort anymore. Maybe it was the fact I couldn’t visit any of the places we use to go to, or never seeing my favourite teacher again. I was 16, I was still a kid, of course I couldn’t take any of it. But my mom couldn’t either, we should’ve gotten help, counselling maybe, to help with the grief. Instead, we turned to other methods, my mom tried to bottle it up, but I still heard her cry at night. I tried to surround myself with as many people as possible, to drown out that isolating feeling, but it just hurt even more knowing those “friends” didn’t even really like me. My mom knew they didn’t like me, she tried to tell me, I knew she was right, but I couldn’t stand how it felt like she tried to rip everything away from me. We fought often. Eventually I pushed her till all she could do was yell and hit, it seems I’m really good at breaking people down like that. I never can learn my lesson. Right now was when my mom needed me most, I should’ve manned up, I was the only one she had left. But the pain was too much for me, even if I deserved it, the bruises hurt so bad, she scared my dog, it wasn’t a healthy relationship. I loved her, and I know she loved me. But I had to get away, If I stayed neither of us would’ve healed. Recently, I talked to her again, and today I slipped a letter under her door, Im doing much better than I was then. I no longer feel isolated, now I want to help her. I’m sorry I left you mom, I’m sorry I was a bad son, a bad kid. I’m sorry I misbehave, and I’m sorry about that vase I broke. I still love you, I always will, and I promise I won’t leave again. Sometimes it’s still hard to look her in the eyes, not only does it remind me of the pain I caused her, but the pain she caused me as well. But I know that as the seasons change, and spring brings forth new beginnings, I think we’ll be alright. - December 9th 2022

#memories #memory #sweden #mothers #son #apology #mother #im sorry #loss #mournful

[shanastoryteller]

happy Halloween 🎃 if you're feeling it I'd love to see more of one of the cql time travel stories (wangxian or nhs) tysm!

a continuation of 1 2 3

Nie Huaisang is not a warrior and never has been. He knows he can't be there, knows that he doesn't have either Wen Qing's knowledge or Wei Wuxian's skill and this isn't something he can help with.

Still.

He worries.

The night is long and he doesn't know if they've been successful until sun rises and he hears shouts from the cultivators and hurries outside to see everyone panicked and horrified by the river's edge.

It's not the first time the river of the Unclean Realms has run red with blood, but it's not usually this much, for this long. The river runs from Wen lands, after all.

Meng Yao's face is carefully blank as he stands pressed against Mingjue's side and they should be taking their own counsel at this new development, as they had so many times before, but instead Meng Yao murmurs something he can't hear and then both their eyes are on him.

Oh no.

"Huaisang," Mingjue thunders, "what's the meaning of this?"

"Why would I know?" he squawks, fluttering his fan around his face.

"Master Nie," Nie Zonghui says reproachfully.

Oh, bother. He'd forgotten that his family knew him, once. Then they'd died or gone mad and there'd been no one left to call him on his bullshit.

it's heartwarming and irritating at the same time.

"We should go investigate, maybe?" he suggests, peaking out from behind his fan.

Mingjue's frown deepens but Meng Yao starts giving out orders to do just that. No one ever disobeys Meng Yao in front of the main family, after all.

That's a problem for later.

Nie Huaisang tags along because he wants to know, he needs to know.

He finds exactly what he was hoping for.

Wen Ruohan and his sons and his council and a significent amount of their cultivators are dead, almost unrecognizable with their flesh pulled from their bones.

Wen Qing sits on the Phoenix Throne.

"Hi Nie Huaisang!" Wei Wuxian says cheerfully, not a speck of blood on him. Somehow that makes it worse, that he's perfectly clean in the center of carnage that he's obviously if inexplicably caused.

The power that Nie Huaisang had felt last night is spread everywhere, touching everything. He thinks Wei Wuxian is doing it on purpose, in case any of the Wens who had surrendered get any bright ideas.

Mingjue is glaring at him, as if this is his fault! Which, it is, but there's no way for him to know that.

But something shifts in Meng Yao's face and he bows, everyone else mirroring him a moment later. "Congratulations on your ascension, Sect Leader Wen."

"Thank you," Wen Qing says, her eyes pinched at the corners.

"Should I also be congratulation you on your nuptials?" Mingjue asks dryly once he's standing upright.

Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing make identical faces of distaste, then Wei Wuxian frowns. "Wait, do we have to get married or something? Things are still too unstable for me to leave, but I'm going to need a really good excuse for Uncle Jiang."

Nie Huaisang stares and only feels a little mollified to see his expression mirrored on Mingjue's face. "Is arranging for the coup of a major clan not a good enough excuse?"

"Well," he says, "maybe for leaving in the first place, but I don't think he'll be pleased that I didn't write. Shijie is going to pissed too, which is the worst. She cries when she's angry and if Shijie cries because of me, I'll have to kill myself."

Grief stabs through him. Wei Wuxian doesn't know true that statement is.

"I think we can arrange something," Meng Yao says, a considering look on his face. "You have done us a favor after all. We were getting quite concerned about the Wen influence."

Wen Qing looks at him and says, "Let's discuss."

Several hours later, Wei Wuxian is heading back to Cloud Recesses to escort Wen Ning home and Nie Huaisang is engaged to Wen Qing.

It's possible he's lost control of the situation.

He blames Meng Yao.

#asks #anon #prompt answers #prompts are closed #untamed

[blessedarethebinarybreakers]

I have a theodicy-adjacent question if that's alright. How can I offer prayers of thanksgiving without implying that God "likes me better" than They like other people? For example, I often want to thank God for keeping my loved ones safe through this pandemic, but it feels weird when so many have lost dear ones. I've learned a lot about how to wrestle with God through your ministry, but how to bring your positive feelings to God without toeing the line of a prosperity gospel-esque mindset?

Anon, I feel you! Some point a few years ago I had a similar unsettling realization. I knew that gratitude is important not only for our relationship with God, but for our psychological wellbeing — yet I felt so guilty for thanking God for things i knew others didn’t have. Did attributing the good things in my life to God imply that God wasn’t with those who lacked those good things? 

I brought that guilt and discomfort to God (and still do, whenever it arises anew). asked Them to help me sit with it, accept it, and then transform it into something more fruitful.

guilt transformed to motivation. discomfort transformed to commitment. what i was left with was an understanding that i did not need to stop my prayers of thanksgiving, but to expand them.

i take time to really feel and express my gratitude for the abundance i experience. and then i ask God to help my gratitude move me to a desire for others to experience that abundance too. I ask for guidance in how i can help make that abundance happen in the the lives of those around me and far from me. 

___

i also make time for lament. many of us are taught how to ask God for things and how to thank God for things, but grief and lament are not taught. however, thanksgiving and lament are not opposites, but work together. they enrich one another. we need to take time for both.

a book that helped me embrace lament was Barbara Brown Taylor’s Learning to Walk in the Dark. You can read quotes and whole passages from it in my tag over here.

one of my favorite songs/psalms to sing/pray in lament is this one. The psalmist empowers us to question God, to ask why and how and when? and then the psalmist leads us to praise God anyway — to praise in spite of and with our doubts and our questions. 

when we look at all the pain in the world — in our own lives, the lives of loved ones, the lives of those we don’t even know, and in the struggling pulse of all Creation — we feel all sorts of things. Distress, despair, anger, grief. But some of us are afraid to bring those feelings to God. We’d rather avoid the feelings in general, repress them, not sit inside them for a while. (And certainly, we should not wallow in the bad all the time.) Bt when we dare to assign intentional time to sit in those feelings, God sits in them with us. 

And there is a strange thanksgiving in there, too — that we aren’t alone in the lament. We come to see that it is true that God does not will suffering upon any one of us — that the fact that sometimes i experience blessing while you struggle, or you find success while i go without, is not because God is choosing which happy few to bless that day. God really does will abundant life for all, and grieves when sin (individual, systemic, the rot that eats at this world) blocks that abundance for anyone. 

___

in continuing to make time to feel and express gratitude, and then to make time to lament and to both desire and participate in abundance for others, thanksgiving does not elevate me above others as “better” or “more blessed” than they are. instead, gratitude reminds me of how interconnected we are with one another. In the Body we all share, “If one member suffers, all the members suffer with it; if one member is honored, all the members rejoice with it” (1 Cor 12:26).

___

When abundance wins out in spite of sin, we rejoice! When it is we who enjoy that abundance, our gratitude should not lead to smugness or self-congratulations, but to humility. it should shape us, move us to bring similar abundance to others.

A book that has really helped me understand that concept is Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass (which you can read online for free).

Christian texts have told me that the appropriate response to all God’s gifts is gratitude, but it’s Kimmerer’s book that helped me digest and embody just what that means. We acknowledge abundance, and we use that gratitude to connect us to the giver, and to others to whom that giver would also share Their gift.

Here’s one passage from her chapter “The Gift of Strawberries,” starting on page 33 of the webpage linked above:

Even  now,  after  more  than  fifty  Strawberry  Moons,  finding  a patch  of  wild strawberries  still  touches  me  with  a  sensation  of surprise, a feeling of unworthiness and gratitude for the generosity and kindness that comes with an unexpected gift all wrapped in red and green. “Really? For me? Oh, you shouldn’t have.” After fifty years  they  still  raise  the  question  of  how  to respond  to  their generosity.  Sometimes  it  feels  like  a  silly  question  with  a very simple answer: eat them. 

But I know that someone else has wondered these same things. In  our Creation stories  the  origin  of  strawberries  is  important. Skywoman’s  beautiful daughter,  whom  she  carried  in  her  womb from Skyworld, grew on the good green earth, loving and loved by all the other beings. But tragedy befell her when she died giving birth to her twins, Flint and Sapling. Heartbroken, Skywoman buried her beloved daughter in the earth. Her final gifts, our most revered plants, grew from her body. The strawberry arose from her heart.

In  Potawatomi,  the  strawberry  is ode  min, the  heart  berry.  We recognize them as the leaders of the berries, the first to bear fruit.

Strawberries first shaped my view of a world full of gifts simply scattered at your feet. A gift comes to you through no action of your own, free, having moved toward you without your beckoning. It is not a reward; you cannot earn it, or call it to you, or even deserve it.  And  yet  it  appears.  Your  only  role  is  to  be open-eyed  and present.  Gifts  exist  in  a  realm  of  humility  and  mystery—as with random acts of kindness, we do not know their source.

...Gifts  from  the  earth  or  from  each  other  establish  a  particular relationship,  an  obligation  of  sorts  to  give,  to  receive,  and  to reciprocate. The field gave to us, we gave to my dad, and we tried to give back to the strawberries. When the berry season was done, the plants would send out slender red runners to make new plants.

Because I was fascinated by the way they would travel over the ground looking for good places to take root, I would weed out little patches  of  bare  ground  where  the  runners  touched  down.  Sure enough, tiny little roots would emerge from the runner and by the end of the season there were even more plants, ready to bloom under  the  next  Strawberry  Moon.  No  person  taught us  this—the strawberries  showed  us.  Because  they  had  given  us  a  gift, an ongoing relationship opened between us.

...It’s funny how the nature of an object—let’s say a strawberry or a pair  of  socks—is  so  changed  by  the  way  it  has  come  into  your hands, as a gift or as a commodity. The pair of wool socks that I buy at the store, red and gray striped, are warm and cozy. I might feel grateful for the sheep that made the wool and the worker who ran  the  knitting  machine.  I  hope  so.  But  I  have no inherentobligation  to  those  socks  as  a  commodity,  as  private  property. There is no bond beyond the politely exchanged “thank yous” with the clerk. I have paid for them and our reciprocity ended the minute I handed her the money. The exchange ends once parity has been established, an equal exchange. They become my property. I don’t write a thank-you note to JCPenney.

But what if those very same socks, red and gray striped, were knitted  by  my grandmother  and  given  to  me  as  a  gift?  That changes everything. A gift creates ongoing relationship. I will write a thank-you note. I will take good care of them and if I am a very gracious grandchild I’ll wear them when she visits even if I don’t like them. When it’s her birthday, I will surely make her a gift in return. As  the  scholar  and  writer  Lewis  Hyde  notes,  “It  is  the  cardinal difference  between  gift  and  commodity  exchange  that  a  gift establishes a feeling-bond between two people.”

That  is  the  fundamental  nature  of  gifts:  they  move,  and  their value increases with their passage. The fields made a gift of berries to  us  and  we  made  a  gift  of  them  to  our  father.  The  more something is shared, the greater its value becomes. This is hard to grasp  for  societies  steeped  in notions  of  private  property,  where others are, by definition, excluded from sharing. Practices such as posting  land  against  trespass,  for  example,  are expected  and accepted  in  a  property  economy  but  are  unacceptable  in  an economy where land is seen as a gift to all.

Lewis  Hyde  wonderfully  illustrates  this  dissonance  in  his exploration of the “Indian giver.” This expression, used negatively today as a pejorative for someone who gives something and then wants to have it back,  actually  derives from  a  fascinating  cross- cultural misinterpretation between an indigenous culture operating in a gift economy and a colonial culture predicated on the concept of private property. When gifts were given to the settlers by the Native  inhabitants,  the  recipients  understood  that  they  were valuable and were intended to be retained. Giving them away would have been an affront. But the indigenous people understood the value of the gift to be based in reciprocity and would be affronted if the  gifts  did  not  circulate  back  to  them.  

Many  of  our  ancient teachings counsel that whatever we have been given is supposed to be given away again. From the viewpoint of a private property economy, the “gift” is deemed  to  be  “free”  because  we  obtain  it  free  of  charge,  at  no cost. But in the gift economy, gifts are not free. The essence of the gift is that it creates a set of relationships. The currency of a gift economy is, at its root, reciprocity. In Western thinking, private land is understood to be a “bundle of rights,” whereas in a gift economy property has a “bundle of responsibilities” attached.

...

In  material  fact,  Strawberries  belong  only  to  themselves.  The exchange relationships  we  choose  determine  whether  we  share them  as  a  common gift  or  sell  them  as  a  private  commodity. A great  deal  rests  on  that choice.

For  the  greater  part  of  human history, and in places in the world today, common resources were the rule. But some invented a different story, a social construct in which everything is a commodity to be bought and sold. The market economy  story  has  spread  like  wildfire,  with  uneven  results  for human well-being and devastation for the natural world. But it is just a story we have told ourselves and we are free to tell another, to reclaim the old one.

One  of  these  stories  sustains  the  living  systems  on  which  we depend. One of these stories opens the way to living in gratitude and amazement at the richness and generosity of the world. One of these stories asks us to bestow our own gifts in kind, to celebrate our  kinship  with  the  world.  We  can  choose.  If all  the  world  is  a commodity,  how  poor  we  grow.  When  all  the  world  is  a gift  in motion, how wealthy we become.

#gratitude #prayer tag #prayers of thanksgiving #prayers of lament #thanksgiving #lament #pandemic mention #braiding sweetgrass