#I would still be completely bedridden. and my life would still have value. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aquilaofarkham · 3 years

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title: the little death rating: T+ word count: 2,409 summary: Two years after his fight with Death, Trevor’s injuries start catching up to him while Alucard realizes that humans are more fragile than he thought.

For @trevorsmellmont ❤️ Thank you so much for commissioning me!

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There’s a sharp pain pooling beneath his right arm, coursing through his ribcage. Trevor ignores it just as he’s ignored all the other aches, jabs, and stings over the past two years. Two years of building something better, something sustainable to last far longer than its young, admittedly green founders. Countless days, weeks, and months erecting homes, gardens, and pens for those dumb gentle animals who think the entire townscape is their personal pasture. Not another mistake of allowing them to wander aimlessly straight into the castle. As if heifers need to learn how to craft medicine or conduct what’s being referred to as “electricity”.

The work will never be finished. Even on days like this when the sun burns hotter than any circle in hell. A few drops of warm salt-ridden sweat crawl past Trevor’s pressed lips and into his dry mouth. Pain and thick heat were never enough to stop him before—he tells himself this, barely certain of his own supportive thoughts (a new concept taking root in his mind). Take it slow, don’t push yourself, idiot. This cabin made from the earth will get built eventually. Another family will receive their forever home to fill with lots of babies. Old wounds beg to differ as Trevor’s arms begin to weaken, each movement slower than the last, struggling to keep up with Greta’s superior pace. She’s always known her way around a mallet.

Another bead of sweat gets caught in Trevor’s lashes, sparing his eyes from temporary discomfort. Though it wouldn’t have mattered as they’re already past any sort of respite. He looks for distraction but can only see the blurred shapes coming from a huddle of bodies, despite being a short distance from them. He knows it’s only Sypha and Alucard with the village children, which gives Trevor some relief.

There’s more comfort to be felt when he remembers that one of those little monsters is his own, nestled in Sypha’s lap then placed in Alucard’s gentle arms. She has a name far too long for any toddler to pronounce—Elizabeta Belnades Tepes Belmont—so what rolls off her developing tongue instead is simply “Liza”. She’s innocent now but once she leaves this little man-made paradise and ventures into a harsher world, she will take more after her mother and father. Grabbing whatever life offers with both fists, clawing and biting her way through every obstacle until her teeth are reddened with bloody meat. For the time being, they relish Liza’s soft cheeks, wispy hair, and the way she throws herself at whichever adult happens to be in her nearest vicinity. The other children are helping her socialize by playing games and embracing frivolity; a tactic Trevor remembers from his own upbringing, though with less games and even less frivolity.

“Think you can handle one or two more?”

Greta’s voice manages to cut through Trevor’s mental fog. Funny how she asks if he can “think” about anything especially at this suffocating moment. She must have noticed the way his lips curl into a happy doped up grin while observing his family and couldn’t help but inquire. As any close, loved and valued friend would.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“What’s wrong with looking a bit further into the future? Now that we all have one.”

“Looking is one thing, but seriously suggesting is something else completely. My… performance in certain areas isn’t as up to snuff as it used to be.”

As Trevor says this, things deteriorate and get a bit fuzzier from his eyesight down to his chest. Out of focus. Painful. He keeps talking, keeps ignoring the inevitable. Always ignoring what his own body screams for.

Greta wrinkles her nose at his statement. “There are children present, Belmont.”

“What? I’m referring to the house. I barely managed to get one wall up while you’re already on the fucking roof.”

“So dramatic. You three really do deserve each other. And you’re still young.”

“On the outside, maybe.”

She laughs at his lie, misinterpreting it as another piece of mild self-deprecatory banter he might never be able to live without. Greta says something else, perhaps her own personal jest to counter his, but Trevor cannot hear. Breath grows heavier, forcing out a raspy “it’s fine. It’s just my chest”. Barely able to tell if Greta actually said anything about his sudden condition. Or rather, not so sudden. No, this has been building over quite some time now. His muscles and bones screaming, begging for relief or death, and end to everything—whichever comes first. Feelings that only worsened over the years.

Trevor loses control over his legs, now practically boneless. The collision between his head and the ground is nothing compared to the inner war over his heart. Whether it will finally succumb. Greta immediately calls for help—he thinks without confidence, once again. Trevor can still hear voices, but not their exact words. Not Sypha when she demands to know what happened. Not Alucard when he begs for him to stay conscious. Not even Liza as she cries for her papa.

Then all the chaos in the world fades into slow darkness.

Alucard stands outside the closed bedchamber door, contemplating how often he’s touched Trevor’s body. Lithe fingertips have memorized every crevice, scar, soft and rough spots alike. Not just as a lover with wandering hands underneath blankets in the dead of night. Or a friend who holds him steady on both feet when he needs it. But as this family’s self-appointed physician.

Perhaps the prince of two worlds took after his father after all. “Polymath” is what Alucard used to describe Dracula and the very same word others have referred to him as, mostly in the realm of medicine. He knows more than anyone, little offence given towards the herb dispensers and leech farmers (only to be polite for his own townsfolk). Thus, through the anxieties and trembling hands, Alucard gave Trevor his diagnosis: heat exhaustion along with a muscle somewhere in his chest that decided to go rogue and strain itself.

The son of Tepes, the only local doctor worth trusting, and arguably the co-leader of their little prospering hamlet paces across the hall like Trevor did the day Liza was born. He’s on the other side of that closed door, resting. Bedridden from heat exhaustion and a fucking pulled muscle. It bothers Alucard. This shouldn’t have happened to someone who stood up to the personification of Death and pissed in his eye. A stupidly common and easily treatable inconvenience to the human body shouldn’t be the end of a fucking Belmont.

It shouldn’t—unless Trevor’s scars have anything to say about it. The ones on the inside and outside. Inside, unseen, and untreatable. There’s a harsh revelation to be found there; one which the prince has been purposefully avoiding up to this moment. Alucard can try as he wants, use the tools left behind by his father and mother as though it were their final death wish, but he might never tend to what pains Trevor on the inside. He’s a Belmont, undeniably so, but Belmonts are human despite the many recurring signs pointing to the contrary. Then there’s Sypha with her magic, but she’s human as well. Greta and Liza are still human. Humans are more susceptible to dying easy, little deaths even when they follow world-saving victories.

Where does this leave Alucard? Thoughts spiral down, down towards darker places the longer he nervously hovers outside the bedroom. He’s been known to awkwardly stumble into deflection, insisting he’s only half human whenever certain someones bring up this topic of necessary conversation. Meaning he might as well not be human at all. Not when the bodies of those he loves change so rapidly while his remains petrified. It’s only been two years, filled to the brim with countless hours he wouldn’t ever want to trade for the entire world. But the thought of one night as they nestle themselves into bed and Alucard touches either Trevor or Sypha’s chest only to feel an anomaly within their hearts. The earliest sign that time and age will eventually betray them as it does for all mortals—it could be the one thing to break him.

Alucard stops himself at the opportune moment, right before he starts thinking about his mother and father. Did Dracula ever contemplate Lisa’s mortality? Was the decision to never turn her easy or the hardest thing he forced upon his unstable, immortal conscience? Arms crossed over his chest like a protective cage, fingernails digging into the fabric of his shirt until it hurts, Alucard swallows a bitter glob of spit and reaches for the doorknob. Sypha will have to accept the fact that he couldn’t wait for her. He quietly thanks her for the lessons she taught him. If he needs to talk about something—truly talk, no sarcastic wit or banter, just the raw emotions—Alucard no longer hesitates. He won’t, not as he enters the room and immediately sees Trevor still in bed, not quite altogether there. At least he can manage a decent smile and wave of his hand.

“Evening.”

“How does your chest feel?”

“Still a bit tight, but I’ve been taking deep breaths like the doctor ordered.”

The amount of strain heard in Trevor’s voice worries Alucard. Hopefully the Belmont has learned something from the recent past, so he won’t be stupid and suggest anything having to do with leaving bed or getting back to work.

“I think I should get up.”

“I think that’s a poor decision.”

“Are you saying that as my physician or because you’re letting that pretty little blonde head of yours get too worked up?”

No. Yes. Both? If only Trevor didn’t look up at him with those glassy eyes (can he still see him?) the colour of stained glass windows erected in cathedrals he felt so unwelcome inside. If only that smile, somehow both soft and shit-eating, wasn’t in place of a more serious expression. Then maybe Alucard could voice his concerns without being accused of acting overbearing—an accusation grounded in solid evidence but he’s not ready to admit that yet. Not out loud.

“Normal, healthy adults do not become bedridden after pulling a small muscle in their chest.”

“Belmonts aren’t normal… or healthy in my case.”

Alucard’s brow furrows. “I want to think you’re healthy—” I need to. “—that you’ll live long enough to see the children of this village have little ones of their own. Liza included.”

“God’s sake, she’s only two years old. You and Greta, always talking about looking one step too far into the future. Let her be a child before adulthood rears its ugly maw.”

“Try not to change the subject.”

Trevor lifts his head off the indent pressed into his sweat drenched pillow. “Alright. Fine. I feel much better. I won’t push myself and give my heart some more time to recover.”

No response coupled with broken eye contact; sure signs of Alucard’s reluctance to accept his rather weak assurance. The Belmont has no other choice.

“Come here. Sit.”

Another moment’s hesitation before Alucard complies. Feeling his weight upon the mattress, Trevor blindly reaches for his wrist until calloused fingers grip cool, unblemished skin.

“Now lie down. No, no. Not like that. Place your head right here.” He pats his chest and with a fleeting amount of guidance, Alucard’s cheek fits perfectly between his breasts. Two hands smooth over the dhampir’s curves before one before one rests on his silk smooth head and the other against the small of his back. Alucard lied about one thing: his own body can change in small yet noticeable ways. Without the need to fight for the lives of others, whether today or tomorrow, sharp edges turn softer. Trevor and Sypha have finally let themselves breathe as well, let go, and enjoy all of life’s pleasures.

“Hear that?” He asks Alucard.

“... It’s slow.”

“Slow and strong like it should be.”

Alucard wishes he could bottle up that heartbeat or place it in a box. Preferably a music box to listen to its soothing melody long after its original body and soul are both eventually gone from this world. Who knows? It might make things hurt a little bit less like when he redrew his parent’s portrait or built a much larger nursery where his own used to be. Not a lot, but Alucard could possibly live with just “a little”.

“Speaking of Greta…” The baritone of Trevor’s voice sends deep vibrations through his broad chest, tickling Alucard’s cheek. “She said something about more children.”

“More orphans joining us?”

“No, even though I know how much you love those damn orphans. She asked if we could handle one or two more.”

“What did you say?”

“I implied that she was taking after Sypha’s influence by being wonderfully insane.”

Alucard chuckles in agreement. That sounds like Greta. “You never know. It might be good for Liza if she has a younger sibling.”

With the sound of Sypha’s well timed arrival, he’s mercifully saved from Trevor’s lengthy speech about how patience is apparently a virtue and tirades about his “performance” or lack thereof. Greta reveals herself shortly afterwards with a still crying Liza in tow. So many bodies gathered around one inebriated individual, here for him and him alone. Trevor’s consoled yet exasperated expression directed at Greta in particular says “isn’t there someone more important you could be helping right now?”

Sypha is the first to voice her gratitude after fussing over her exhausting loved one. “I will never be able to thank you enough, Alucard.”

“I think the bed did most of the heavy lifting, love.”

Trevor is given an affectionate, somewhat caring glare in response but his focus is demanded elsewhere once he suddenly notices Liza jumping onto the bed. She snuggles herself between him and Alucard, wetting their shirts with her tears.

“Easy there, you little monster. Papa’s still a bit tender.” Not that she can understand or care.

There’s an aura of relief felt amongst everyone in the room—less with Alucard who smiles bittersweetly. It’s a truth he knew he had to acknowledge before it tore his heart open. Trevor and Sypha will die one day and he will have to bury them. He’ll bury Greta, he might even bury Liza. Not today thank all the gods, or tomorrow, not for the next few decades if fate is kind enough.

But the day will come. And it will be Alucard’s own little death.

#castlevania #castlevania spoilers #castlevania fanfiction #trevor belmont #alucard #alucard castlevania #sypha belnades #greta danesti #trephacard #trevorcard #my writing #*cvfic

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scullydubois · 3 years

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Only the Light: Ch. 21

Hello, here is my ‘I didn’t plan for updates to take two weeks, but it always works out to two weeks’ post, right on time. Almost finished with this journey, thank you for sticking around <3

As Mulder helps care for his ill partner and her child, he enlists the Lone Gunmen to investigate the circumstances surrounding Scully's diagnosis. He and Melissa pay a visit to the three men, then Mulder gets an unwanted surprise back at apartment 42.

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

As Scully’s world has shrunk, the amount of love in it has grown. This is small consolation for the hell she’s enduring, but it is the only antidote. She realizes this now that she’s staring down the abyss: all the knowledge in the world won’t save you, and wealth is nothing but a false comfort. What will live on are the parts of herself she’s left with others. Her goal for her remaining time, however long that may be, is to hold tight to those she loves...not to slip away until her heart stops beating.

This is hard when she already feels like less of herself. She’s doing chemo twice a week at Georgetown, and it’s brutal. She knew it would be...her only other choice is to get that gravestone of hers re-engraved.

Meanwhile, Mulder pushed all other work aside to get in contact with the Mufon women. It only took him one day to do so, but Scully doesn’t know that, and for now, she doesn’t need to know. He’s keeping what he’s learned so far to himself...Betsy Hagopian is dead and has been since shortly after Scully saw her. Penny Northern is sick and not responding to treatment. A handful of other women, abductees like Scully, have developed rare cancers too.

It’s not something he knows how to talk about, such despondency. His world has always hinged on hope. That’s what his work on the X-Files is to him, one big leap of faith toward his sister. Or was, before Scully came along. It’s not that she diverted him from Samantha...no, she turned a very personal quest into something larger than him. Or her, or any one person they worked with. She pared it down to its core value, its overarching mission: the truth. Because the truth may hurt at first, but given time, it heals. And it is the only path to healing. This is what he’s learned from her. And now, he’s got to do everything he can to pass the revitalized world she’s shown him onto her.

The arrangement falls into place without any friction: Missy handles the chemo run on Monday mornings, and Mulder leaves work early on Thursdays. Emily spends Mondays with her grandma, and Thursdays too when Missy works the night shift.

Thursdays become something of a spiritual day for Mulder. The hours of approximately 3-10pm are spent doting on his partner--in her apartment, and then his car, then the hospital and his car again, and finally, back to her apartment. Mama Scully brings Emily back around eight, and if Missy’s not home, Mulder gets the honor of the bedtime ritual. The domesticity of it all tethers him to reality, maybe for the first time in his life. He’d give anything to change the circumstances, but it’s humbling to feel--for once--that he belongs on Earth.

It is on one of these Thursday evenings that Mulder could swear he feels his whole life trailing behind him, leading him to the present. The end of the year is creeping up in its usual fashion, which means the outside world is a blanket of darkness before the stoves of countless suburban homes have even been started. Having settled her comfortably into bed with a pile of pillows, Mulder carries his partner a glass of water and pulls the wastebasket to her side; this is their routine now.

“You doing okay?” he asks, lingering as she takes a sip of water. It will soon be time to make himself scarce so she can sleep.

She nods, gurgles a garbled affirmation. Mulder turns to go, and her heart leaps to her throat. “Will you stay?” she spews, embarrassed by her need.

“Of course.” She’s unaware, apparently, that when he leaves it’s for her, not him. He approaches her bedside, lowers himself carefully beside her knees. “Any particular reason?” he murmurs, examining the sunken spaces beneath her eyes.

“I just...wanted to talk to you,” she says, and Mulder thinks there might be a bit more color in her cheeks than there was yesterday.

“Okay.” He leans in and sweeps a strand of hair off her forehead so lightly that Scully doesn’t even feel it. She’s apprehensive about being touched these days, and he has taken this knowledge to heart. She is grateful, and to show the extent of this feeling, she strokes his hand, allows him to take hers in his. He runs his thumb over each finger as they continue.

He wants to ask what she’s thinking about, what it is that has so graciously extended his stay in this room. But he knows that she’ll get to it, that she has nothing to keep from him now.

There’s a sincere serenity on her face that he’s never seen. And after a minute or two, she begins. “I didn’t think it could happen--and it certainly doesn’t make much sense-- but right now, I am happier than I have ever been.”

A string on Mulder’s heart, tightened to its prime, bursts without warning.

She caresses the back of his head. “It’s so trivial, Mulder. So much of what we call life isn’t living at all. Or at least not the important kind.”

He lifts his gaze, eye contact conveying more than he could with words.

“But I’ve thought about the parts of my life that are living, and all of them, in some way, come back to you.”

Mulder shakes his head, feeling too flattered. “That’s not true…”

“You can believe whatever you need to,” she whispers, “but it is the truth, and I am eternally grateful that you happened to me.”

He tries to cough away some tears, which works about a quarter as well as he hoped it would. “Hold on, little lady.” He pats her hand in response to her smile. “I think you happened to me.”

Scully’s chest flutters in laughter. “Did I?” These subtle things have always been so important to them.

“You walked into my office, remember.”

“Well, I guess it would depend on who changed the most due to the other’s influence then,” she reasons.

Mulder just gives her a look.

She smirks. “Okay, so maybe I happened to you, but you…” she chews her lip, and this could be any other day of any other year if she weren’t bedridden. She picks out her words-- “You completed me.”

Mulder spills forward, finding his footing and spinning into the middle of the room. “Holy fuck Scully, are you trying to kill me?”

“We’ve been searching for the truth. That’s the truth, Mulder. I wanted you to know.”

He sets his jaw. He won’t burst into tears in front of her, not when she has all the reason to cry and yet has been so strong.

“You should get some sleep,” he tells her, hoping to expedite his exit from the room.

“I will. And it’s okay to be sad, but not for me. My life is as whole as ever.”

He nods, though he doesn’t agree (what’s new?). He knew Samantha for eight years and has been sad for twenty. He’s known Scully for half that--so he gets at least a decade of mourning.

“Sweet dreams,” he says, resting his hands on the door frame. “I’ll bring Emily in when she gets here.”

“Okay.” She closes her eyes, smiles. “Love you.”

“Love you too, DKS.” He blows a kiss and slips out, heat flooding to his face. This is the first time she’s said that unprompted, and is that what the threat of imminent death does to you? Pries you open?

He wonders. Whose love is saving who?

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

The primetime line-up is flickering over the television when Mama Scully arrives with Emily, passing her granddaughter to Mulder like the family heirloom she is. They exchange a few words in short breaths, reserving the air supply for their dear Dana. Mama Scully agrees to come see her daughter this weekend rather than interrupt her much-needed rest now, and Mulder is suddenly single parent-slash-babysitter; the specifics elude him.

Perfumed with baby powder from her grandmother’s overly enthusiastic hand, Mulder concludes that Em needs neither bathing nor changing. She doesn’t seem very keen on sleep either, seeing as how her little voice keeps calling out Moldy! and her little fists clobber his shoulders. Still, he will keep his promise. He carries her into the room she shares with her mother, stepping lightly lest the floorboards creak.

As he circles the bed to lay the child beside her sleeping mother, he winces at the mess in the trash can. Good thing he moved it into place though Scully had seemed okay. He hadn’t heard any retching, and it saddens him that he wasn’t there to hold her hair back. He settles Em into place, makes a mental note to rinse the can on his way out.

Her characteristically light sleep lightened further by her illness, Scully stirs from the shift of Emily’s weight against the mattress. She rolls toward the free side and flutters her eyelids open. Her smile is reflexive.

“Hello baby girl,” she purrs. She lays a hand against her daughter’s polka-dotted onesie. “Did you have a good day with Grandma?”

Emily answers with some fluttery babbling and gropes for her mother’s nose.

“I don’t think she’s very tired,” Mulder remarks, hands in his pockets. He smirks. “We should really find out what your mother feeds her.”

Scully pulls her lips into a grin, exhibiting a great deal more effort than she did just moments before. She blinks, rubs her eyes, and seems to go out of the world for a second. Then she sets her gaze on Mulder and speaks dreamily--”Will you tell us a bedtime story?”

“Oh!” Mulder scratches his chin, having expected his dismissal. “Do you think that would help…?”

Scully presses her head into the pillow. “I’m not gonna be able to fall back asleep until she does.”

That is a yes, served with some condescension.

“Okay, well, let me think.” He perches on the side of the bed. “Regrettably, I did not get my degree in bedtime stories.”

“Just say what you know,” Scully mumbles. “We’re the only ones listening, and the goal is to put us to sleep.”

“I hope that’s not a comment on my conversational skills,” he teases, smoothing the sheets.

Again, there’s a look of otherworldliness from his partner. She is somewhere else.

“Go on, tell us a story,” she hums, her surprising lack of impatience attributable to an equal lack of wakefulness.

“Let’s see…” He stretches out, perching on his elbow by Scully’s feet like she did in the first motel they ever stayed in. Emily sits herself up and grasps for him. He laughs, lets her latch onto his fingers.

“There once was a little girl who loved horses and bugging her brother,” he begins. “Now, I’m sure she sounds like just about any little girl out there, but I promise, she was as unique as they come.”

Scully closes her eyes and tilts her head back to listen.

“She always said she wanted to be a butterfly when she grew up so she could spread her wings and fly. And her parents would scoff and tell her that would never be possible, but she believed. She believed it would happen.”

Emily babbles along, adding her own colorful commentary.

“I know, I know right?” Mulder muses to the little girl. “The parents were such jerks.”

He tickles Em’s stomach, then remembers that he’s supposed to be helping her go to sleep. He kisses her temple and begins stroking her knee, hoping to achieve a hypnotic rhythm.

“And so one day, this little girl...well, this little girl got to go on an adventure. She left behind her house and her family, and she got to go up to the sky and see the stars, and it was everything she wished for.”

Scully opens her eyes slowly. Mulder’s focus is centered on Emily, who stares up at him with the awe of a museum-goer seeing the Starry Night. It is as if they are the only two in the room, and this gives Scully great comfort, for she can imagine them having a life after she is gone.

“The girl’s family was sad because they didn’t know where she went. The girl’s brother missed her the most, but it was okay because the girl was happy. She got to fly through the sky like a bird or a plane, and she achieved the dream that her parents thought would never come true.”

Em’s breathing begins to slow into sleep. And thank god, cause he’s running out of story to tell.

“Lay down, little girl.” He guides her onto her back so she can drift off without difficulty, then clears his throat softly.

“Some say that if you see a light in the night sky, that’s this little girl, floating among the stars, living her dream. And her brother, well, he’s pretty fond of that thought. He just wants her to be happy.”

Silence falls over the room like a throbbing sensation of unknown origin. Emily’s eyelids struggle between open and closed, and Mulder knows she will soon be out. Scully’s baby blues, meanwhile, peer at him with such unflinching intensity that he suspects she has fallen asleep like that. It is haunting, but it becomes much less so when she blinks and he realizes that she’s looking at him, that she heard the whole story.

“Is that what you wanted?” he whispers, half expecting her not to answer.

“It was beautiful, Mulder. Samantha lives on.”

He smiles from his eyes...oh, of course it was obvious, his little tribute to his sister. Scully said to work from what he knew, and this myth is something he’s used to keep himself going since his family realized that there would be no happy reunion with Sam. He’s happy to share his fantasy; such escapes are needed now.

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

Melissa’s heart leaps when she opens the apartment door to an empty living room. The TV drones out its slapstick laugh track, contributing to the ominous atmosphere. She’d expect to see Mulder taking up a restless refuge on the couch, or maybe sneaking a late night snack to Em. Her sister should be fast asleep by now, her little world able to slacken its hold on her. Unless she is no longer afforded such luxury…

Missy rushes toward Dana’s bedroom, her purse still on her shoulder. In the doorway she slows as her eyes adjust to the lack of light. And thank goodness because three silhouettes catch her eye; a medium one buried under the covers, a large one strewn diagonally across the bed, and a small bump barely visible on the far side. A snore of unidentifiable origin is the only disturbance. Missy smiles to herself. All the missing persons are accounted for and well. She can continue with the blissfully bland routine of her night.

She washes her face and brews some chamomile before settling on the couch with the week’s issues of Mad Magazine and Vogue. Yes, she contains multitudes. She’s up to the Spy vs. Spy comic when Mulder strolls in, yawning.

“I guess my bedtime story was effective.”

“Mmm.” Missy scoots her mug over so he can prop his feet up. Dana hates feet on furniture, but she’s got a child in the house now, so she’ll have to let go of those judgments. “How is she?”

“Oh shit.” She’s jogged something in his memory. “I meant to grab the trash can on the way out.”

Missy knows what this means. “I’ll get it in a second.”

Mulder nods in silent gratitude, relaxes back into his spot. “She seemed livelier than usual when we got home.”

It hits him that he said home, not back. And well, it is Scully’s home. What about him? He sleeps on the couch and he doesn’t pay rent...that’s how he lived at Oxford, though he gets the feeling that it’s not as evergreen at thirty-three years old.

These days, he only goes to his place on Sunday nights to get (what he considers) a week’s worth of clothing--two work outfits (hey, he never really sees anyone but Scully anyway) and one casual outfit that doubles as pajamas. He bought a bunch of fish feeding tablets so all he has to do is drop a few in on Sunday and the fish are set for the week. As far as he can tell, at least. None of them have floated to the top of the tank yet.

“And Em is all good?” Missy confirms.

Mulder nods. “Your mom takes good care of her.”

“I think I know the answer to this, but do you want some tea?” Missy asks, flashing her mug.

“No, no, save it for yourself.”

“Alright.” She flips a page in her magazine. “Just let me know when you’re ready to kick me out. Since I’m kind of in your bed and all.”

“I should be telling you that,” Mulder counters. “You don’t mind me staying here, do you?”

“Not at all.” Missy lays the magazine on the table. “It’s important that you’re around.”

“Really?...For what?”

“For who,” Missy corrects. “Emily needs you to give her balance, and Dana...she just needs you. You’re the safety net under her tightrope.”

“Oh.” This metaphor grounds Mulder better than gravity ever has.

Missy seems to sense this and takes the opportunity to profit off his vulnerability. “So what’s gone on between you?” she asks, an eyebrow arched.

Mulder squints at her. “Huh?”

“I keep waiting for Dana to kick you out or get irritated about you being around all the time,” Missy says with honest simplicity. “But instead, she lets you take her to chemo and fall asleep in her bed…”

“Well, I think the former is more ideal than the alternative, which is that I watch her child,” Mulder replies. “And I fell asleep on the bed, not in it.”

“Okay.” Missy sips her tea, keeps her eyes on him.

It’s pointless for Mulder to try to keep secrets anymore. He wrings out his hands. “If you must know, when you dropped her off at my apartment after her appointment, we... came to a mutual understanding.”

“Ah.” Missy is not surprised by any of it. Of course it happened. Of course her sister hasn’t mentioned it.

“Why are you just asking about this now?”

“Cause I expected my suspicions to be proven wrong, and that hasn’t happened.”

Mulder nods, taps absentmindedly on his knee. “Actually, I have something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” She’s intrigued. The enigmatic Fox Mulder, divulging on his own accord.

“Don’t get excited, it’s not good.”

Damn. Missy reels herself in. “About Dana?”

“About what happened to her or...what is happening to her. It’s about the Mufon women.”

Missy curls her legs beneath herself. “You reached them?”

He nods. “Well, Penny Northern’s hospice nurse picked up when I called. She’s got stage four tumors throughout her body that migrated from her nasopharynx.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Apparently most of the other abductees have cancer too. And Betsy Hagopian--the woman who Scully saw in the hospital last spring--is dead.”

Missy’s gaze drops to the floor. “So the invasive procedures that the abductors did are killing these women.”

“One doctor’s treating them all--he’s supposed to be a specialist--but it doesn’t look like he’s having much success.” Mulder pauses, his mouth partially open.

“What?” Missy presses.

“The Lone Gunmen and I have been looking into him, and we think that he might have been involved in the abductions.”

Missy barrels forward. “You think he did this to them on purpose and now he’s letting them die?”

Mulder nods solemnly.

“Well, we have to stop him. We can’t let any more patients go to him, especially Dana…”

“I know. I’m going down to see the Lone Gunmen tomorrow after work if you want to join me.”

Missy contemplates. “I have the lunch shift tomorrow, so I could. What would we tell Dana?”

“I’ll say that Skinner is keeping me late to go over some paperwork. You could say whatever, she’s not going to question you.”

“I hate to leave her alone for so long, but...yeah, we have to do this.” She leans back, takes another look at Mulder. “You might just save a lot of women, you know.”

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

Missy feels unseen eyes bore into her as she and Mulder approach the basement entrance of a helter-skelter building. She doesn’t recognize the part of town they’re in, and she doesn’t ask.

Mulder hits the button on a call box beside the door. Before he can speak, a voice leaps out at them.

“Howdy Mulderoony.” Mulder recognizes it as Frohike’s voice. “Glad to see you made it safely.”

A variety of locks and chains are undone, the door pulled open.

“Join our ménage a trois,” Frohike says, ushering them in.

“We can’t stay long,” Mulder tells them, squinting as he adjusts to the darkness of their realm. “You guys forget to pay the electric bill or something?”

“We’re conserving electricity,” Byers says, a shadow in the corner of the room. “It’s good for the environment.”

“I didn’t realize the environment was on your list of concerns.”

“It should be on everyone’s list of concerns,” Byers throws back matter-of-factly.

Mulder slides his hands into his pockets. “Touché.”

Ringo comes forward from the darkness, his hair as tressed and greasy as ever. “Well lookie here. Dana Scully in the flesh.”

Frohike inserts himself between them. “You can’t be serious, pool boy. That’s not her, I’d know her anywhere. It is, however, an equally lovely woman.” He takes Missy’s hand and kisses it. “My lady.”

Missy participates with amusement until Mulder brushes Frohike aside.

“Okay boys, lay off. This is Scully’s sister Melissa. And I believe she’s taken.”

Frohike bows. “A lucky man.”

“Woman,” Missy corrects.

“Oh. Excusez-moi."

Tucked in the darkness, Byers scoffs at the childish antics. “Come on, let’s cut to the chase. Lives are at stake.”

“I’m glad to see someone has a brain around here,” Mulder quips.

Ringo pats Mulder’s shoulder. “Not all of us got a full-ride to Oxford, but hey, I’d say we’ve done pretty well for ourselves.”

“Calm down, Ringo. You’d still be the smartest member of the Ramones.”

Like an unleashed dog, Ringo lunges forward, and Byers and Frohike pull him back. They are quite used to this.

“You can insult me, but never speak ill of the Ramones!” Ringo growls.

Mulder puts his hands up, smirks at the permission he’s been given. “Happily.”

Missy clears her throat, her amusement wearing thin. She’s like her sister in this way.

Mulder gets the memo. “Right. Can the trash talk, we’re here to catch a criminal.”

“If he is, in fact, a criminal,” Byers remarks.

Missy frowns. “Haven’t you proved that?”

“We’re connecting the dots, but we haven’t completed the picture yet,” Byers replies.

Mulder circles around to Byers’ monitor. “What have you got?”

“This doctor, Scanlon, isn’t just an oncologist,” Ringo begins, as if Mulder asked him. “His name is associated with the Lombard Research Facility.”

Mulder and Missy both give him a look. More, more!

“A high security medical research center in Allentown,” he clarifies.

“We’ve hacked into some of the security cameras,” Frohike tells them. “We’d have to get in to see for ourselves, but the activity is rather suspicious. The same men, in and out, at odd times. Whatever they’re storing in there, it’s significant.”

“Then let’s get in,” Mulder emphasizes. “You be the eyes and ears, I’ll be the legs.”

Ringo nods. “We’re working on it.”

“We need to observe their weekend patterns before we make any moves,” Byers insists. “We don’t set up our missions to fail.”

“Fine, but as soon as you’ve reached your confidence threshold--”

“We’ll call you,” Ringo promises.

“What are you expecting to find?” Missy asks, frenzied. “Will it help Dana?”

Frohike drums his fingers on the desk. “That’s the plan.”

Byers nods. “We can’t be sure exactly what we’ll find, but the connection is clear: Scanlon was involved with the abductions, and he’s exploiting these women for his own benefit.”

Melissa shivers involuntarily. “It’s amazing that you’ve figured this out.”

Ringo twirls a pencil through his hair. “We have a lot of free time on our hands.”

Mulder takes a shot at the mini-basketball hoop they have, misses. “And you’d better use it all to implicate Dr. Scanlon’s ass.”

Frohike does a two-finger salute. “Aye aye captain.”

Mulder thumbs toward the door. “Now we’ve gotta get out of here before the smell sticks to us. Scully will know exactly where we’ve been,” he smirks.

“Can’t argue with that.” Frohike shows them to the door. “Give the lady my regards.”

“Will do.” He turns back, exchanges a serious glance with each man. “Sort this out, boys.”

Just as quickly as they came, he and Melissa step out of the chambers and ascend back into the sun’s dominion. Entrusting those three with the well-being of a woman they love so much is far from ideal, and yet, they’re throwing all their faith into it.

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

Mulder slides his key into the door of apartment 42 shortly after seven on Sunday evening. He hasn’t been in for a week, and yet a vivid scent of...smoke sticks about the place. And a wrinkled mess of a man to go with it.

The old man lifts his chin. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Mulder is no longer naïve enough to be taken aback by Cancer Man’s ambush. He shrugs and slides his coat off. “Well, you are in my apartment.”

“I’ve heard that your partner is very sick,” CSM says, his steps so clunky that Mulder wonders whether the downstairs tenants will complain.

“What grapevine did you get that from?...Or are you the one growing the grapes?”

“It saddened me to hear. Agent Scully is a valuable member of the Bureau.”

Mulder nods. “You here to pass on your condolences? Cause I’m pretty sure you could just send a card.”

“I’m here to propose a solution...The doctors say your partner’s sickness is incurable. This is not true.”

“Smarter than the doctors, are you?”

“In this case I am.”

A bitter laugh rises from Mulder. “So I’m supposed to believe that you were involved in sickening Scully, yet you want to save her?”

“We all have our regrets.”

“And I have no reason to trust you.”

“Upon learning about her child, I feel a deep need to intervene.”

“Mmm.” Mulder begins to pace. “And by learning about her child, do you mean when Scully’s ova were removed and fertilized without her knowledge? Because I have a hard time believing that you didn’t know a thing about Emily until Scully got custody.”

“Certainly I did not foresee Emily ending up in her mother’s custody.”

“What was the purpose then, of Emily? To terrorize a woman by taking away her bodily autonomy?”

CSM shrugs. “That’s not my area.”

Mulder scoffs. “Okay you old freak. Tell me how to save Scully’s life or get the hell out of here.”

The wrinkled man folds his hands. “She had a silicone implant removed from her neck. Put it back in.”

Mulder freezes. “Are you serious? That’s your miracle cure?”

CSM nods. “It is the only way to save her life. Removing the implant is what caused the cancer in the first place.”

Mulder steps forward, getting in the old man’s face like a middle-school bully. He’s ready to throw a punch--honestly, ready to kill the man--if need be. He could do it. Easily. He could.

“What does the implant do, Cancer Man?”

“Believe it or not, it is meant as a sort of inoculation. It offsets the negative effects of any tests performed during the...time away.”

“Uh-huh, and what do you get from it?”

“Who says I get anything from it?”

“How else would you know that she had it removed?”

“I am everywhere, Agent Mulder.”

Mulder loses his thinly-veiled calm, wraps his hand around the man’s saggy neck. “You fucking pervert, I’ll kill you! I’ve killed a man before just like this. Tell me the truth.”

“This is the truth,” CSM wheezes, not intimidated by his rapidly deteriorating air flow. His cold, hard eyes stare into Mulder’s. “You wouldn’t kill a man over nothing, would you?”

Mulder squeezes harder, his fingers gripping the man’s pulse. He watches the light drain from his victim’s eyes. All the old bastard does is smirk at him.

Angered by this more than anything, Mulder releases the man so suddenly that his bony body is thrown into the wall. He keeps his footing, stumbles forward.

“Get out,” Mulder growls. When he doesn’t respond, Mulder pokes his finger at the door. “Get out now!”

CSM dusts himself off and walks out, the pompous smirk never leaving his face. Mulder slams the door shut behind him.

There are certain truths he cannot escape. If Scully has made him believe in Heaven, CSM has made him believe in Hell.

#sincerely hope i did the lone gunmen justice lol #also i feel like this chapter is...a normal episode amount of angsty instead of the slow paper cut of the last chapter #the x-files #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #txf #txf fic #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine #eww this looks weird w/the tumblr update!!#read it on ao3 lol

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lovemesomesurveys · 3 years

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x1 How often are you optimistic? I’m such a pessimist.

x2 Would you say your thoughts are generally rational and logical or irrational and illogical? I think I’m logical a lot of the time. I worry and overanalyze everything and know I come off negative and pessimistic, and I am, but also I think there’s a lot of times where I’m just being real and logical and that can be hard to hear for some people. I can also admit there are things I’m irrational and illogical about as well and jump to worse case scenarios without really thinking about things first or listening to the advice of others. I’m very stubborn.

x3 Tell an interesting fact about your favorite country? Sweden is home to Alexander Skarsgard, aka my love. That’s very interesting, I know.

x4 Are you wearing anything of any sentimental value? Describe? No.

x5 Are you the type to pay attention to detail? Yes.

x6 To you, what is especially distracting? I feel like I get distracted more easily these days. Like, I get sensory overload.

x7 What are some things that are important in your life right now? My faith, my family, my health.

x8 When was the last time you did some major cleaning? I haven’t in awhile. I haven’t been able to.

x9 Have you ever thrown anything away, and regretted it later? Yes. I have a hard time getting rid of stuff as it is.

x1o Are you the type to regret things, or live and learn? I have many regrets. :/

x11 How often do you feel like you need time to yourself? A lot. It’s better for those around me, too, cause I’m extra moody and irritable nowadays.

x12 Do you like being around other people? Why is this? I like spending time with my family.

x13 Do you feel like anyone "gets" you? Who? In some ways, but not completely. I don’t even get me.

x14 What would you be most likely to do with a friend, today? I don’t have friends.

x15 When are you most likely to be crabby? I’m crabby a lot of the time. :/

x16 How about upbeat and cheerful? It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that. No one would describe me as such right now that’s for sure.

x17 Who challenges you the most? In what way? Life sure does.

x18 Who seems to hold you back? In what way? Myself.

x19 What was the last opportunity that you passed up, and why? Hmm. I don’t recall.

x2o Would you rather have a quiet day at home, or be on the go? I’m a hermit crab and don’t have the energy to be on the go. I’m also pretty much bedridden for the time being.

x21 Do you think you made a good impression on the last person you met? I don’t know.

x22 How do you feel about people who neglect their pets? It angers me and makes me upset.

x23 Should there be an application process for having children? Uhhh.

x24 Are you able to ask for help when you need it? Sometimes. I just don’t like having to ask for a lot of help. Especially these days when I’m having to be really dependent on others for a lot of things. It’s frustrating not being able to do things you used to do. Some of it being what should be simple tasks.

x25 How intense is your anger? Have you ever hurt anyone/yourself? It takes a lot to make me angry. No, I’ve never hurt anyone or had the desire to do so.

x26 What is something red that you like to eat? Marinara sauce.

x27 Do you ever have trouble getting lighters to work? I don’t mess with lighters.

x28 If someone drinks, would that lower your opinion of that person? No.

x29 What if they did drugs? I would have an opinion about it if they did hardcore drugs. I wouldn’t think lower of them unless they were being completely reckless and doing things that were harmful. Like when I hear of a pregnant woman shooting up heroin still and having total disregard for their unborn child.

x3o Do you know anyone who is abusive? Are you abusive? No.

x31 Have you ever contemplated cheating on anyone? No.

x32 If your best friend wanted to cheat on his/her partner, you would say? My best friend is my mom, who is with my dad, so I’d definitely have something to say about that.

x33 Who do you know that gives very sound advice? My mom.

x34 What do you think makes a person weak? I feel like I’m a weak person physically and emotionally, but I’m a lot more understanding of others and give more grace to others than myself. I wouldn’t think someone else in my position was weak, but I can’t say the same for myself.

x35 What makes a person strong? A lot of things.

x37 Name one thing that you think defines you as a person? Uhhh.

x38 Who do you go to when you need comfort? If I go to anyone, it’s my mom.

x39 Is there anyone/anything with whom/which you like to cuddle? My doggo.

x4o Do nightmares still bother you? Yes?

x41 At what age did you start to feel like a teen, and not a kid anymore? When I started high school.

x42 Are you or were you in a hurry to grow up? No. I never understood why everyone else seemed to be in such a rush.

x43 What is a fear you have about living on your own? Being on my own. I am perfectly content with still living at home with my family.

x44 Do you have any survey-maker recommendations? If yes, who? I do have a survey-making side-blog... <<< Yeah, check out @ohsh1t2wksl8

x45 Who was the last person to completely fascinate you? Hm. I don’t recall.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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lostdeepindarkthoughts · 3 years

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a letter to my father pt. 1

My thoughts and my perspective of my life after 21 years

I’m not expecting this to change a thing. Infact I expect you to nitpick any grammatical errors or things I said and probably respond with “you never expressed these things to me and now you drop them on me all at once”. Thats fine. It doesn’t change a thing though. These are thoughts I’ve held back for many years and it was about time I expressed them, because I’ve hit my lowest point but I do suspect things can go even lower.

I can honestly say that for the past few years I’ve lived here, I’ve slowly descended more and more into misery and depression. I know you will blame my mother for this and it is at this point I ask you to subtract the thought of her throughout the duration of this letter and let this be a one on one between me and you. Please learn to accept responsibility. You are far to “old and wise” as you would say, to be acting this way. I understand its very easy to throw the blame on others and be upset with them and that may be the perspective you see problems from, and yes I do understand that there are times where that person is at fault, but sometimes you need to realize that you have done wrong, you have to accept that you have done wrong and you have to change. You have to do better.

After you got shot, I know that things were going to change, unfortunately, for the worse, I can recall telling a friend about it on the day it happened and I hate that I was right. I knew you would get even more miserable and more security conscious crazed, partially due to getting shot and also having your routine life ending somewhat prematurely, being forced to be bedridden and depending on others to carry on your tasks. This unfortunately made you a severe critic, often commenting on everyone’s pitfalls because I suspect their methods were not on par with yours.

And things did descend even further, sadly.

And then in late 2019 I met someone amazing and things really started to look up. Well I’ve known her for years actually, it just so happened that one night she wanted to take things a little further and I was more than overjoyed. You’ve met her. You didn’t approve because she was non Muslim. And part of me feels like because she was black as well, even as much as you’ve insisted you had nothing against her race, I’ve spent too long observing and listening to the way that you and other members of the family speak about black people sometimes. Well I’m glad to tell you and I know you’ll be more than overjoyed to find out that we’re no longer together and we no longer talk.

I think one of our greatest flaws as people is that we set too many criteria that a person should meet to be perfect. And that’s why we’re miserable. We don’t find the perfect someone because no one checks all the boxes.

I was lucky to meet someone special. And she was (and still is) perfect. And for the first time in a while I was actually very happy. Unfortunately things didn’t work out and it was all completely my fault and I haven’t been the same since. I suspect my health has suffered a sudden toll due to how much I’ve been bothered by this. Over these next few months I’ve intended to work on myself and work on the way I treat the people I care about. I really wish she would give me another chance. I am fed up of everyone else’s mentality of “you’re young, its okay to make mistakes, you don’t have to be serious with relationships” and I honestly think that is a very sad way of living considering most of the people that say this are the ones that are out almost every night at various clubs drinking till 2am. I think I’ve unfortunately picked up your trait of aggression when confronted, instead of trying to calmly sit down and talk and work out a solution. And it has cost me something I really valued. Unfortunately you and no one else would ever understand what she meant to me. And after all I did I suppose she thinks the same and I understand. But I do love her. Very much so. And I hope that one day we can pick up where we left off and I promise her to try harder this time.

- Ridwan

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a-very-fond-farewell · 4 years

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The forbidden crack! Untamed prompts: 16/?

FMA AU meets “The Wind Rises” AU : “I still remember every day”

[crazy idea #1: if you are familiar with FMA: Brotherhood (superior in every way) you probably are too young or too smart to remember the original 2003 FMA clusterfuck series but i’m neither young nor smart so here is my take on one of my favorite animated movies of all times “The Conqueror of Shamballa” BUT the story doesn’t start in 1923 Germany but somewhere around 1923 Japan. If you are familiar with this movie and the 2003 series you will know Ed Elric has moved from London to Munich and started living there frequently interacting with a family of rocket scientists (sounds crazy if you are only knowledgeable with FMA: B, but… trust me). So i thought, “what if our protagonist (in this case WWX) travels from China to Japan to work on some airplanes instead?”]

[crazy idea #2: “The Wind Rises” from Ghibli is set in that historical period right? so what if we make transmigrated WWX work his engineering magic on some aircrafts before any conflict can actually take place? precisely between the end of the Taisho period (1912-1926) and the beginning of the Showa period (1926-1989), when the desire for innovation and the new technological advancements could be implemented while at peace.]

[obviously, this is just a prompt, and I don’t feel particularly comfortable with creating fantasy storylines so intertwined with actual historical events, especially if these events caused the suffering of many and belong to a culture that is not mine to describe with the potential risk of offending its values and legacy. also, fandom should be fun and if you love angst maybe this is not the prompt for you. on the other hand I thought of how much i love movies like “Porco Rosso”, set somewhat really fucking close to where I live while describing a fun and lighthearted narrative even if it’s dealing with historical and political events that are still fresh and painful in our collective memory nowadays. Maybe it is possible to write something easy and fun while, at the same time, setting it in a time of great difficulties without hurting anyone. Maybe I’m not the person for that (after all, this is just a prompt), but if you want to explore a similar plot you are encouraged to tag me bc I would really like to know your take on the matter. and if I happen to offend anyone I will properly apologize and take responsibility.]

[the title is from L’Arc-en-Ciel’s song “Lost Heaven”, which still makes me cry to this day]

When Wei WuXian wakes up after the core transplant surgery, the first thing he realizes is that he should be awake. Wen Qing insisted on the fact that he had to keep himself awake and conscious for the entirety of the procedure, otherwise he would have suffered from extreme backlash and so would have Jiang Cheng. But here he is, waking up from slumber after who know how many days. In front of a figure in white he doesn’t recognize. Everything is blurry in his periphery, as if he’s inhabiting two bodies at the same time. His every move heavy and his speech sluggish.

The person in white turns the moment Wei WuXian realizes he’s standing in the middle of nowhere, in the space between realities.

“Where am I?”, he asks, trying to make out the features of the person in front of him, their long white hair, the silver lining of their robes.

“You’re here to pay a price.”, the other answers, their voice a mere whisper. Barely louder than the crisp little noises the pins and jewelry adorning their hair and neck are making as the person approaches him slowly.

“A price for what?”

“Before losing consciousness, you wished for your brother to be saved no matter what.”

“Is… is Jiang Cheng safe?”

“He’s dying because you fell asleep.”, the other announces, sending shivers down Wei WuXian’s spine, dread sitting in the middle of his chest, “You cannot wake up, the damage is done. But if you enter this door you will be able to save him. Your body in this world will die, the core will not share two owners at once and your brother will be the only one able to use it from now on.”

Wei WuXian doesn’t have time to feel pain, determination painting him in vibrant colors in that white realm of silence and void. He turns as the person in white gestures him to do so and he finds a door so big it could rival with one of the gates of Koi Tower. Engraved on its surface are myriads of characters reminding him of something ancient and forbidden. Something so dark and dangerous not even cultivators as knowledgeable as Lan QiRen would be able to understand, let alone encourage learning about.

“What will i find on the other side?”, he wonders, watching as the gates slowly open in front of him, a warm wind spiraling upwards and messing his hair.

A kiss from the underworld.

Is this the day I die, he doesn’t ask.

“Another world.”, the woman in white and silver answers honestly.

Wei WuXian doesn’t have time to recognize her that he is dragged inside by a thousands of spirits with eyes for mouths and teeth for hands.

Mere months have passed since he woke up in a body similar to his original one, but completely different from his own at the same time. He’s still seventeen, but cannot rely on cultivation anymore. The brand scar he received in the cave of the Tortoise of Slaughter is nowhere to be seen. His mother and father welcomed him back in their arms, crying over his bedridden body thanking the heavens for saving their only son from typhoid fever. He knew deep down those were not his true parents, that Cange Sanren had a different name on top of that and that their actual son’s soul was probably the sacrificial lamb paid on the altar of Wei WuXian’s greed to save his only brother. He knew this since day one, yet he was too tired to say anything at the time. He woke up in a small village in the Hubei Province under the Republic of China, established twelve years prior. A reality almost identical to his own, but stripped of any power of the cultivation world.

However, now things have changed and his parents have died a second time, the fever and starvation taking them in their sleep one at a time. But not before his mother could send a desperate letter to an old acquaintance of hers asking them to take their son “Wei Ying” out of the country and save him from harm. After accepting her proposition, the Chinese diplomat Jiang Fenmiang has invited Wei Ying to live with him and their family in Tokyo, where he’s working in order to strengthen and acquiesce the relations between the two countries after a period of tension and grievances.

As he travels on what he understands to be called a “train”, Wei WuXian takes notes over the many technological advancements this new era has brought to humanity. Such as the ferry he has taken to travel overseas and now the locomotive taking him to Tokyo. The pain of losing his parents for the second time is still fresh, as is the memory of the past few months living alone on the streets chased by rabid dogs. His body is still weak after surviving the fever and his lungs and digestive system are forever compromised, but he wants to meet Jiang Chen and YanLi a second time in this new world. Feeling guilty for leaving them in a world ruled by the Qishan Wen clan, the only thing he can do is to atone in this new life and protect them in this reality. He takes a brief moment to himself as he looks up from his notes and sees a man approaching from the first class carriage of the train.

Initially Wei WuXian doesn’t regard the stranger with anything but a polite nod, some of his notes flying away from his journal as he adjusts himself on the platform at the end of his car. He sprints up to try to catch them... before the stranger could grab them for him and give them back.

It’s then that Wei WuXian recognizes the man, an older version of Lan Zhan from the one he remembers, dressed in modern clothing and shorter hair. He’s just another double, a copy of the original he used to know. Just like his mother and father, just like the Jiang family he’s going to meet soon. No recognition comes from the other-Lan Zhan, yet Wei WuXian lets himself stare for longer than necessary as he thanks the man.

A single tear rolls down his cheek as an earthquake shakes the train and destroys everything around them in that day of September 1923.

[details down below]

1923:

(WWX is 17)

the train stops and all the passengers survive, but they are scared and don’t know how to reach Tokyo safely by foot. Some officers guide them to the nearest road and help them walk for a while before they have to leave for the capital in an attempt to contain the flames of the many fires caused by the earthquake.

Lan Zhan’s double has the same name and features, but is now twenty-five and was supposed to arrive in Tokyo to meet with his brother, Lan Huan’s double. He’s a little more cheerful than what WWX remembers and he also decides to stick with the younger man all the way to Tokyo. After glancing at WWX’s notes earlier, in fact, double!LanZhan recognizes him as someone from his same country and reasons they should feel safer traveling together for a little while more.

given that trying to explain his situation to double!LanZhan would be useless, WWX simply agrees and shoves down any temptation to tell him all about Gusu and the cave and how much he wishes he could go back to his original world. They walk all the way to Tokyo talking quietly: they are surrounded by strangers, WWX doesn’t know much Japanese to begin with and he doesn’t want to be recognized as a foreigner.

uncle Jiang, along with some clothes to travel more comfortably, has sent him enough money to travel and direction to reach his home. The only thing WWX hopes is that nobody was injured in the earthquake and that no more waves can reach them before he can join them. What an unfortunate time to arrive. Aunt Yu would probably hate him in this reality too just because of that.

but as he trails behind double!LanZhan and enters Tokyo, WWX feels as if hell has found its way into the world, flames everywhere and nowhere to go. In the midst of chaos, however, double!LanZhan tries to keep him from fainting or shaking, talking about all the things he and his brother wish to work on as architects working for the government. Yet, WWX senses how worried he is for his twin brother and pities him as he tries to calm down, marveling at how much this version of Lan Zhan can talk. They walk towards the Jiang household as double!LanZhan chats about the university he’s supposed to work for the following month, wondering if it’s still intact after the catastrophe.

they reach the elegant house without any more troubles, relief spreading through their hearts as they notice it has endured little to no damage. Uncle Jiang scurries over them and immediately recognizes WWX bc of how much he resembles his mother and the man dotes on him from then on. He thanks double!LanZhan profusely, ignoring the resentful glances coming from his wife and the curious ones from his daughter. A kid roughly the same age as WWX approaches and takes the other’s only suitcase: a scowl on his face and hurry in his steps, telling WWX to keep up because “the world is crashing down if he hadn’t noticed”.

WWX doesn’t have time to properly thank double!LanZhan that he is urged inside by his new family.

1927:

(WWX is 21)

given the connections the Jiang family has in both countries, WWX and his step siblings are able to enjoy benefits others may only dream of, but the government is wary of foreigners and they need to act as good guests. This angers and stresses Jiang Cheng, his temper even worse than what WWX remembers, and he is even more rebellious than his new stepbrother. It’s WWX who needs to tone down the other’s snark at times, reminding him they cannot do as they please and that, even if others are jealous of their grades in university and overall position, they are still living in difficult times.

WWX knows this Jiang Cheng is a double ant that everything feels like a dream and nothing matters anymore, but if he pretends hard energy maybe he can stop feeling guilty for leaving his dear ones behind. But acknowledging this Jiang Cheng as the real one feels wrong and sometimes WWX distances himself from him, keeping his secrets for himself.

however, double!JiangCheng has seen his brother scream in his dreams, even waking him up in the middle of the night just to shake him from his horrible nightmares. Sometimes Wei Ying watches him in his sleep, when he hasn’t yet realized double!JiangCheng is awake, as checks for his breath. Other times he pressed a hand to his abdomen, as if checking for scars or injuries. He doesn’t know what it means, but he is willing to wait for the other to come around and they’ll him himself.

their sister YanLi has figured a way to be useful in a country wary of foreigners by studying to become a doctor and save lives. Their father is currently struggling at work because of the increasing tensions between the two countries and their mother keeps to herself in spite of everything.

WWX’s health deteriorates after he starts working, their supervisor suggesting him and his brother to keep a low profile just not to attract any unwanted attention on their family. Their work as engineers can convince the higher-ups to keep them close in case war were to strike again. But Jiang Cheng feels bad for working for a country constantly threatening his parent’s home country over mining rights and land ownership. He may love working on new aircrafts and test his limits, but he’s against using his energy and drive for appease someone else’s greed.

WWX, for the first time in his life, feels second to his brother, admiring his ability to distinguish from right and wrong while he himself cannot even tell dreams and reality apart. With a weakened body and a mind filled with memories of a world that doesn’t even exists, WWX convinces himself he’s in hell and this life is the punishment for being too greedy himself.

1929:

(WWX is 23, double!LWJ is 30)

tension is too strong for them to live in Tokyo, with Uncle Jiang forced to work for the government and scramble for solutions in order to keep his family safe in a secluded location in the mountains, in a hotel in the middle of nowhere. There, the elites enjoys the last days of peaceful times they will not see again for years to come.

WWX feels drained, dreaming of people he will either never see again or see every single day in the faces of strangers. Jiang Cheng convinces him to talk, even if only to ease his pain, but WWX cannot bring himself to reveal the whole truth. The only thing he feels like to share is that he has visions of another world and that maybe reincarnation is not as far fetched as it seems.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t really believe him, but he supports him and together with YanLi they try to make Wei Ying relax during their vacation on the mountains.

there, out of nowhere, WWX meets double!LanZhan and his brother: they meet on top of a hill as the wind rises and some of the two brothers’ musical scores fly away. WWX and his stepbrother catch them and bring them back as YanLi approaches the two musicians.

this time, WWX notice immediately something is wrong. Double!LanZhan is far less cheerful than what he remembers from their first encounter, while his brother seems to have lost his vision, music being his only comfort. The group exchanges pleasantries with the twins on top of the hill, until rain forces them all to seek refuge under some trees. WWX watches double!LanZhan closely and realizes these years apart must have been tough on him. He asks if double!LanHuan has lost his sight after the earthquake and the only thing double!LanZhan is able to do is nod, his eyes filled with tears.

Would it be so bad to befriend this other-LanZhan? Is it right for WWX to start a new life in hell with someone so compassionate and kind? Maybe that would be okay in the end, maybe they can be good friends and survive this world that is wary of them simply because of the greed of human kind. Then why does it feel wrong to let himself be loved by these people? Why does it feel like he’s betraying the ones he has left behind?

during their vacation, the two families get closer and they enjoy each other’s company. They talk in Japanese to not be stared by the other patrons and WWX wonders what happened in his world. If the Wens have crumbled down. If their name is synonymous with hatred and greed. If this is how any refugee would feel, isolated from the rest of the country while desperately trying to hold onto any familiar face and memory at hand.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t like to talk in another language and fear others might look down on him and seldom attracts attention by causing mayhem. But YanLi and even double!LanHuan help him come down from his stubborn antics and take him to long walks to calm down. This way, WWX and double!LanZhan are frequently left alone, because Wei Ying cannot walk for too long without feeling exhausted and so the other keeps him company.

since double!LanZhan is so under the weather and quiet, WWX takes it upon himself to entertain him and he spends their days chatting about the things he misses from home, what he would like to do if he were to live somewhere else, they airplanes he would like to make. He doesn’t talk about how much me misses flying on a sword, or how the wind fills under his clothes up in the air, or how much he would have loved to hold onto Lan Zhan among the stars at night.

WWX cries in front of double!LanZhan without noticing one day, missing the days at the Cloud Recesses when they were classmates and he used to pester the other boy. And only now, only now he understands what it was, what he wanted to convey with his antics. How much he wanted the other to notice him and pay attention to him. But the one rubbing a comforting hand up and down his spine now is not his Lan Zhan. Even if he’s just as kind and compassionate, just as quiet and brilliant, just as hurt and lonely.

they share a kiss under the trees of a meadow one afternoon and WWX feels like he’s either betraying the real Lan Zhan or this gentle young man who’s never done anything bad in his entire life. And he doesn’t know why double!LanZhan is crying as well as they kiss, but he’s too afraid to ask.

the following day Uncle Jiang calls the rest of his family back home and the Jiang siblings say their goodbyes to the twins hiding alone with their uncle on the mountain. Promising to meet each other again soon, even if WWX knows that’s most likely nothing but a well intentioned lie given the hardships they’re bound to face.

1930:

Lan Zhan:

(WWX is 24, double!LWJ is 31)

after meeting with the Jiang family, the twins try to retrieve their life as usual the moment they return in Tokyo for the winter. Their uncle notices double!LanZhan’s distress over departing from the young men he had met there, but his inquiry is fruitless since his nephew refuses to speak. The old man has noticed some changes in the younger twin over the course of a couple of years or so: his frequent migraines and tiredness, his laborious efforts to speak as if feverish and confused, his nights interrupted by nightmares more often than not.

even his brother has noticed the difference despite losing his vision in the fire at the imperial university seven years prior. His cheerful spirit is gone, his steps alternate different rhythms at times, and even his accent often doesn’t sound familiar to him. In his younger brother’s words “it’s almost as if two of me are residing in a single body”. But Lan Huan doesn’t know what to make of it, wishing he could look his brother in the eyes and see the truth for himself.

double!LanZhan, on the other hand, feels split in half ever since he has kissed Wei Ying. He remembers that day because his body has moved on its own, half of his mind lost in Wei Ying’s grey eyes while the other half (his own half) was trying to understand why the sudden urge to hold the boy tighter in his arms. He felt like someone had possessed him for those brief, stolen moments in time before leaving his body altogether the second Wei Ying has run away from him in the meadow.

unable to find an answer, feverish and tired with a migraine splitting his brain in half, double!LanZhan wanders around Tokyo trying to remember where the Jiang residence was. His feet walking him towards Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng’s room in the evening one day. Wei Ying is alone, sitting down by a table covered in drawings. Mesmerized, double!LanZhan watches from the window as Wei Ying traces the lines of faces and places, over an over again, as if he doesn’t want to forget what his imagination has shown him that night.

seeing what is depicted on the table, double!LanZhan’s migraine worsens and he collapses in the back garden, snow piling up on him. Wei Ying immediately notices and brings him inside, covering him in quilts to keep him warm. But Wei Ying is the warmest of all, his embrace like a balsam over double!LanZhan’s pulsing head as the younger tries to keep him warm by rubbing his arms over and over.

suddenly his head doesn’t hurt anymore and he can finally, finally let go. Let the other half take his place for now, just for a little while, as he takes a small nap in Wei Ying’s arms.

when he wakes up, Lan Zhan cries all of his tears.

he was finally able to reach Wei Ying, his Wei Ying, who was trapped in another world. The one Lan Zhan has been looking for ever since the end of the Sunshot Campaign, ever since Jiang Cheng himself told him of his demise. The one Lan Zhan was able to reach only after sacrificing his golden core to the immortal turned goddes BaoShan Sanren in front of a gate born from the efforts of some past demonic cultivator.

for two years he had tried to make his way through the veil between realities, his consciousness exhausted as if he had been swimming for far too long. The other-him, the man who shared his name and face, hosting his soul at the expenses of his own body for over two years. All because of Lan Zhan’s grief and greed, all because a goddess had promised him he could be reunited with the love of his life. But at what cost... at what cost indeed.

since two souls cannot reside in a single body, one of them had to die in order for Lan Zhan to meet his Wei Ying again. The moment WWX sees the other cry, he immediately recognizes him and tries to console him for the loss of his “other”. But LWJ cannot seem to feel any relief as he falls asleep once more in his arms.

Jiang Cheng:

Jiang Cheng enters the room and is baffled to find one of the twins in there, but seeing his brother crying over the man he decides to help them instead of calling the servants. Things are turning ugly in town for people like them and he doesn’t trust anyone anymore since YanLi got married and started working for the hospital, leaving the brothers alone.

in tears, Wei Ying tells him everything: of his dreams of another world, of the one he was destined to meet, of Lan Zhan finally remembering who he really was. He’s still fixated on this “past life” thing, uh? Jiang Cheng doesn’t really understand, but he knows the two man has grown fond of each other the previous summer and doesn’t really envy their fate.

he watches over them as they fall asleep in each other’s arms, having promised them to keep the servants from knowing about Lan Zhan’s presence in their house. That’s when he comes up with a plan and calls Lan Huan on the phone, briefly telling him that “his brother Lan Zhan has made a choice and that he cannot stay in Tokyo anymore”.

Lan Huan asks Jiang Cheng if his brother is there, to which the other only says “yes”. Is he with Wei Ying? Yes. Are they in love? Yes. Do they need to hide? “I can manage that for them.”

They meet the following morning at dawn, outside of Lan XiChen’s house to not attract the attention of the Jiang servants. Jiang Cheng will escort the two lovebirds to a cottage somewhere in the countryside, far away from society. When Lan Huan will succeed in convincing Lan QiRen to follow him there, they will receive them and arrange something.

Jiang Cheng May not believe his brother, but he knows things are getting dangerous in the country, especially for foreigners like them. Let alone someone like Wei Ying and his lover.

Wei WuXian:

While Lan Zhan is still feverish, Jiang Cheng and WWX take the train with the older man to the countryside. WWX feels bad for leaving, but Lan Zhan needs to rest away from the modern world for a while and he himself doesn’t feel well at all. Not with his lungs giving up on him any time he has to stiffen a cough and swallow his own blood with every breath. His weakened body may have caught something in the last few months, but he will not give up on Lan Zhan now.

They reach the cottage and Jiang Cheng immediately sends a letter to his sister, apologizing for what he’s about to do. They only have to wait a week for Lan Huan and Lan QiRen to arrive, but in the meantime Lan Zhan has regained enough energy to eat and stand up on his own. WWX asks him what is going on, and LWJ tells him that he’s currently trying to hold onto this body while simultaneously ruling over his original body in Gusu. He doesn’t want to fade away, but he fears slipping out of reach and leave WWX behind a second time.

when Lan QiRen sees them, he cannot deny what is in front of him: someone who is merely pretending to be his nephew greets him with a stoic face as he announces his intention to marry a man. Despite the initial shock, when Lan Huan has asked him to take him in the middle of nowhere in the countryside in winter, Lan QiRen has accepted to indulge him knowing Lan Zhan must have had something to do with it. But this in front of him is definitely not his nephew and this realization hurts more then knowing he is in love with a man.

Lan Huan, on the other hand, knows from his voice this is not his brother but cannot explain why. He’s filled with grief at the thought and not even his uncle can comfort him, the older man himself in pain for a loss he cannot comprehend.

WWX asks them to indulge them just this time, feeling like his life is getting closer and closer to its end, not knowing what else to do. Jiang Cheng comforts the two men as he tries to explain his reasons, that nobody will let them have even an ounce of joy in the world they’re forced to live in and that, if things will end up getting worse in the end, at least they’ll have this memory to look back to. He feels like a war is approaching, and no one can know what kind of world will greet them at the end of it.

Lan Zhan:

the day of his wedding he’s very nervous, having asked their hosts to simplify the traditional ceremony given the fact that Wei Ying and he are both men and there are no actual guest attending. They bow to the heavens and the earth, to their families, and then to each other. Their clothes are far less expensive or appropriate from the nuptial red they would have worn under different circumstances, yet Lan Zhan has never felt more adorned and rich, basking in Wei Ying’s love.

they spend their first night together whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears, tired and happy as they have never been before.

Wei WuXian:

they stay at the cottage for months, receiving news from the outside world every now and then from Jiang Cheng and Lan Huan. He suspects his brother is keeping something to himself, ignoring his questions over the political situation altogether, but he doesn’t insist.

LWJ tells him stories of the Sunshot Campaign, of how he tried to save the weak, the women, the children and the innocent of the Wen Clan against the rest of the cultivation world. Of how he found a way to summon BaoShan Sanren through some scrolls he had found in Burial Mounds, where he thought WWX’s soul might have disappeared to. Of how he hadn’t even been able to say goodbye to his brother and the people he had saved in Yiling before signing a contract with the immortal.

WWX’s lungs are giving up on him but he tries to keep LWJ from noticing. YanLi comes to meet them one day and makes sure to cry for her brother only when they are finally alone, sensing his intention to keep his husband from knowing the truth. He knows LWJ cannot possibly keep holding onto two bodies at the same time: waking up in Yiling the moment he falls asleep in the cottage; then waking up with Wei Ying every morning the moment he falls asleep in Burial Mounds where he has decided to hide. Without a golden core, for as strong as someone like LWJ can be, he would die if he keeps crossing the veil, the gate between the two worlds.

the day after YanLi has left them alone, WWX spends his last day with his husband, making sure everything is perfect. he also sends letters to his family and thanks them for loving him. he extends his best wishes to the people who worked alongside him, helping him bring to fruition his dream to fly in the sky once more... even if he has never flown in this lifetime.

he’s very happy with his husband and wants to commit every second they spend together to heart. They make love for the last time before they both fall asleep together and dream of home.

he whispers “I wish you good luck” before falling asleep.

Lan Zhan:

he wakes up the next day and Wei Ying is gone. His body cold in his arms.

mad with grief, unable to believe a life without WWX can or should exist, he cries over his husband’s body and wishes he could die.

Lan Huan and Lan QiRen happen to visit that day and find him crestfallen and asking to be left alone to die. But they help him bury the body instead and take care of him. Lan QiRen suddenly feels terrible at the thought of leaving this boy all alone, whether he’s actually his nephew or not. Lan Huan convinces his brother to eat and rest, holding him for as long as it takes for him to calm down.

the following day, as the younger twin wakes up, he asks Lan Huan why they’re in a cottage in the countryside and what happened while he was asleep.

the actual LWJ, by falling asleep, not willing to wake up in a world where WWX doesn’t exists anymore, has allowed double!LanZhan to regain complete control over the body in the cottage. The twin wasn’t dead, just dormant, waiting for LWJ to let go of his body on his own.

waking up in the Burial Mounds, however, with no golden core and no Wei Ying is worse than anything LWJ has ever experienced. Having to survive WWX’s death not one, but two times is too much to handle... but a small kid has found his place in his arms while LWJ was sleeping. His beloved A-Yuan, one of the few Wen children he was able to save from the Lanling Jin’s clutches after the Sunshot Campaign.

as he takes in the sight of the child he considers his own, peacefully sleeping in his bed, LWJ finds the strength to say “just another day”. And then another and another and another again.

13 years later:

Mo XuanYu sacrifices his body for WWX and the first thing Wei Ying does in his new body is to ask the Lan juniors to bring him to Hanguan Jun.

but Lan Zhan is already there, following the juniors around after managing to reforming a golden core in just a little over ten years all on his own. The first thing he says to Wei Ying is “I still remember every day.”

and they begin to travel together for the rest of their life.

Now I need a fucking tissue.

[as you can see very little “conquering another world” type of quest because I didn’t like to think too hard. This is more like “what if before transmigrating WWX and LWJ lived somewhere else and got married?” But then I had to make it sad, uh? Fuck.]

[also, demonic-cultivator!LWJ anyone?]

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #wangxian #mo dao zu shi #the forbidden crack! untamed prompts #mdzs/au: manga/anime inspired #mdzs/au: fma #mdzs/au: ghibli #mdzs/au: modern

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ganbarimaster · 4 years

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The Campaign of Liu Ji Part 3 (Final!)

A continuation from this post, and the conclusion to this most recent play-through of Romance of the Three Kingdoms 14. When it came to beginning the inevitable battle with Cao Cao, I was a little hesitant at first. It seemed like it was going to take a while and I wasn’t sure how interesting it would be to play. But I soldiered on. It was a bit of a stalemate for a while, with neither of us gaining or losing any ground, but the computer had a tendency to over-extend itself and leave places vulnerable. And I already had more cities and troops, so it was really only a matter of time. I spent one entire evening just shuffling around officers and moving troops and resources from place-to-place. If I hadn’t been writing out this loose narrative for my campaign, I doubt I’d have been motivated to finish it. I’ll be interested to see how this game changes when the power up kit is eventually released, as at the moment its a little bare-bones, and most turns are spent rewarding officers to maintain their loyalty and accepting mundane suggestions from advisors which increase agriculture or whatever in a town by ten points. I feel like the narrative I wrote out for this campaign would have been much more interesting to read if I had been more strict with myself about roleplaying the position whilst playing, in terms of (for example) who I could or couldn’t hire, of sometimes losing territory to my enemies when it made sense, and so on. But as it stands, I don’t think this game has enough tools to keep things interesting and varied. Nevertheless, Cao Cao has been backed into a corner and the conflict approaches its end. The fate of the famous three sworn brothers revealed. If you want to know more about the destiny of one Liu Ji, styled Jingyu, read on!

Cao Cao, along with his advisors Guo Jia and Xun Yu, had developed an idea early on of separating the three brothers Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei—in order to prevent them from causing any trouble. Liu Bei would be based in Xuchang with the Emperor, Zhang Fei was to hold the frontlines against Ma Teng in the northwest, and Guan Yu had been involved in conflict in the northeast against Gongsun Zan. Liu Bei desired greatly to travel south to join the forces of Liu Ji, but he was effectively a prisoner, and did not want to be parted from his brothers. If Guan Yu or Zhang Fei shirked their duties in the north, it would have been very costly for Liu Bei and his family. In the years after the conflict with those forces came to an end, Cao Cao turned his attention southward to Liu Ji—with the three brothers still separated across the realm.

To prevent Liu Ji from gaining access to Chang’an, Cao Cao turned his forces toward Liu Ji’s position at Hangzhong, whilst simultaneously advancing on Liu Ji’s bases in Xinye, Shouchun, and in Jianye. It was easily the largest conflict in recent history. Liu Ji was unable to maintain control of Hanzhong, which was a key base for moving on Chang’an. Once the area had been subdued by Cao Cao’s forces, Zhang Fei was placed in charge of the unit now stationed at Hanzhong—presumably to intimidate Liu Ji and prevent him from advancing. But when Cao Cao’s forces came to join Zhang Fei for a full-scale invasion of the riverlands, Zhang Fei refused to open the doors to the city they had occupied. Not long after, he was somehow joined by his sworn brother Liu Bei, who had escaped captivity in Xuchang during the ongoing conflicts with Liu Ji and had snuck his way over to Hanzhong with the help of some supporters in Cao Cao’s territory. As Cao Cao directed his forces to advance upon Zhang Fei at Hanzhong, Liu Ji sent his own generals to support that same position. It transpired that Fa Zheng had also been in contact with Zhang Fei over the past few months—which had made this surprising turn of events possible. Guan Yu was yet to be seen, but the conflict between Cao Cao and Liu Ji had begun in earnest.

Taishi Ci, Ling Tong, Huang Zhong, Wei Yan and Ma Chao were his most capable generals, and had become the pillar of his military force—his five Tiger Generals. Zhuge Liang was promoted to Prime Minister, and Lu Xun became the Director General. He was not lacking for intelligent advisors, but they did not often agree. Even so, Liu Ji enjoyed weighing the value of the various suggestions presented to him, and actively encouraged lively and good-spirited debate within his halls. Spiteful, personal attacks and underhanded comments were not tolerated. This contributed towards a sense of camaraderie among the intelligent officers of his force, and ensured they were motivated and focused on the task at hand, working hard to develop their ideas and consider alternatives which might be suggested by their interlocutors.

Recognizing the value of maintaining a hold on Hanzhong, and furious at the betrayal of Zhang Fei and Liu Bei, Cao Cao dedicated himself to securing the area once more. He sent their sworn brother, Guan Yu—who had become so indebted to Cao Cao through his service over the years, and who had been poisoned with lies about the behavior of his sworn brothers. Zhang Fei met Guan Yu on the field, enraged that Guan Yu hadn’t already come to join his brothers, and was yet a peon under Cao Cao. The two clashed in an intense duel, rending heaven and earth.

Pushing one another to their limits in a battle which had both armies enraptured, more than two-hundred bouts had been concluded. Liu Bei yelled at both brothers to lower their arms and remember their oath. He got between the two in the midst of their duel without a weapon of his own, which took them by surprise. Liu Bei was accidentally struck in the head and bled from his ears. He died soon after. In their distress, both Zhang Fei and Guan Yu took their own lives. Soldiers on both sides attempted to prevent them from doing so, but to no avail. In the chaos that followed, Cao Cao regained control of Hanzhong for a short time. But being spread thin, and fearing Xuchang would fall, was unable to hold it for long.

Across the realm, Cao Cao’s bases had begun to fall to Liu Ji—Cao Mai’s navy was overrun off the shore of Guangling by He Qi and Lu Dai, enabling Liu Ji to build upon his forces on the northern shores of the Changjiang. Sensing that Cao Cao had acted too late to mount a meaningful opposition against Liu Ji, Zhang He turned on Cao Cao’s force at Wan Castle, joining with Liu Ji and providing them access to the castle. Xuchang was now within reach, and efforts were being made by Cao Cao to relocate the capital, and thereby the Emperor, north of the Huanghe to Ye, the Capital of Ji Province.

Xu Province had already been captured by Liu Ji, and the escape route to Ji Province had been cut off. Xuchang swiftly fell. Cao Cao barely escaped with his life, but he was unable to bring the Emperor with him. The carriage of the Emperor was surrounded by Huang Zhong and Wei Yan before it could reach the river. Liu Ji himself led a force through Hu Lao Gate to capture Luo Yang, with Taishi Ci, Ling Cao, and Lu Dai—some of his longest serving generals. Luo Yang was re-established as the capital city and the Emperor was encouraged to resume his role, but he vehemently opposed the idea, exhausted by playing his role as puppet Emperor. He threatened to kill himself if Liu Ji did not assume the throne and continue the Han Dynasty as an imperial ancestor. Hesitant at first, it was only at the insistence of his advisors that Liu Ji capitulated and accepted. He was named Emperor Da of Yang.

Cao Cao had become very ill, often bedridden by severe migraines. Sima Yi took care of most of his duties, which largely involved re-structuring and re-organizing their forces north of the Huanghe. Of his most capable generals, only Xu Huang and Xiahou Yuan were with him in Ye, but both were now over fifty years of age. Xiahou Dun was stationed in Liang Province, cut off from the rest of Cao Cao’s force.

A small force led by Ma Chao slowly encroached upon Xiahou Dun in Liang Province. Although he fought fiercely, being cut off from Cao Cao’s main force, supplies were lacking. The sparse fields of Liang were not enough to support a standing army, and morale was low. It is said that Xiahou Dun fought until his last breath. Ma Chao was elated to be able to recapture the lands rightfully belonging to his family.

This was now a time for Emperor Da and his forces to rest and recuperate, and focus on domestic affairs. A great deal of discussion centred on moving the capital again to somewhere in the south, but such discussions were tabled until a time when the realm had been completely unified. Liu Ji, now almost 40, had a daughter, but had yet fathered no sons—and this was another active point of discussion.

Many messages were sent to Cao Cao to entreat him to surrender his forces, but he adamantly refused. After a few years, the Emperor commanded that an enormous force cross the Huanghe and capture You, Ji, and Bing. But before the conflict could begin, Cao Cao suddenly passed away in the spring of 221AD. Sima Yi was the architect of the discussions which followed, pledging fealty to the new Han Emperor and surrendering their forces. Gongsun Gong eventually followed suit, and the realm was completely unified by 223AD.

Some years of peace and prosperity followed, but unrest remained surrounding the Imperial lineage. Sima Yi worked diligently at involving his family in Imperial affairs, ingratiating himself to the Emperor—he petitioned to have one of his sons marry the Emperor’s daughter and become Prince. The remaining members of the Sun family sought recognition for having supported the Emperor since His earliest days, and demanded the Emperor’s daughter marry one of their number. Any talk of moving the capital to the southlands was seen as tacit support for the Sun family, and so the conversation stagnated. As tensions flared, and years passed, the princess became aware of her own significance and the power it afforded her. She would sometimes leverage her own life in order to secure her own autonomy. It was announced that she would marry in her own time, on her own terms, as she intended to become the first Empress. Legislation was written to support her claim.

When Emperor Da passed away almost thirty years later, she ascended to the throne. But in the years which followed, internal conflict escalated and the land began to fracture once more, many refusing to accept this new state of affairs, and some making their own claims to the Imperial throne. A new age of conflict had begun.

#rot3k #rot3k 14 #Romance of the Three Kingdoms #koei #koei tecmo #three kingdoms #three kingdoms au #three kingdoms alternate history #alternate history #liu ji #cao cao #zhang fei #liu bei #guan yu #sima yi #han dynasty

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boy2reality · 4 years

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Now this is a story all about how my life got flipped-turned upside down

So I'd like to take a minute just sit right there

I'll tell you how I came the prince of a town called uh... The Pocket Dimension. That's what this is about it's about the Pocket Dimension. [Warning for violence and me being a feral bastard.]

So after my encounter with Luculent(?), I was sent to the pocket dimension. It wasn't a graceful landing. Got a mouth full of... Tasteless, sand-like material. Yum.

I noticed several things. I was able to stand very easily. This was a big fuckin' deal, because I'd been bedridden for what I'm assuming is around a year. My muscles were atrophied the last time I had any true awareness. Speaking of awareness, my mind was also completely clear. The emotions I was currently feeling was a drop in the bucket compared to the feeling of being drugged up all the time.

I’m also almost positive (this is something I’m not 100% sure on yet) that my body had been, like... Altered, by Luculent? I’d always had brown hair, but when I was introduced to the pocket dimension, it was a salmon pink (and significantly fluffier? thanks for the hairstyling tips ig luce). I’d always worn glasses before our encounter as well, and after meeting her, I didn’t need them anymore, My body also felt a lot... Sturdier? I’m trying to determine whether Luce made me stronger, or whether she just restored me to whatever my normal vitality was, and I felt fucking superhuman because of that.

This just evoked a whirlwind of emotions in me. I was happy that I was seemingly gone from the hospital. I was suspicious, because, shit, what if this was another wacky experiment? That’s what I thought it was, for a long while. I figured I was being monitored somehow, because that’s just what I was used to at that point in my life. I’m pretty sure I was a dumbass and just tried sprinting as far as I could through the dimension, and reached nothing.��

After a few hours, panic set in pretty hard. I was screaming my head off for someone, anyone. I tried digging through the sand, but it would just regenerate. But by far, the worst part was, is that I was getting hungry. There was nobody around here for me to leech off of. I was terrified I was going to die of starvation.

But then I figured out I wasn’t stuck there. I was desperate and digging through the sand again. My temper just peaked, and I just... Slashed my hand at the ground. And right where my middle finger had touched the ground, a wavering blue line showed up, and it fucking... Swallowed me up, and dumped me into an alley. Fell right on my head (one of many times) and onto some garbage. Pretty sure I scared the shit out of some poor homeless guy trying to sleep, but I was way too shook up to focus on the Energy Succ.

I don’t remember figuring out how to get back to the Pocket Dimension, but I know I did it just by thinking about going back, and essentially drawing a line with my finger. So, at some point, I must have done that, and went back to it. I was still extremely freaked out, because, uh. You don’t quite recover from ‘hey, you’ve got ~magical portal powers~ now’ in a day.

I knew I needed to come up with a plan to get food fast. I was kind of getting delirious from hunger, I think. I didn’t know how much I took advantage of the hospital providing me so many people to leech off of... But I also knew I couldn’t really show my face in public. It wasn’t a big city, people knew each other, and I’m pretty sure I’d been on the missing person’s list for a long time now.

So my plan was... Find random people at night, and shove them in the pocket dimension. Feed off them freaking the fuck out for a little bit while doing my best to hide my face from them, and then push ‘em out. Fear was a fast, easy emotion to elicit out of people in that way. The best way I can describe the ‘nutritional value’ of it is like... A trip to McDonalds. Not healthy for anyone, and doesn’t fill you up for long, but it was something.

I didn’t end up using this method for very long, because I ended up realizing something else about the pocket dimension. I could manipulate it to my heart’s content. I’ll talk about that next time, I’ve wrote enough today...

#memory.mp3 #next time on spider pit z

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sireneia · 4 years

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♔, ♦, ♡ !

( get to know the rper )

these are long so i’m putting my answers under the cut LMAO

Send me a ♔ for me to describe a favorite rp character of mine.

i was gonna describe pelleas but then remembered you’re not done fe10 so i will refrain MAMRKGMRGMGR

instead, i’ll talk about rowan! while i have pretty mixed feelings about warriors itself, i think its protagonists are legitimately interesting. it’s a shame that an extra layer to them is hidden behind support conversations though and support conversations are a pain to get in this game but... i mean... i guess you can say that about every character in games right? i think i only really point it out here because of how crucial some of these details are in the scope of the main plot’s themes, yet they don’t come up in the main plot at all unfortunately ):

rowan and lianna both don’t want the throne, having very different desires for their paths from one another yet being united in their attempt to force that inheritance onto the other twin. rowan’s comes from his disdain towards his father, seeing the previous king become bedridden and seeming utterly useless in such a state to a young boy. this leads rowan to grow up believing that kings by their nature are weak. he believes that kings, since they have a military to protect them, cannot do anything themselves and rowan hates that powerlessness when he knows the people look to their king to protect them. rowan can’t see the value behind kingship, refuses to, and thinks it’s not a position that would be fulfilling for him. he understands that it’s a position that requires thinking and governing, but he doesn’t see it as important as military might, leading to his evasiveness.

i like the fact that he’s clearly in the wrong with how he looks upon the position and his late father both, and i like the fact that his motivation for trying to escape his inheritance is rooted in good intentions but ignorance tainting it. more than that though, i like how it contrasts lianna’s motivations yet shows they share the same heart. lianna sees the power in the throne that rowan refuses to completely admit to, and she sees her own flaw of overthinking things and being too hesitant as cause for concern — that such a queen wouldn’t be able to make the necessary decisions in a time of crisis and would cause tragedy upon the subjects who rely on her, and that a proper ruler should have both confidence and presence in order to be effective. she wants her country to have a ruler they can rely upon to be able to save them.

both want to protect their people, but they don’t have the maturity to accept responsibility. they fear or dislike a part of it, and so they run away from it. meeting people from all different worlds thus gives them the perspective they need to understand what ruling is like and in the end, they rule together. they have finished their arc and both accept their duty, and although the other twin accepting the throne means they theoretically could back down like they’ve always wanted, they don’t. they know a ruler must be able to act but also must think carefully, and they desire to use one another’s strengths to create a better aytolis. their coronation ceremony as a result is such a great scene to me and i forever love it, and i’m glad the whole ‘warriors from different realms’ plot helps them not only in a physical way (i.e. using their might to win the conflict) but also a mental way (i.e. helping the twins mature).

warriors’ plot is an absolute mess but thematically it’s great, and it really makes good use of its multiple protagonists in my opinion. i haven’t felt this good about multiple protags in fe as i have with gaiden, and i’m glad they exist even if not really many people care all too much for them. both twins are compelling and i just write rowan because :P it’s natural for me to choose the male muse but also stan lianna

Send me a ♦ for me to describe a plot that I’ve been wanting to do.

i think i’d like to explore edward’s arc in fe10 at some point! i find it captivating that the guy that’s clearly supposed to be the “recklessly jumps into the fray as his calm friend tries to reel him in” archetype is actually the one who most wants to stop fighting. honestly, i imagine this would’ve been a theme explored in his support convos if they had actually given him them smh

he loves fighting. he’s over the moon to be given a daein national treasure. he clearly has strong feelings about fighting to protect the weak. and yet... he gets a conversation about wanting to inspire the army to just abandon the war. he’s thinking about peace, and he’s tired of nonsense wars. he’s staying only for micaiah at this point. i think this really captures a part of radiant dawn’s plot well: about the flaws of micaiah’s nationalism and how she can go too far for her goals, and how the war has its negative consequences on the people in it. what are they even fighting for is always a strong theme to go off on.

i also think it ends up getting wrapped pretty well in edward’s character ending, signalling what true happiness means to him and his choice to pursue it, and idk man. i just want to write edward LOL

Send me a ♡ for me to describe a character that I haven’t had a chance to rp but would like to.

ah, yes, the Classic Multimuse Question.

i can’t say ronan because i’ve already written him before :thonking: but i think at the moment, i’ve got my eyes set on either sothe or m!byleth!

with sothe, i just find his frustrations but him trying to work around them and being forced to figure out his priorities in life during fe10 an interesting read! he’s also a fun character: he’s gruff and blunt and could really learn to speak better, and at times he’s a surprising voice of reason despite being pretty young still, but he’s got his cute moments too like how he banters with tormod! sothe has morphed into this type of person to be able to protect micaiah however he can and prove to her he CAN stay by her side and support her, but he’s still, at his root, just a silly teen boy if you let him get his guard down. i think it’s nice. i also support male supporting characters to female leads tbh and anyone who says fe10 should’ve had sothe as the lord is saying a take i can’t agree with smh

as for m!byleth... i think i’m just fascinated by characters who allow me to explore identity and the struggles that come with it. byleth goes through a lot of heavy things in regards to it, from their lack of emotions at first to being forced into this role as teacher to eventually letting it become them to then becoming a god themself and then the falling out of that depending on the route?? Spicie.

i think i just... am unfortunately not invested in three houses enough to justify that though, as much as i think byleth could be a cool character to write, and while i lean towards m!byleth due to my own masculinity and the fact that there’s less of him than f!byleth in the community clearly, i still think any incarnation of byleth is well taken care of in the rpc without me also taking a swing at it. i also think writing my units is just... harder for me for some reason? i always view it as some kind of guilty pleasure really and byleth is no exception. i feel like if i write byleth, it’ll basically be me going through all the complicated feelings i went through when i rp’d m!corrin and idk if that’s worth it.

#// the true answer to the third question is runan from trs Clearly #// actually trs has a lot of characters who slap ngl #fatedcomrades #+. / inbox.#+. / ooc.#long post ---

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pynkhues · 5 years

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Say Dean did give her the necklace. Out of all the horrendous things he’s done to her, why would she decide to wear it tho?

Well, assuming that he is the one to give her the new necklace, which Istrongly suspect he is (although I’ve been wrong before!), I think there are afew reasons she’d wear it. And hey! I’ve had five or six asks since 2.08about Beth and Dean’s relationship, history and age gap, which I had a fewdrafts of, so I’m so sorry! I’m going to highjack your ask to combine/answerthem all! Hope that’s okay.

Putting all myheadcanons and theories aside (at least for the first half of this post haha),let’s just talk about what canon has established about Beth and Dean and theirrelationship over the last 18 episodes.

This is like, verylong (seriously 2,800 words), haha, so I’m putting it under a cut to save all your feeds.

The Marks’ Family ValuesWhile 2.08 clarified a few things about the way Beth, Ruby and Annie wereraised, there’s still a lot that we don’t really know, so let’s look at what wedo know:

1. Beth as a youngteenager crashed her mother’s car out the front of Ruby’s house with her kidsister in the passenger seat because there was no food in the house, and theirmother wasn’t getting out of bed. The implication, from Annie’sdialogue “She just really likes it there” is that this is not a new thing.(2.08)

2. Annie was areckless kid and had a broken arm during a time it’s implied she and Beth were neglected.(2.08)

3. “You knowwhat my mama used to say? You get what you get and you don’t get upset.” – Beth(2.01)

4. Beth played pianofor six years after her parents dropped $$s on it, despite changing her mindand wanting to play violin, which on its own I think can be written off as generalchildish indecisiveness, buuuut I think means a little more than that in thecontext of everything else. (1.05)

5. Beth worked heronly legitimate job in highschool at the Dairy Queen. (1.03)

5. Annie used to gethigh and was sexually active in highschool, and had gossip/rumours spread abouther. Their mother came into the school to address it and, it’s implied, madethe situation a lot worse, causing Annie not want to do the same to Sadie with Sadie’sbullies. (1.04)

6. Then Annie gotpregnant in highschool. (mentioned multiple times)

7. Beth has alwaysbeen the one that Annie has called to bail her out of trouble (mentioned a fewtimes).

9. Beth had postpartumdepression with at least one of her children. (2.05)

The Boland Timeline

While we haven’t gottenconfirmed ages of the characters, we do know that Dean is, at the very least, ayear older than Beth, although I think it’s more likely around three yearsgiven the way it’s framed in the episode. SO.

1. Beth meets Dean atschool when she’s either a freshman, sophomore or junior. He’s a senior. It’sat a point in time where we know her mother is bedridden and Beth spends a lotof time looking after Annie (she even took Annie to Ruby’s father’s funeral,which I think says a lot as to how much Beth – and by proxy Ruby – were lookingafter Annie). (2.08)

2. Beth and Dean havebeen married for 20 years during S1, so that puts them likely at gettingmarried when Beth is somewhere between the age of 20-22. (mentioned multipletimes)

3. Somewhere in thistime period, Dean takes over Boland Motors from his father (one of the photosin the screensaver Dean’s looking at in 2.04 looks like it’s from a grandre-opening, and Beth’s holding a baby boy, so it looks like this could bearound the time Kenny or Danny is born) and Beth becomes a stay-at-home motherand a housewife. Dean also has full control of their finances, and Beth is onan allowance that he also controls.

4. Kenny has hiseleventh birthday in S1, so Beth would’ve been in her late twenties when shehad him.

5. We don’t know theage gap between the rest of the kids (and in fact, those age gaps have obviouslychanged between S1 and S2 lol) but it looks like Jane is now the youngest, notEmma, and that Beth and Dean hadn’t had sex in the two years before gettingpregnant with Jane, and then that they hadn’t had sex since she was born until2.06, which seems to be about five or six years. (2.05 / 1.05)

6. Beth had postpartumdepression after at least Emma (it was the specific given reason as to why theyhadn’t had sex in the two years before getting pregnant with Jane), although Ithink the implication is that it was with more of the kids than just her.

7. Somewhere in allof this, Dean had multiple affairs. He says four, but the implication fromAmber is that it’s more than that, and then I think Beth basically confirmsthat when she says “Dean’s slept with half of Detroit” later in the episode.Plus Dean being a pathological liar isn’t exactly a secret. (2.05)

8. Beth finds out hesleeps with Amber in 1.01 and that he’s mortgaged their house three times andthat their savings are gone. She kicks him out, takes control of theirfinances, and robs Fine & Frugal.

9. Dean tries to winher back a few times - first by appealing to her pragmatism (and I’ll beexpanding on this shortly) - by talking about how they’ll both be worse offfinancially if they separate - before telling her that she’s the love of hislife, then by showing up unannounced to mow the backyard (a traditionally malehousehold job), then by using Kenny’s birthday wish that they were backtogether to try and guilt her (another point I’ll be expanding on shortly!)

10. Cut to Kenny’sbirthday party. He implies Beth’s having an affair with Rio (lols for so manyreasons), they fight, Beth insinuates that she’ll be filing for divorce soon(”You’re still my wife” “Yeah, I’ve gotta get on that.”) and Dean drops TheCancer Lie. Beth is obviously upset, and lets him move back in, but he’ssleeping in Kenny’s room. (1.04)

11. Dean doubles down on the cancer lie by bribing a doctor to tell Bethhe has prostate cancer, but he also covers for her when Turnerfinds the Boland Motors car the girls stole from the lot. He then confronts herabout it in a very paternalistic way (”Why don’t you get a job?” “Sit down!”“These people prey on good, innocent people” “I’m sorry I yelled at you, buteverything’s going to be fine. I’ll take care of you.”). Beth plays along inthe moment, but Dean changes the locks without telling her (and also doesn’thelp her bring the grocery bags in which is sooo telling), reveals he’sswitched hours with a guy at work to be around to ‘protect’ her, and Bethfinally stands up for herself “You have no idea what I’ve done or even who Iam”. (1.06)

12. Dean asks her ifshe’s doing it for the kids. She says yes, and he says it’s all he needs toknow. It genuinely seems to comfort her in the moment. It’s one of their fewnice scenes and I think shows what they were like when they were at their verybest. (1.07)

13. Rio shuts down,Beth is back on an allowance. She tries to get a loan, but their credit hasn’trebounded enough and they still have too much debt. Dean solves the problem bymoving the botox via the doctor he bribed. Dean won’t tell Beth how he did it,but she’s grateful enough to end up coming clean about what she does for Rio.They have their second nice moment. “You don’t deserve anything I did toyou.” + “I think you’re incredible.” (1.08)

14. Dean obviouslyfeels like he and Beth are getting back on track, and is annoyed that Annie’sliving with them temporarily. He builds Beth a craft table with hiddencompartments to hide her fake cash! (1.09)

15. Dean tries toorganise something for their anniversary, which Beth doesn’t agree to rightaway, but does later in the episode when he tries to help her after realisingshit’s going down in the crime world. Dean gets into a car accident whilechecking out another woman, Beth finds out he lied about the cancer (like thatgrenade was never going to blow, Deansy), he came home, Rio shoots him to getback at Beth, but not before revealing a certain degree of intimacy and trustbetween the two of them, which Dean clocks instantly. (1.10 / 2.01)

Then Season 2happens, haha.

So let’s talk about Beth & Dean

I’ve said it a fewtimes before, but when it comes to Beth, we’re ultimately watching somebody whohas been disempowered and disenfranchised for a really, really long time tryingto reclaim a sense of identity and control over her life. Even before 2.08, wewere looking at that through the sense of her marriage to Dean where she had noreal independence. Her entire life was dictated by decisions that he made forthem, personally, professional and financially, and a lot of the first half of Season1 was devoted to her realising exactly how many of those decisions had been bad ones. As the series went on, she reallydid start to gain a sense of financial independence (which is incredibly important)as well as a sense of her own identity and agency, only for that to becompletely crippled again across that four episode arc - 1.09 through to 2.02 –firstly by thinking Rio had played her for a fool (the empty truck), then Rio firingher, then realising that Dean hadplayed her for a fool again (thecancer lie), and then her plot to put Rio away falling apart, Dean being shot,and her realising that she was newly indebted to both of them.

I think what 2.08contextualised was that Beth has never really been allowed to explore who sheis, because there’s always been somebody she’s had to look after. She’s alwayshad dependents and she has lived a life of constant compromise, making her incrediblypragmatic and sacrificing of her own needs and wants. The episode establishedthat Beth spent most if not all of her adolescence caring for Annie and theirmother, married young, and then spent her entire young adult life looking afterDean and their four children.

Likely the appeal ofDean was that he was older, gave her attention in a way that seemed to ‘see’ herat a time where her needs were neglected at home, and likely popular – he’s goofyand fun, as the show’s establishedmultiple times, which I think would be more likeable at that teenage age, and Ithink he probably appealed to Beth as a way out of a troubling home situation.At the end of the day, the show has established pretty firmly that Beth is, whenit comes to her and her own, a survivor. And when I say survivor, I don’t meanthe badass, action heroine sort of survivor - I mean the desperate, do-what-she-has-tosort of survivor. She has an uncanny ability to lie and perform to get herselfout of situations, and also a tendency to sacrifice her own happiness for thoseshe loves. I think when it came to Dean, for a very long time, Beth sacrificedpower and control for a security and safety that she hadn’t had growing up,first for herself (and likely in part for Annie too), and then for her fourchildren.

And I think Dean, priorto the start of the series, had never truly been challenged on any of thecontrol that he wrought over their lives. He’s your classic embodiment of whitemale privilege, and I think he has all the baggage that comes with that,including a firm belief in gender roles, a heady sense of entitlement, and asubconscious expectation that things will usually work in his favour. The factthat he started dating Beth when she was so young, that he inherited BolandMotors from his father, and the fact that he blames Beth’s postpartum depressionfor his affairs too I think drasticallyemphasises that. We talk a lot about the power play between Beth and Rio, butBeth and Dean, since 1.01, have been in a power play of their own – Beth in herdesire to break out of their traditional roles, to ‘steer the ship’, and toreally put her family in a more secure position in life (something she realisedDean was incapable of doing), and Dean in his desire to keep them in their traditional roles, to ‘steer the ship’, and tokeep the status quo (I mean, hell, the fact that he was checking out anotherwoman on his way to his anniversary dinner with Beth in 1.10 says a lot about exactly how little he wants things tochange).

In what is typical ofpeople who are nurturers/carers or have been forced into nurturer/carerpositions in their life, Beth also seems to feel guilt to a disproportionatedegree, and in a way that often seems to cancel out any other emotion,including her anger. This is established pretty early in season one in smallways - her snipping with Annie then immediately back pedalling when sherealises Annie might lose custody of Sadie, with not being able to throw Kennythe birthday party he wants, with her telling Dean about what she does for Rioafter Dean offloads the botox, and then reiterated in big ways this season -nursing Dean after he’s been shot, crawling into bed with Kenny after he gotcaught binge eating at school, going above and beyond to get the dubby backafter Jane feels neglected, I’d even argue that the whole situation with MaryPat has partially been fuelled by guilt for putting Mary Pat in that situationin the first place when she’s a widow with four young children.

And I think Dean knows this! He has guilted her so much across the course of this show, often in a way to deflectfrom his own shortcomings or to ultimately playher. He gaslights her all the time,and she often doesn’t even realise it, which demonstrates, to me at least, howoften he’s done it over the course of their 20+ year relationship. The wholething about the cancer lie in the first place was to back her into a corner,which he succeeded in doing. He guilted her about being at Boland Motors andaway from the kids. When Jane went missing, he immediately blamed her and guilted her for her involvement with Rio(instead of………you know……….looking for his daughter), in 2.08, he guilted Beth for checking on her moneybefore untying him after he’d tried to organise a hit on her partner and gottenher robbed blind in the process.

And when the guilt and the manipulation stopped working, he did thething he knew she couldn’t ignore (and that would hurt her the most) which istake the children. Beth is, like I said earlier, a survivor and a sacrificer whenit comes to her and her own. There’s no way she won’t give up everything togive those children what she didn’t have – a mother who she could rely on. I thinkDean’s ultimatum won’t just be about them either. I could be wrong, but I thinkhe’s going to tell her that they have to try again as a couple, and I thinkthat’s what that necklace is going to be about (seriously though, if he givesit to her as a part of the ultimatum, everything about it symbolically is acollar), and she’ll put it on for her children, and I think it’s all honestlygoing to push her over the edge in a really big way before the season’s over.

I’ve mentioned this in other posts, but I think Beth fully was intendingto leave Dean before the cancer lie, but then she needed to care for him(again, a manipulation I think Dean knew would work because of Beth’s historycaring for her mother and Annie), and then the shooting (same reason, plus theadded bonus of her having caused it). Since then, I think she has almostcompletely emotionally divorced him – having sex with Rio, taking over BM,checking on the money first, not letting him back into her bed – is all verytelling of this, and I think she had likely had her pragmatic hat on and waswaiting until she could feasibly balance all the pieces in her life on her ownbefore filing for divorce. Of course, that’s now blown up with Dean holding thechildren essentially hostage.

And look, do I thinkDean loves Beth? I do actually, in his own way. Do I think Beth loves Dean? Ithink she did, but like she said to Ruby – Dean’s not a soulmate for her, oreven a partner. Beth and Dean should’ve maybe briefly dated in highschool andthen broken up, but they’re both in too deep now, and I don’t think anythingshort of a bullet or an arrest is going to easily disentangle them.

#beth x dean #NBC Good Girls #speculation #gg 2.08 #gg 2.09 #welcome to my ama #character backgrounds #timelines #beth boland #dean boland #staying's worse than leaving #gg season 2

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consolecadet · 5 years

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very long post about ED, weight, health, exercise, disability. sorry

I’ve gotten a lot better about not being too concerned about how my body looks since I started trying to recover from ED ~8 years ago, and a lot better about eating enough food and eating “bad” foods and foods I was afraid of trying, and when I started seriously trying to learn to cook in college it was super healing and good

but getting into biking has been a double-edged sword for me

because I couldn’t walk very far w/ my herniated disc, I had a lot of trouble getting around without a car. and I couldn’t afford a car. but I could afford a bike, and a bike was a lot faster and more efficient for me for getting around school and to gigs and stuff. it felt really good to finally be able to travel cheaply, without pain, on my own schedule, dependent only on myself, especially when I finally got asthma treatment and found I was strong enough to go distances that seemed really far to me

so in that way biking made my life easier and made me feel a lot better about myself as a disabled person, like my disability wasn’t, well, disabling me as much...and biking also 100% precipitated a pretty significant ED relapse during my last 2 years of college and enabled me to stay very focused on Strength and Fitness as defense mechanisms against my and others’ negative feelings about my fatness and disability. I hate dealing with doctors, and I really liked having ‘well I bike 25-50 miles a week’ in my back pocket as a gotcha against doctors making assumptions about me based on my body. and by using that I managed to avoid dealing with a lot of bullshit I’d internalized about health-and-fitness-as-morality-and-value, about being Good Fat Person (even though I would never expect that of anyone else!), about being Good Disabled Person who always showed up and always worked hard and never let my disability get in the way of shouldering a workload as ridiculous or more ridiculous than my abled classmates

this made developing spinal stenosis and becoming almost completely bedridden much, much harder to deal with, emotionally! I spent a lot of time, especially in the first month, freaking out about how I was losing all my Bike Muscle, how my heart and lungs were shriveling up. for the first time in a long while I was Very Very Afraid of gaining weight, because I imagined I would gain a lot of weight from going so long without moving*. I ate a lot less than I should have, in part because it was hard to get food when I could barely tolerate standing or sitting long enough to use the bathroom, but also because I had already been going in the direction of a bad ED relapse. I just went from restrict/binge/exercise-purge to restrict/restrict/restrict, because I couldn’t exercise any more

as you surely know, I’ve developed/found out I had more than my share of health issues since I got out of surgery and started being able to move around again. it’s been difficult trying to keep myself from ascribing morality to them, especially the ones that have happened in part because of the time I spent trapped in bed. I keep having to remind myself that having health problems doesn’t mean I’m a bad person, and that the spinal stenosis happened because I was overworking myself, carrying things that were too heavy for me, and not making the time I needed to care for my spinal health because I was “too busy” and figured that continually riding long distances was enough to keep my back from getting worse

I keep having to remind myself that it’s okay and very normal to get out of breath when I’m trying to bike up a hill, especially given my recent health history, and it’s okay and normal to feel like I need to get off and walk the bike for a while, or even, god forbid, stop and take a break if I feel like it. I keep having to convince myself that it’s okay that I don’t have the resilience or strength to handle full-time or even ‘normal’ amounts of part-time work right now. for crying out loud I have been writing a whole-ass novel just so I’m not ‘unproductive’ during this VERY NECESSARY time of rest and recovery. I keep thinking to myself that I already had months of rest during the time I was bedridden and it’s silly to feel like I need more now, even though that “rest” was just months of agony and involuntary immobility

I still love biking bc it slaughters my last-mile problems and lets me do a lot of things I can’t do by walking, and just because it’s like, fun to do, but I want to acknowledge that it also enabled me to not deal with a lot of shit that made it much harder to cope with my spine crisis and is making it hard to be kind to myself now. I may not care as much about how my body LOOKS but I still have a lot of internalized whatever about how it functions, and it sucks and I am not sure how to unlearn that, especially in the environment I’m in rn

anyway yeah I’m gonna try going back to therapy, even though I hate talking about this shit to therapists because somehow even very radical therapists often haven’t gotten past your most basic HAES concepts and will say all sorts of unintentionally hurtful things in response

shrug

*fwiw, I didn’t, I actually lost weight bc I was eating very little and my muscles atrophied a bunch. I do not recommend this, it really sucks

#boring text posts #eating disorders #weight talk #bike #college #mental health

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flyingmustachio · 5 years

Text

Another thing I think about a lot is how the Industrial Revolution and Capitalism have affected disabled people. In today’s economy and work culture, it’s incredibly isolating to be disabled. When most people work outside the home, those too sick to leave the home often or at all are left behind. Many abled people resent us because they envy the free time they are in lack of that they presume us to have, not realizing that most of us would gladly trade places with them in exchange for not being in pain, having independence, having mobility. The isolation is intensified because our abled friends are all overworked and underpaid and too exhausted to spend much time with us. It’s incredibly depressing, and especially hard on those of us with both physical disabilities and mental disabilities or illnesses.

It’s honestly to the point that, at least from my perspective, it feels like my very existing as disabled is interpreted as an adversarial act to much of the abled community. Everyone wants to know your entire medical history. Every rando on the street wants to hear my entire medication and symptom list so that they can decide if I’m “really disabled” or not. Even some friends who support me and understand that I can’t work refuse to understand my limitations and ask me to do things that will hurt me.

But I don’t think any of this has been “normal” either for the vast majority of human history. If you think about pre-Industrial types of work and societal structure, it really was much more inclusive. We have this modern assumption, I think, that disabled people were just shit out of luck for most of human history. That we were just abandoned in the wilderness to die because taking care of us when we couldn’t help out would have been a drain on precious resources.

And while, yes, a great many of us who are disabled would have certainly died had we been born before modern medicine, it would more likely have been from lack of medical knowledge than from a lack of caring from our community. I mean heck, we’ve even found 50,000 year old Neanderthal bones of a disabled individual who lived to a ripe old age and would have needed the help of his community to do so (https://www.iflscience.com/plants-and-animals/neanderthals-cared-for-the-disabled-in-their-social-groups/).

I was reading through the Wikipedia for Lithopedion the other day (where a mother’s body calcifies a fetus from a tubal or abdominal pregnancy to protect herself from infection as the fetus decays) and there are many accounts of this happening before 1900: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lithopedion). It struck me that for many of the pre-Industrial mothers without modern medical care lived for years and even decades with mysterious chronic pain. Some were even bedridden from it, and yet they lived to be quite old. Of course you have to keep in mind that most of the people who would have been written about in the past would be at least middle class/ tradesman class if not richer, but this means that not only did people in the past BELIEVE those in chronic pain, they also TOOK CARE OF THEM, even if they would have been a drain on resources.

Another factor is that, pre-Industrial types of work allow for much more flexibility in work distribution than modern jobs do. If you have arthritis and don’t have the dexterity to help weave, you can still sort yarn colors or churn butter, or watch the children. Maybe your legs don’t work right so you can’t hunt, but you can make arrowheads. And even if you could do nothing at all, you could still be connected. Most modern types of work not only isolate you from your family, they also demand your complete attention. If you’re spinning or sewing or making cheese you can still talk to the people around you. Your disabled friend who maybe can’t physically help can still see people and have a community. Heck, maybe just providing good conversation would be a help for dealing with a tedious task!

Now I’m certainly not advocating that we return to a pre-Industrial society. I like the whole “modern medicine making it so I don’t die” thing. I like movies and video games and air conditioning. I just think that we’re going to need to rethink the way we structure our society, if we want to increase happiness and mental health. We cling to this idea that it’s a dog eat dog world and the only thing that gives you worth is how much money you have, and if you don’t make much money you must not be working hard enough, and it’s always been this way so there’s no way to change it. But when you start to realize that it hasn’t always been this way, you start to realize you shouldn’t have to put up with it. We need to stop pretending that toil and despair are unavoidable elements of life. Will accidents and pain and disasters always happen? Sure! Some suffering is unavoidable. It’s impossible to feel happy and fulfilled all the time. But that doesn’t mean that it’s healthy to feel despair and desperation most or even half of the time. Life does not expect you to endure that.

It doesn’t help that we assume that the lives of wild animals consist of nothing but brutal terror and adrenaline. Even many nature documentaries talk like this. But even that is simply not true. If joy were not an integral part of existence, why do basically all mammals play throughout their lives? I mean think about it: many species, such as rabbits, can and do literally die of fright. How would they have survived if their whole lives were nothing but fright with no comfort or enjoyment? We know even plants have scent chemicals they release specifically when distressed to communicate danger to nearby plants. It’s not unreasonable to assume that even plants have some limited internal sense of “wellbeing” or “joy” - just whatever a plant’s version of joy would be called. It’s absurd to think that the vast majority of human beings should just endure lives of toil and hardship and insecurity as part of some natural cosmic order, when even animals don’t live like that, and our ancestors didn’t live like that.

This is where I think Positivity Culture go astray. They are correct in proposing that our culture needs a massive re-frame of mindset. But we don’t need to re-frame our emotional reaction to our own lives by deciding to be grateful for whatever scraps of a life we have. We need to re-frame our mindset on the whole system we live in, and change it to give the most people possible the best chance we can to live their best lives. We have the technology to feed and house and medically treat everyone in the world. We just need to decide whether we value human lives or capitalism more.

#capitalism #disability #culture #universal basic income #universal healthcare #if this many people are having trouble the system is broken not the people #happiness is a need #leisure is a need #connection is a need

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kuriquinn · 7 years

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Fic Prompt/Request: Samsara Alternate Ending

Anonymous said:

Hi Kuri! Are you thinking of writing an alternative fic for Samsara? Like what would happen if Indra choosed to wait for Uchiwa's birth? Thank you for being a fabulous writer!!

Author’s Note: This story is not canon. It does not fit into either Kishimoto’s Narutoverse canon, or my own headcanon. It’s just a plot-bunny/request I had, a sort of “what if” scenario. I’m not sure if I like it or not, the Indra/Shachi story was never meant to have a happy ending, so it was a little hard for me to write this one. But I gave it my best shot. Hope you enjoy it

Author’s Note 2: Someone else asked me for an Indrachi intimate scene, and that’s still coming. It will be separate from this one but still in the same “alternate ending” ‘verse. so patience, please!

Beta Reader: None. I’ll check it over at some point this week when I get a chance. I just felt bad that I hadn’t updated anything in a while…

For the first time in his memory, Indra’s wife glares up at him, pain and fury and something else suffusing her entire form.

“If you were to call down lightning from the skies or set me alight with your strongest flames, I swear on my love and fidelity that they would not touch him,” she vows, the words torn from her throat as if being dragged over crushed glass. “Only a child born of our union could survive such a thing.”

Indra’s eyes fly once more to her swollen belly, forcing himself to remain calm in the face of the lie she tells. His blood boils, but where moments ago it was fuelled by desperation and adrenaline and need for the woman before him, now there is nothing but anger. She has made him lose control of himself once already today. He will remain impartial in this, handing down detached judgement for her crime.

“Do you think because you are with child that I will hold back?” he challenges her, careful to keep his voice toneless.

“Of course not,” she responds softly, a little of the fight ebbing. “I only hope it makes you take pause. Because if you do this, you cannot undo it. You are not so mighty that you can resurrect the dead, my love.”

The anger rears up within him again at the implication that he is fallible, or that he is not utterly sure in his judgement. He clenches his teeth together, refusing to give in to the need to defend his intentions.

She is quick to take advantage of his silence.

“Husband, I hope that one day your heart can be cured,” she tells him, tone soft with sadness. “Only then can new hope be born to your line…only then will you no longer need your sons to fight and die for your legacy. And when you realise I have spoken nothing but the truth to you and how deeply your hatred has scarred you—know that I die still loving you despite the action you take tonight. If it takes the rest of your life, or many lives, I will wait for you. If I had an eternity, I would spend it waiting for you to return from the darkness that has you ensnared.”

The constant, whispering presence at the back of Indra’s mind is murmuring again, cajoling and beseeching.

She and the child can still be of use. Asura will surely come for them.

He is sure that his brother will come for his offspring, for he is just as protective of his own as Indra is. But the notion of this child, the mental image of Shachi locked in any kind of intimate embrace with another man, and his hated sibling at that—

Indra deliberates whether to plunge a bolt of lightning through her traitorous heart, or burn her alive as she prompted him to do. The Sharingan activates then, illuminating the dark insides of the shrine, and the anguished expression of the woman before him.

“You don’t have an eternity,” he tells her, raising a hand and levelling his index finger at her face.

It would be unwise to kill her yet.

There is a certain logic to this, but this is the same presence that has always pushed him to act, to become more powerful. For once, doubt creeps in, uncertainty boring a hole in his resolve.

A thought strikes him, then, unexpected given the sweltering, looming power of his anger.

Indra doesn’t want to kill her.

Pain and betrayal overwhelm him, but something tiny, hidden and long-suppressed flares to life within him. It’s like a tiny tongue of flame in the darkness.

He remembers the day they met on that far eastern shore, and the weeks afterward when she nursed him back to health. Images of the day when he could move by his own power, and his attempt to eradicate her for being witness to his weakness. He can still feel the way her throat felt in his hands, the only time he has ever laid a hand on her in anger.

She had all but given up, struggling against his hold on her, except for a last spark of defiance in her eyes. There was a determination in her that he recognised, a will to live and endure that even a lifetime of abuse could not extinguish.

And though in this moment her eyes once more beg him not to kill her or the child inside her, that same defiance shines at him. Coupled with her trembling words from earlier, he knows she has surrendered herself to die by his hand, but will face that end unflinchingly.

“Don’t tell him my death came by your hands,” she breathes, tears trailing across her cheeks. “Don’t tell any of them. If you ignore anything else I have said—please. Tell them I thought of them in my last moments.”

He narrows his eyes at her, and something within him pulls taut in expectation.

“Irritating woman,” he calls her, for want of any other words.

And then, unexpectedly, she takes a small step forward until her brow presses against his outstretched fingers.

“Please make it fast,” she whispers.

But the sudden contact with her skin is like a bolt of electricity, sizzling through his veins and shocking the rational part of him that has been numb since discovering her pregnancy.

Now is not the time to be hasty, the voice warns. The child still has value, though she might not—

Asura’s child.

He has to be sure.

And so he does that one thing he never has before, through years of marriage and beyond. He has never had the desire or need to, because with Shachi he has always intuitively known her every thought and intention. She was the only person in his life he has even been completely sure of until today.

His Sharingan activates, ensnaring her in a genjutsu before she can react.

Shachi’s body goes rigid and her eyes vacant as he traps her within her memories, then uses his ability to slip into her mind.

The world around them becomes utterly devoid of sensation, without ambient noise or surrounding scent. Colours invert, the sky bleeding red and the ground a forbidding black, stretching on for miles around them. With merely a suggestion, he orders her mind to cast her back into the past, to relive the past year when she was away from him.

He seeks something, some undeniable proof that will help him make his final act against her, some evidence that without a doubt she has lied to him about her relationship with Asura.

His stomach clenches and rage suffuses him so thickly he can almost taste it as he sees the facsimiles of his brother and father, of his long-abandoned home and trappings of his childhood. Though her eyes offer him a softer perspective on the place, he refuses to be sidetracked, intent on the inevitable proof.

But the longer he follows her mind back through her memories, the more uneasy he becomes.

Because there is no such proof.

He watches her sitting among his kin, as regally as a queen (and isn’t that what he made her, after all?), chastising them both on his behalf and frowning in contempt at the man that Indra killed on the shore when he rescued her. He observes her sitting with a tiny woman that Indra vaguely remembers returning with Asura, and when she places hands on the woman’s abdomen he realises this must be his brother’s wife. This is a mark against her—ensuring his brother’s fecundity is as treasonous an act as any other—but it’s not the specific evidence he seeks.

He needs to go back further, needs her to show him the exact sin that he has accused her of committing.

Instead he finds her sitting in conclave with his father, wrapped in blankets and listening unsmiling and thoughtful as his father tells stories. And then a vision of her lying sick and bedridden, fighting on death’s door as Asura’s wife tends to her.

He spares a moment to puzzle over her fevered dreams—a dark haired boy walking away from a sobbing girl whose hair resembles a cascade of cherry blossoms, and a hard-eyed man with wild hair cupping the chin of a woman with skin like porcelain—before moving on.

Beyond his genjutsu, he hears Shachi panting with effort as her mind is forced to relive all of this within seconds, is aware of the dark presence gleefully musing that she doesn’t need her mind to bring to child to bear if he lets her live.

Indra shakes all this off, returning his attention to Shachi’s memories.

They watch Asura and his wife together, embracing in a casual, affectionate manner Indra feels uncomfortable witnesses. He notes Shachi’s naked pain as she watches this, and he thinks perhaps this is the proof he needs, that soon he will find what he seeks—

But farther back, she simply spends nights staring up at the moon, her form growing smaller as he brings them closer to the day she was taken.

Instinctive fury threatens his hold on the image as he sees her bound and gagged in the hold of a ship, and then again as the man from the shore knocks her unconscious in the ruined forest. Then they are indoors, the hut around them is familiar, as is the woman seated before Shachi.

Dewadasi, he recalls. The midwife. But this doesn’t make sense, this is before…

Quietly, Shachi reveals what she suspects—what six pregnancies have made her familiar with. The older woman is nodding, asking her questions, wanting to know when she knew for sure—

The world seems to solidify, then, but they are still in the illusion. Indra sees them both them—himself and Shachi, entwined and rocking slowly into one another. She clutches frantically at his shoulders, whispering his name over and over, legs wrapped around him. His face is buried in her neck as she cries out, and soon his entire frame shudders and goes still.

When he pulls away from her, flushed and sated, the look that he graces her with is one Indra did not even know he was capable of forming. His eyes are soft, the barest trace of a smile ghosting upon his lips, and something warm in his eyes that he’s forgotten the name of.

But the clarity of this moment, of her memory, as if she has thought of it so many times over and over so as to recall it with perfect detail, leaves no room for argument.

The child is mine.

There’s no doubt. She is telling the truth.

Indra is so shocked, it is as if someone has punched him. He is thrown from the illusion so abruptly that he staggers backward, falling to one knee. Shachi cries out in surprise and pain as well, crumpling to her knees. She manages to protect her stomach, but her entire body continues to tremble from the mental assault he just put her under.

You fool, you could have killed her!

And not just in this moment.

An harsh, sickly sense of horror creeps up on him, the reality of what he was so ready to do washing over him.

He would have killed her. If he had acted a few seconds earlier—!

Knees knocking, he staggers to his feet and tries to back away.

“Indra?” she murmurs, watching him with wide, worried eyes. And it makes no sense, but at the same time he would expect no different, because she is the only person in existence who would worry for him after what he has just done.

What he has done for his entire life.

In the past, Indra has only ever trusted what his eyes could show, has never listened to anyone else because he knew best. Neither his father nor his brother could ever show him their truth, because their abilities meant nothing next to his.

But right now, there is no artifice or illusion, and he has witnessed the truth for himself. Even if his wife possessed any genjutsu abilities, his own surpass anyone’s on the planet, and they have clearly just showed him that he made a mistake.

The whispering presence, the voice that has always been correct about everything…is wrong. It has always felt omnipresent and omniscient, but here it is wrong. It, too, believed Shachi’s child to belong to Asura.

And if it was wrong this time…what about all the other times he thought he saw so clearly?

Indra thinks back on every battle he has ever taken part in, every time he stood in challenge against his father’s teachings. He can remember Asura now, the boy and man beyond the image painted by years of seething hatred. He remembers the faces of those closest to him who he murdered that he might become more powerful, and for…for what?

Wasn’t all of this in need of protecting the people who are precious to him?

Instead, he cast off his kin, has remained distant from his own children, tried to kill their mother…

I am a monster, he realises with a dead certainty.

It is as if a blindfold has been taken from him, and for the first time since he was a child, he sees clearly. He falls to his knees, staggered in realisation and crippled in uncertainty.

Can I ever make up for this?

Suddenly, there is a hand on his chin, forcing his face upward. Shachi stares down at him, once more on her feet, her hair flying loose around her cheeks.

“Indra?” she asks again, and slides her fingers further to cup his cheek.

Her hand is a warm comfort he does not deserve, and reflexively, he scuttles away.

“No…” he rasps. “Don’t…you must stay away from me…I almost—”

“But you didn’t.”

He eyes her stomach, imagines the pulse of the unborn child’s chakra on the edges of his consciousness, warm and safe and alive no thanks to him.

“How can you even look at me after I…”

Almost killed you, almost killed him, violated your mind, kept you at arms length, treated our union as no more than a business transaction, turned our children into soldiers—

His stomach rebels, then, and he hurtles away from her, stumbling forward onto his hands. His entire body heaves at the harsh truths that surround him, the veracity he can finally understand, and he vomits up the contents of his stomach until his throat burns and blood joins bile on the ground.

Her hands are on his shoulders again, steadying him, and he wishes she wouldn’t touch him. He doesn’t deserve her touch, doesn’t deserve her attention at all— He tries to gather his strength to him, to pull his chakra together to disappear, but it is as if all of it is trapped behind a veil of sorts. He is utterly unable to focus.

Perhaps this is why he can’t stop her from gently drawing him away from the mess, bringing him out the door of the shrine that was intended to be both sanctuary and a tomb today. The cool forest air fills his lungs, offering him some minor respite, but doesn’t quell his need to escape.

Shachi is having none of this, however, forcing them both to the ground. She kneels before him, features pulled into sympathy.

“You are not a simple man, my love,” she tells him with soft certainty “To love you is to love the storm itself, and I knew that from the day you asked me to be your wife that it might end in my death. Whether in childbirth or a casualty of battle, I didn’t know, but I made that choice.”

“I should have left you behind,” he tells her through gritted teeth. “You could have married a…a good man. You would have been safer. Happier.”

“I doubt I would be either of those things,” she tells him seriously. “Indra…it cannot be said that you are good…but you’re not so damned as you or anyone else might think.” She tries to offer him a smile. “You dream of a better world, a world where loved ones are protected and where there is no need to experience loss. Perhaps war isn’t the way to go about it…but I’ve learned that the hearts of men can change. They learn. Perhaps…perhaps there is a better way?”

“I know no other way,” he whispers.

“You are the most capable man I know, and the world bends to your will,” she says with a shake of her head. “You will find that way. You will make the world safe for our children, and their children, and their children’s children.”

He can only stare at her, unable to form a proper response to this.

How can this woman...be?

“It might not be the way you have done things,” she goes on, as if unaware of his inner turmoil, “It might not even be the way of your father or brother. But you have the ability to find it. And if your heart remains clear of the darkness, think how much easier it will be to see that path?”

Indra shakes his head, trying to pull away once more. “I don’t deserve…”

“Maybe you don’t know,” she interrupts. “But one day you might. And because of the possibility of that one day, that someday…I forgive you.”

Rather than feel relief, he feels as if he has been stabbed.

“You…you can’t…!”

“I can. And I will. And I do,” she insists, reaching to take his hands in hers. Though they tremble and resist, eventually she places them against the swell of her stomach. “You have to be forgiven before you can change. And if it must start somewhere, it will start with me. I am the mother of your children. Your wife. If no one else will stand beside you, I will.”

He doesn’t know how to interpret this, none of it makes sense. Uncertainty has overtaken the rage he felt earlier, mixed with disgust and shame for his actions. He can’t find the words, and make his body move, feels more helpless than he has ever felt.

She speaks lies, the voice in his mind insists. No human is so forgiving after what you have done. She will use this against you, will make you seek forgiveness for the rest of your days—

“Something dark whispers to you, husband,” Shachi tells him, words quiet but sharp. “Let it fade to nothingness—oblivion is where it belongs.”

“I can’t.”

Ignore the bitch, what does she know of these things? I have made you strong, I have made you the most powerful creature in this world. What could a weak female know of such things?

“If you ever want to make up for the things you have done, you have to cast it aside,” Shachi beseeches. “It has no place in the same world that our children will grow up.”

He thinks of six tiny faces, gazing up at him with hope and fear after he told them he would bring their mother back. The idea of their disappointment and pain—the return of the grief that has been etched into their eyes since they all lost Shachi—

It’s as if something within him has suddenly been illuminated.

No!

The darkness in his mind screams at him, but he closes his awareness to it, banishing it from the recess of his heart where it has been entrenched or so long. Though it’s the work of a second, his body sags suddenly, boneless, as if every sinew and muscle that has been holding him together was attached to the presence.

He falls forward, staying upright only because she catches him, holding him against her.

“I will…spend the rest of my life…making up for my actions,” he tells her weakly. The world spins, and in place of the dark entity that has shadowed him forever, for the first time since he was a child he feels a mounting terror in the face of the unknown. His whole life he has been able to predict and imagine the future, and the only times he hasn’t, someone close to him has been hurt or died.

He doesn’t think he would be able to survive that now.

She smiles sadly at him, and then leans her head forward, tentatively pressing her lips against his. It’s soft and chaste, nothing like the desperate press of lips and tongues from earlier, but somehow this means more to him.

“When was the last time you slept?” she asks gently.

“I don’t remember,” he admits. It could have been days…it could have been months. He’s rather sure that he hasn’t had a full night’s rest since the day he lost her.

“Sleep now, then,” she tells him, drawing him downward. “And then we will speak some more. About whatever you wish. And you can bring me to our children. I long to hold them in my arms again.”

“Yes,” he agrees dimly. “And then…”

Asura, he thinks, wincing at the thought of facing them now after everything. Father…

“In time,” she repeats, like she can sense the direction of his thoughts. It would not surprise him. She forces him downward, propping him against her so that his ear is pressed against her belly. Her fingers trail through his hair. “You have enough of a journey ahead of you without your mind creating more obstacles. We will take it one day at a time, together.”

He frowns.

“I have done nothing in my life to deserve you by my side.”

“You saved me from a life of servitude and ignominy,” she tells him. “You gave me children and happiness and love. And I do not need to hear the words to know that’s what this is. You saved me. Now let me save you.”

Indra can’t think of anything to say to this, and decides not to.

His wife has proven far wiser than he, and perhaps now is the time to start listening to her.

He drifts to sleep like that, ear pressed against her belly and the sensation of her fingers trailing through his hair.

A forgotten warmth begins to settle somewhere beneath his numb disbelief and shame, the memory of a comfort and safety he felt before. Quiet nights spent lying in her embrace, pretending the bonds between them weren’t strengthening with every passing moment together.

What a fool I’ve been…

Suddenly he feels his wife tense.

His eyes shoot open, reflexes bidding him to act, but she tightens her grip on him, forcing him to remain in his place.

“You will leave now, shadow creature, and haunt my husband no longer,” she declares against the night, and though her voice remains barely above a whisper, there is a sharpness to it. “You have lost your hold on him.”

“Perhaps,” a voice like dead leaves answers, sounding amused. “But you have many children. And you will have many descendants. I can be very patient, and even the strongest hearts can yield to fear.”

“Then I will be there.”

The presence makes a scoffing noise, but then it’s overwhelming dark aura dissipates into thin air.

“We shall see.”

“Yes, we shall.”

And now the presence truly is gone, vanished from anywhere near them. The sense of peace and safety wash over him again.

Shachi gazes down at him, eyes sparking with that same determination he fell in love with all those years ago but could not admit until this moment.

“I mean it,” she tells him. “Even if I have to return from beyond the veil of the Pure Land to protect every child of our line, I will do it.”

Indra feels his facial muscles gentle, and carefully, he reaches up to brush her forehead in affection.

“And I will be by your side,” he vows. “As long as you will have me.”

The future will not be perfect, and he knows despite his wife’s heartfelt words that his sins require penance of some sort. Too many have been hurt or died in the name of his search for power, of the distrust and arrogance that have festered in him for so long.

But he will die trying, if she were to ask it.

Shachi seems to consider for a moment, and then smiles down at him. “Forever?”

“Aa. Forever, then.”

終わり

I hope you enjoyed the story! Comments and constructive criticism are much appreciated, and very motivating—and if you enjoy my writing, want updates or just to chat, I'm on Tumblr and Twitter (KuriQuinn).

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#indrachi #indra ootsutsuki #shachi ootsutsuki #soulmates #forgiveness #redemption #fic request #alternate ending #not canon #not headcanon #just for shits and giggles #okay maybe not giggles #angst #drama #romance #feels

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nakedfullmonty-fr · 7 years

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i rememebered i wrote this a month ago and never posted it like i intended to, so have some actual albiet vague lore in the form of one of the letters Temahae sends home to her father Kolya, in another clan

The package is a large wooden box, though it has been wrapped carefully with brown paper and string, and has been marked as fragile in several places. It is in great contrast to the accompanying letter, which is written on fine parchment, in an envelope sealed with wax. The letter's handwriting is elegant, but looks forced in places, much like some of the language used; a handwriting that was learnt, rather than a handwriting that forms naturally. It reads:

Dearest Father, I hope this letter finds its way to you and mother, and I hope it finds you well. Regrettably, it’s been some time since I last wrote, and for that I can only apologise. I promise that I haven’t forgotten about you, I could never, but in recent times things in Ogygia have been…un-permitting. As it stands right now, I cannot share details on the recent events that I have borne witness to, but perhaps it is for the best. It seems the more I learn about the world, the less I wish to know. There are things out there that are the stuff of myths and legends and children’s cautionary tales alike, that surely should not exist, and yet they do, as if they simply walked right off the pages of whatever dark grimoire they were written into. I pray you do not encounter them. Nowadays I take the legends of the Wendigo Winters more seriously than ever. I suppose, more importantly, an update on myself is in order. I have stories, of things that have happened and the people I have met, that are far too numerous to fit into a mere letter. Over the years, Ogygia has continued to grow and grow at an astonishing pace, and just recently has found itself established as fully recognised city-state (Can you believe? Niet, a Queen, and myself, an illegitimate Princess!). For the most part it’s a pleasant place to live, although admittedly I mingle with the common clanfolk far less than I should, and dragons from all across Sornieth have found themselves drawn to it. As you, and mother, are still alive and recognised as my parents, I am not accepted as a true heir to Ogygia, but quite frankly I’m fine with that. High titles come with high responsibilities, and I am not afraid to admit that true royal life sounds like a complete bore that only serves to draw me away from my books. I have, however, found one particular duty that I will always gladly partake in. Though infrequent due to the small numbers of Ice dragon in Ogygia, occasionally it falls upon me to read the Preservation Recitations for those who partake in such religions even outside of our Flight boundaries. Even though I have not been to the Icefields since my childhood, it still fills me with pride to have the honour of filling such an important role within our culture. On that topic, if luck is on my side, then this letter should come with an accompanying parcel – please treat it carefully, it contains the bones of an Ogygia resident - named Jorlias - who, in the days prior to his death, asked that his bones be cleaned and sent back home to be preserved and buried where they belong; in the Icefields. If you would be so kind as to comply with this request, it would be greatly appreciated. My time in Ogygia has served my magic studies well – if not for my eyes, I doubt I would be distinguishable from the natives. The mixing of cultures within the city, and our various ties with other clans, has permitted that I learn the basics of Light magic, however such magic is so far removed from the Ice and Water magic that I’m familiar with, that I find progress is slow. I think perhaps this brings me to the true subject of this letter. After a great deal of self-reflection, I have come to realise that I have…settled. The Southern Icefields are my birthplace, but after living here for so long I know Ogygia is my home, it is where I belong. This is not new information, what is new to me is the realisation that I lament this fact. I left home with the goal of studying every form of magic Sornieth has to offer, for to do otherwise would be to squander the potential that I was so lucky to have been born with. I reached Ogygia very early on in my life, when I was still a child, and so perhaps stayed initially because I missed the warmth of company and family so far away from my home. For a time this worked for me, because Niet and Yastrebok were more than happy to tutor me in Water’s magic. But I had a plan. I’d always had a plan, even back then, to only spend a few years at most within one territory. To master the magic within and then move to the next, because the world is a big place and to study and master all magic I come across would take a lifetime even then. Except I became complacent, I discarded my plan and stayed because I loved these new people that I’d found, and I was happy. I understand that my existence in Ogygia is part of an allyship pact. I do not know the rules of such pact, but now, as an adult I am sure I am permitted to make my own way in this world. I have decided to move on from Ogygia. In truth, I am unsure of where I will go. The Sea of a Thousand Currents is a very central point, so any journey I undertake will be a lengthy one. Most likely I will travel North towards the Viridian Labyrinth, to study Nature’s magic, a logical next step considering its close ties to the magics of Ice and Water. That said, perhaps now is as good a time as any to take that long overdue trip back to the Icefields. It would be most lovely to be able to see you all in person again, and like I said, I have too many stories to fit into writing. I think perhaps what brought about this change in mind, is that I feel I am no longer happy.

Midway through the letter, the text changes. A significant portion of the letter is not written in common, and instead switches to the native Ice script of Warden-Tongue. The elaborate handwriting and extensive vocabulary seem to vanish as it continues:

It is most likely foolish and horribly irresponsible of me to share any of this with you, but you are my family, however distant, and I know I can trust you. In recent years, things in Ogygia have not been going well. The city itself and its citizens are fine for the most part, most are none the wiser, but up top, there are chips in the foundations. As I mentioned previously, I cannot currently share details on the exact events of recent times, but the most important takeaway is this: Lockheed, founding council member and head of Ogygia’s militia, has fallen heroically in battle. Mind you, she is not dead, not yet, but it is inevitable, and most unfortunate. She deserved a swift and painless death, not this. In a last attempt to save those involved, including myself, she reached within herself and tapped into the purest form of magical essence known to dragons – the soul. Such an act is rarely done, and as such there is little known of its effects and even less known on a cure. The major Gods we have reached out to have not responded, and the minor deities say it is something far beyond their power. She will die a hero, will be remembered as one, but this is not a death befitting of a paladin, a defender of good and protector of innocents. It is slow, and it is painful, for her and for us. Nowadays she is a bedridden, her sight is failing, and she sleeps more often than not – a blessing perhaps. When she wakes, she is no longer herself. Every day she loses her grip on her identity a little more. Her husband, Bermuda, does not leave her side, even though she has long forgotten him. Her wife, Magpie, has become bitter and angry, and spends most of her time on the hillside just past the gates of the city, watching only for the return of their daughter, Europa, who is away from home and blissfully unaware. Her other daughter, Io, has been doing her best to keep face as a military general herself, to hide the situation from the public, but the already aggressive flame inside her burns only brighter. It has been a long time since anyone has seen her son, Ganymede. Lockheed was as much an older sister and mentor to me as any other member of the Ogygian counsel, and to pretend that I am unphased by this would be a terrible lie. But it is not my time. I must hold my composure until her passing, because the city relies on its counsel. We must do our best to hold through the passing of one of our members, and the devastating grief of two more. We cannot afford to crumble. As the face of the city, Niet knows this, more than any of us. As her younger sister, figuratively, I can see through her well-practised straight face better than anyone. We have faced many losses through the years, but this is the first time loss has hit so close, and it has rattled her. Unfortunately, this is not the only dilemma she faces, and as things continue to pile up my worry increases. The military has a strong but generally positive presence in Ogygia – We are small, with enemies on all sides, so we value those who defend us. Sooner or later the public must learn of Lockheed’s fate, and without a doubt it will cause unrest among the people. The hints of civil unrest are already taking root in some places. As a primarily Water based society, we are no stranger to prophecies, especially ones pertaining to death and doom, but these are easily dismissed as misinterpretations of visions, or simple scams. But recently, more and more prophets have been making themselves heard, all calling on the same vision – That there is a great beast in a deep slumber, but soon it will awaken and drag Ogygia to its blackened fate. I know not what it means, nor if I believe it, but it is become harder to ignore, and soon people will want answers. Yastrebok, Niet’s mate, has been riddled with similar prophecies for all the years I’ve known him, to add to the mystery. But the people of Ogygia will not turn to him, they will turn to Niet. The people have no faith in Yastrebok – the Absent King, they call him – and for good reason. Yastrebok has always had the awful habit of simply vanishing at times. Years and years ago, it’d only be for a day or so, but as time goes on his trips become longer and more frequent and now he disappears for weeks on end. When he returns he says he remembers nothing of where he goes or what he does. I’ve attempted to use Water magic to scry on him, to find where he goes or to tell if he lies, but every time I find my power blocked, whether it be by him or some external force. It puts a strain on their relationship. Niet mourns the loss in private, but when he returns, they no longer have civil words for one another, they just fight. Mostly verbally, sometimes physically. In the old days, when I was young and they loved each other, when they disagreed they would spar their frustrations away until they were tired, and then they would lie in the golden wheat fields and talk until it was better. Now they just fight for hours and hours, and then go their separate ways without a word. Niet confessed something to me recently, a grave something, that she said she has never spoke a word of to anyone else before. I will not share it, I cannot, but knowing that and then looking at the problems she faces now fills me with dread. I have no doubt that she is strong, but everyone has a limit, and I worry she will reach hers soon. I worry what will happen to her, to the counsel, to the city, when she does. Please forgive me, Father, for unloading this unto you. I know it is not your cross to bear, and most of this means little to you. Now that I think about it, I’m unsure why I felt the need to write it all down to begin with. Perhaps I just needed to share it with someone. Yes, I think I’ve found it a little cathartic, my heart feels just a little lighter now. Previously I shared things like this with my younger sister Ricin, but she feels the stress as much as I do, and her mental health is deteriorating. In all good conscience, I cannot burden her with this. If I can ask you of this, Father, once you have read this letter, and shared it with Mother, I request that you burn it. Or, if you simply must keep it, you ink out the parts pertaining to the inner workings of Ogygia. It is foolish of me to have written it at all, but it would be disastrous if our political weaknesses were made public, even in the Icefields so far away. We are small, now more than ever, and cannot afford more enemies in this state. I trust you to do this, and thank you Father.

Once more the text changes, and for the last few lines the text reverts once more back to common, and elaborate writing and vernacular return:

I understand that one clan leader such as yourself would find yourself terribly busy, but if you ever find yourself with but a spare moment, if it is not too much trouble, perhaps you could write back to me? I feel selfish to have written so much about myself – Truly, I would love to know how you and Mother fare back home, and in what endeavours my siblings, Lyudmila, Faris and Tsvetanka find themselves in. And if you could, please tell them that they too are welcome to write to me, or to come and visit any time. As I mentioned previously, if at all possible, I wouldn’t hesitate to return home, under the knowledge that you have the availability of course. I am unsure of when exactly I plan to vacate my home in Ogygia; it will not be an easy feat, and my heart will undoubtedly be heavy, heavier than it’s ever been. However, once the deed is done, and I find myself on the road once more, I’m sure that through various couriers I will find myself able to write and send more letters, for I truly regret my lack of recent contact. Oh, and one more thing, if you could keep this part a secret Father, but I have found that for a Fae, I have grown rather tall, and I will admit I’m somewhat proud of it. It has been so long since I’ve seen you, I would love to keep it as a surprise for Mother. Ever yours, Temahae

#flight rising #my lore #actual prose #temahae #tems letters #4 #warning its a bit wordy #also astro i hope its fine that i used a pic of kolya at the top haha #i should use tems letters as like. event summaries honestly

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suchawonderfullife · 7 years

Text

1. The silver lining..

For those who know me personally, you may be wondering why I’ve called this blog “such a wonderful life”? Well, “Wonderful Life” by Hurts is a song of significance to me. The lyrics start with:

“On a bridge across the Severn on a Saturday night, Susie meets the man of her dreams. He says that he got in trouble and if she doesn’t mind He doesn’t want the company But there’s something in the air They share a look in silence and everything is understood Susie grabs her man and puts a grip on his hand as the rain puts a tear in his eye. She says Don’t let go Never give up, it’s such a wonderful life Don’t let go Never give up, it’s such a wonderful life”

It’s about a man about to commit suicide, when he is stopped by a woman, she grabs his hand and assures him it will all be okay. The lyrics continue with her seeing his pain, they fall in love and he starts to believe her words. She saves him.

I used to listen to this song through my sickest and darkest days. This song still evokes strong emotion when I listen to it, I think because of the memory of how sick I was when I needed to hear these words the most. I remember countless nights in my early 20′s, feeling such immense loneliness and emotional suffering. It would be 2am or some ridiculous time, my insomnia in fine form and I’d just spent another day (like hundreds before that) home alone, too sick to watch tv, talk to anybody or do anything relatively normal. My level of pain and suffering was incomprehensible and honestly, I’m astonished I survived it. I used to meditate lying down, for hours on end just to try and alleviate some of my symptoms, then I’d lie on the couch listening to classical music as that’s all my body could cope with. If I wasn’t on the couch listening to music, I was in bed in complete silence and darkness, just breathing, hoping to fall asleep (but unable to) and waiting for another day to pass. So at 2-3-4am, when the magnitude of my isolation was felt the most, tears streaming down my face and all I could think about was falling asleep and hoping to never wake up, this song spoke to the deepest part of my soul. The part of me that knew life was worth fighting for and that I needed to try and hold on a little longer. You can listen to the song here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1TB1x67Do5U

I have to tell you how glad I am that I did hold on. I survived years of suffering that I would not wish on my worst enemy. When you have no hope outside of that fire that burns within you, when doctors tell you you’re too sick to be treated and they don’t know how to help you, that you may never get better, the majority of your friends abandon you from lack of understanding and judgement and there is nothing in your day that brings you joy, distraction or relief. When you’re isolated beyond comprehension and left feeling like a worthless burden to those selfless enough to stick around and love and care for you regardless. I’m glad my multiple suicide attempts through those times were never successful. I’m glad the universe has kept me here. Now I have hope and the possibility of returning to a life where feeling joy, having the ability to participate in society and achieving my goals, will outweigh my level of suffering. I may even feel somewhat “normal”- now that’s a dream i’ve had for almost a decade.

In just over a month’s time, I will be travelling to the Hansa Center in Wichita Kansas for life-saving treatment for Late Stage Nuerological Lyme Disease and many other conditions this illness has graced me with. This trip has been a year in the making. Over 8 years of trialling endless treatments, a multitude of tests, dozens of doctors, anecdotal evidence from friends and fellow sufferers on their own journey and lastly a years research solely on this clinic and why this is my best shot at helping my body fight such a devastating disease. A disease that has robbed 12 years of my life, taken away my dreams and life plans, has control of all my organs (including my brain), nervous system and tissues, causes dozens (even hundreds) of debilitating symptoms and has actually made me grateful to be the person I am today.

I don’t want this blog to simply be about me harping on about how sick I am/was, treatments and other sad or challenging things. To me it’s about finding hope and positivity in whatever your circumstances and learning to be grateful for the lessons through things you cannot change or do not have control over. I want this blog to change the way you see the world, to inspire you to never give up, to fight for what you want and to face whatever it is that’s holding you back.

There is always something positive to come from any experience. A silver lining if you will. So here is mine: In my 2 years of “remission” (ages 18-20), though I didn’t know it was remission at the time, I was a very different person to who I am now. I was still kind-hearted, thoughtful, loving and a decent human being (in my opinion). But I was superficial and possibly too driven. I prided myself on how hard I could work and how much I could achieve. Rest or down-time was not something I cared for. I studied full-time and worked 2-3 jobs. Working less than 20 hours a week was not acceptable to me. I would head out with friends on weekends for big nights out, I was extroverted (still am) and very likeable. I found it easy to get along with anybody and make new friends. My looks were very important, as a personal trainer, exercise was my life and I loved being known as a “gym junkie.”

I valued myself on how I looked, men finding me attractive, my achievements and status of profession and how likeable I was to others. Basically, I sought value within myself through superficial and tangible parts of my life (as most of us do). So when I became ill, I lost everything that gave me a sense of purpose and made me who I was. A year into being diagnosed as chronically ill (age 21) and I became severely depressed, even suicidal, partly due to my ongoing isolation and grieving the loss of everything I once had. It took me a long time to learn how to re-build my self-worth from nothing. But I did it.

I slowly learnt the value of being grounded, the importance of genuine connection and meaningful relationships over going out and being liked by whomever I may meet. Now I’d rather have quality time with one good friend, than head out with 10 friends where the conversation is potentially shallow. I’ve learnt how to value myself despite my looks (I haven’t been able to exercise in 8 years and putting makeup on is only possible on really “well” days), despite being unable to work or whatever profession I may have in the future and despite being unable to contribute or participate in society like people expect. Those are the things society TELLS us are important, but if you take them all away, you’re left with nothing. Imagine losing all that shapes you as “you,” becoming a lifeless shell of your former self, how would you get through that and rebuild who you are?

So what’s important to me now above all else, is my integrity, morals and how I treat others. I’m a good person, I know this and that’s what matters. I also learnt how to say no. How to set boundaries and make sure that I take care of myself first and foremost and others second. I used to bend over backwards for people, but when I put people’s well-being before my own, it was usually for them to like me, to keep the peace, or out of fear they would abandon me if I didn’t help. So my intentions (although from a good place) were actually not genuine. I’ve learnt how to be true to myself and only say yes to things that serve me or things I am capable of doing whilst maintaining my own physical and emotional health. “You can’t pour from an empty cup,” remember that. I also learnt through counselling that you do yourself a disservice every time you step outside yourself and your core values, to simply please someone else. You become inauthentic and are essentially hurting yourself.

I’m still extroverted, but I’ve learnt how to be alone and embrace simply doing nothing. At 18 I couldn’t even sit through a yoga class, I thought it was “stupid” to waste time breathing deeply and relaxing. I used to get anxiety if it was a Saturday night and I wasn’t out doing something. I hated being on my own with nothing to do. However now, I actually enjoy time alone, doing nice things for myself like having a bath, cooking a healthy meal, going for a walk, sitting in a cafe drinking a coffee just watching people, spending a whole day on the couch binge-watching whatever show I am obsessed with at the time and more. It’s OK to do nothing and this took years for me to accept. But don’t get this confused with severe isolation when you are bedridden. That is when I wanted to die and being that sick, for that long with very limited social contact is beyond challenging and heart-breaking. I am very fortunate to not be THAT sick right now and to have the (although limited) freedom of making some choices on my better days.

Moreover, I learnt that my circumstances and life need no explanation. I don’t owe anybody anything. I used to justify and explain myself out of fear of judgement. The looks I get when I park in a disabled spot, or get pushed around the shops in a wheelchair, yet would hop out of it to look at something. Feeling unwell at an event and needing to go lie down or leave and not knowing how to tell someone, cancelling plans or suddenly becoming too unwell to speak, move or tolerate a normal sound or smell. It’s exhausting to feel the need to constantly justify your circumstances to people. So I don’t and I don’t care if people don’t “get it.” They’re not people I need in my life.

I’m also more than happy to put people in their place who feel the need to comment on my circumstances to which they know nothing about. Such as the social injustice warriors fighting for the rights of the disabled and their parking spots. I acknowledge their comment by telling them to go look at the VALID sticker on the dashboard that is registered to me. Ignorance is bliss and good for them, but I certainly won’t be a sitting duck to morons who think their opinion actually matters. I know people sick like myself who would benefit greatly from a disabled sticker, yet are too scared to get one because they may get nasty comments from onlookers as they are not in a wheelchair, of prehistoric age or missing a limb. This may mean the difference between them able to go to the shops or leave their house, something many take for granted. A friend once said (towards people like that) “It must be nice to have such a privileged opinion on disability when you are in full health.”

My point is, my view of the world and what I thought was important was guided by what society was telling me. Working hard, always being busy, looking good, putting others first and caring what people think. Being so sick from Lyme Disease gave me the time and necessity to build myself back up from nothing and to be able to think for myself. I don’t buy into superficial connections, fakeness, striving for things that will help my social status, people liking me, or doing something because “it’s what you do” or “society says,” because life is too short. What an absolute waste of time and energy that is.

I’m am empath and I’ve been fortunate enough to find the ability to listen to what my soul really needs in order to be authentic. I have honestly found my true self through all my heartache and I may not ever have had the chance to do that, if I didn’t get sick. You’ll see that I am unapologetically honest about who I am, my life, my desires, interests and dreams. I own who I am and what I want because I am at my happiest when I am true to myself. I don’t believe in filtering my life to ease others discomfort. If you’re uncomfortable, that’s not my problem and I gravitate only towards those who “get me” and embrace all that I am. I can’t tell you how elating that feels. I’ve lost friends because of who I am and choices I’ve made, as they were judgemental and couldn’t see past their own social conditioning and bubble of reality. Don’t get me wrong, that hurts, but they don’t deserve me in their life if that’s their mindset towards someone simply being who they are. This is an outlook people in their 40′s or 50′s start to tap into, when they get tired of living their life how they think they’re supposed to and they just want to be happy. I found this in my 20′s and what a beautiful gift that is.

If you meet me or have met me, I hope you feel that my energy is genuine, that I have depth, an ability to listen with intent to understand and not simply reply and that I honestly care for people. I have an outlook of positivity, I’m a solutions person and I always find a silver lining.

How did I get there though? Through my chronic illness journey I have studied Buddhism, found the benefits of Reiki, healing crystals, meditation, detoxing, mindfulness techniques, sought counselling for deep-seeded emotional traumas, read many self help books and more. I got to a point where my physical suffering was so severe and I had nothing to alleviate it, that I decided I needn't suffer more with emotional or mental pain. If I could at least control my mind and learn how to be happy or at peace through my suffering, then maybe I would either get through it, or at least die with some peace. Your mind and the way you view things has such immense power. This kind of growth didn’t only help me “find myself”, but I learnt that it is paramount to long-term recovery. My recovery didn’t start until AFTER I tapped into all these things.

So I need to express to sufferers out there, that you will NEVER get better if you do not deal with your “shit”, work on yourself and learn how to find peace through your suffering. We all carry trauma and if you’re sick, then it is a part of your chronic illness story. Don’t try to simply fix the physical. I’ve heard this from multiple practitioners and health experts as well, so it’s not just my anecdotal evidence or personal belief. The Hansa Center focus on emotional healing and (from my understanding) adhere to this same belief.

Thanks for reading. Next I will discuss the journey that led me to choosing Hansa and why I did. Make sure you hit “follow” for future updates.

Love xx

#lyme #lyme disease #chronic lyme #chronic illness #spoonie #hansa center #hansa #lyme treatment

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