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bonjour-rainycity · 4 years

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The Long Way Around ~ Chapter 20

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/626929959256113152/the-long-way-around-chapter-19

Pairing: Jasper x Reader

Word count: 3380

Warnings: None

A/n You guys, I cannot believe we’re at 20 chapters and over 50,000 words. That’s just crazy to me! Thanks for sticking around :) Quick update on the timeline: It’s been fourteen months since the start of the story. Okay, enjoy!

Jasper’s POV

“Y/n, focus please, I can’t do the guest list without you.”

“Sure you can,” Y/n protests, turning back to face our over-eager wedding planner. Previously, she had been staring at me, seeming envious of my relaxed state reading a book in the recliner. I grin as Y/n continues her objections. “I don’t even know any of these people, and it’s not like I can invite anyone from my human life. All I care about is having Jasper and you guys there, anyone else will be a pleasant surprise.”

She’s phrased this diplomatically, but I still register Alice’s dissatisfaction. I decide to help them both out.

“Here, let me do the guest list. I know them all, anyway.”

Y/n shoots me a grateful smile and loops her arm through mine when I join her on the floor. Alice kneels on the other side of the large coffee table, back to the TV, various books, magazines, notebooks, Post-It’s, and colored pens scattered around.

“Thank you,” Alice says pointedly, shooting Y/n a look. “The Irish coven.”

“Sure,” I shrug, knowing they’re good, trusted friends of Carlisle’s.

“The Egyptian coven?”

“Definitely,” I nod with a grin and turn to Y/n. “You’re going to love them. Benjamin can-”

“Don’t spoil the surprise,” Alice giggles, and Y/n’s interest in this project increases tenfold. Obediently, I fall silent.

“What, no you can’t leave it like that! Babe, you have to tell me,” she tugs on my arm, laughing.

“Nope,” I shake my head, smile widening. “Let the suspense drive you crazy.”

“Fine, but once we’re married, you legally have to tell me all your secrets.”

I throw my head back in laughter. “Is that so?”

“Yep,” she nods smugly. “It’s the law, there’s nothing I can do about it. Sorry.”

“Well if I have to tell you mine—”

“It’s been fourteen months since Y/n Y/l/n went missing on a warm summer night and has since been presumed dead. Today, her alleged killer walked free.”

The three of us freeze, eyes locked on the TV quietly playing through the news. Hearing what we just heard, the rest of the family hurries into the living room, shock and outrage emanating from them all. But I push that away, using all of my available focus on Y/n.

She sits straight, unmoving, her expression blank. Her hands, which previously held mine, now clench into unbreakable fists. She says nothing, choosing only to stare at the newswoman on the screen. Her emotions are much more telling: A deep, painful sadness encases her. My fingers twitch towards her, wanting to do something.

“Mark Whitman, a forty-six year old local, previously confessed to the murder of Ms. Y/l/n. However, police were never able to locate a body, and Mr. Whitman has faced many inquiries as to the state of his mental health at the time of the alleged crime. Whitman is a long-time drug user and well-known to local officials as someone who embellishes stories, even while under oath. It is believed the jury found him not-guilty for this reason, paired with the lack of physical evidence tying him to the crime. Kaitlyn Myers, who took the stand not three days ago and begged the jury to convict, spoke publicly after Mr. Whitman’s acquittal.”

The TV flashes to a different scene, and I can feel the pain rush through Y/n when she sees her best friend from her human life tearfully speaking to a large group of reporters and spectators. I place my hand on top of her fist, but she gives no indication that she’s aware of my presence, let alone my touch.

Kaitlyn sniffles, seeming to steel herself before she speaks. “I don’t care that no one believes me. I know what I saw. Blake knows what he saw. And what we saw was Mark Whitman stabbing Y/n with enough force to nearly run her through. What we saw,” she sneers the word as the emotion takes over her voice and tears flow more freely, “was our best friend bleeding out and gasping for air in the backseat of her own car.”

Something deep inside me begins to ache. To picture my love, my everything, like this—in pain, barely hanging onto life—hurts me in a way I never thought possible. It cuts deep and carves out a hollow, aching feeling. Now I grip her hand just as much for my comfort as for hers.

“Mark Whitman is a dangerous man and deserves to spend the rest of his life in jail for murder.”

The screen cuts back to the newswoman, who looks grim. “The only witnesses, Kaitlyn Myers and Blake Hannigan, were deemed unreliable due to their level of intoxication at the time of the alleged crime, as well as their suspicious memory loss. Still, both maintain that they told the truth in their testimonies.”

The news switches to another segment. Edward turns it off.

The room is deathly silent.

My family members are hesitant to speak, not wanting to say anything that could hurt Y/n further. I myself pause. I want to take her pain away, to make her better, but she also hasn’t asked. But can she ask, in a state such as this? Is it my responsibility, then, to heal her when she’s too hurt to ask for help herself?

Carlisle interrupts my internal argument, bowing his head in shame. “Y/n, I must apologize. I gave your friends and Mr. Whitman a memory-altering sedative to hide our own involvement in the crime. If I hadn’t, it is likely he would have been convicted and justice would have been carried out. I am so sorry to have denied you this.”

“Don’t apologize.” Her voice is barely audible, even to our ears, and completely without inflection. “You made the right choice for your family, I can respect that.”

I can’t take it anymore. Her pain is crushing, agonizing, and what kind of man would I be if I let her suffer knowing I could do something about it? Immediately, I make the pain disappear. It’s replaced by a dull numbness. I don’t know what to replace the pain with—anything at all would feel manipulative—so I suppose the numbness will have to do for now. Perhaps I can comfort her in other ways. I run my hand up and down her back with one hand, using the other to pull her close against my side.

She doesn’t react.

“Alice, will he hurt anyone else,” Y/n asks in that same dead voice. It’s incredibly unsettling, and I find myself growing anxious.

What can I do, find something to do—do something to help her—

“Jasper,” Edward murmurs. Once he has my attention, he mimes taking a deep breath. I’m not sure how that’s expected to help a vampire, but I do as he says. Oddly, I do feel better. Or, more clear-headed, at least. I refocus.

Alice opens her eyes, shaking her head apologetically. “I don’t know him well enough to see anything, really…I promise I’ll try though. I’ll watch.”

I feel Arthur’s disapproval and know he’s worried about Alice overextending herself. But still, knowing her, she will do her best to see Mark Whitman’s decisions and their possible outcomes, for Y/n’s sake.

“He attacked me, completely unprovoked…” Y/n whispers, voice rising in pitch. “He killed me, and I didn’t do anything to him but try to help.”

Immediately, it becomes clear what I can do.

My sense of helplessness vanishes.

As soon as Esme sits at Y/n’s other side and begins soothing her, I stand. I bend to kiss the top of Y/n’s head, then walk out the front door, going straight to the garage.

She barely notices I’m gone.

Edward is right on my heels, and Emmett behind him.

“Jasper, think this through,” Edward warns.

I don’t stop walking.

“Are you going to do what I think you’re going to,” Emmett questions, feeling suspicious.

When I don’t respond, Edward confirms. I feel Emmett’s hesitation.

“Jazz, wait a moment. You don’t even know if this is what she wants, let alone if it will make her feel better.”

I turn on him, letting him see the determination in my eyes. “If you had the chance to end someone who was causing Rosalie pain, wouldn’t you?”

He gets it immediately. A hard set comes into Emmett’s eyes, and resignation becomes his dominant emotion.

Edward can sense he just became outnumbered. He sneers. “And are you even sure you can do it? That you have the control?”

“I have gotten so much better in the last twenty years,” I point out, voice rising slightly. I take a moment to calm myself, regaining my previous composure. “Besides, I don’t plan on spilling any blood. I’ll be quick.”

Edward tries another tactic. “And what if she grows resentful of you? What if she takes the blame on herself? What will you do then? You can’t un-kill someone.”

I brush off his questions, not wanting to think through these very-real possibilities. Instead, I strike a low blow, wanting to drive away and get this over with as soon as possible. For every minute that man walks free, he hurts Y/n. And I can’t let that happen. “Wasn’t there a time when you did what I’m doing now? When you acted as judge, jury, and executioner?”

Edward’s eyes set, and the response comes through gritted teeth. “Yes, and I have regretted that every day since, and I will for the rest of eternity.” He didn’t need to tell me this. I can feel it plainly in his emotions. His regret and self-loathing cut deep.

I ignore this, knowing I won’t feel the same way. Edward and I are very different people. “That’s because you’re not a natural killer, Edward.”

“Neither are you,” he steps forward, meaning to restrain me. I take a defensive stance, unwilling to be detained.

Growing suspicious, Carlisle joins us on the grass. “What’s going on?”

Edward and I stare each other down, leaving Emmett to do the explaining. Quickly, Carlisle understands. “Jasper, think about what you’re planning to do.”

“I am thinking,” I growl, angry that my family is keeping me from acting on my decision. After all, it is my decision, not theirs. It’s my mate who is hurting. If it was one of theirs, surely they would be behaving similarly.

I freeze, realization nearly knocking me off my feet.

Because they didn’t. Carlisle didn’t kill Charles, who abused Esme so horribly. Emmett didn’t track down Royce King’s living relatives and stop his bloodline, though I know the temptation was there. And Edward, much as he wanted to, didn’t hunt down Bella’s would-be attackers and end their lives.

If Mark Whitman was to die, it could certainly be at my hand, but it would have to be at Y/n’s direction. It would have to be her choice, not mine.

I sigh, bringing a hand to my forehead, rubbing against the oncoming headache. It’s a strange thing for a vampire to get a headache.

Sensing I’ve demurred, Carlisle speaks in a soft, absolving voice. “Son, your fiancée needs you. Go back to her, and give her what comfort you can. Later, when we’re all a bit more clear-headed, we’ll work out a solution. Until then, your brothers will keep watch over Mr. Whitman and make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

Nodding solemnly, Edward and Emmett pass me to get into one of our more discreet vehicles. As they go, Edward gives me a steady look and a reassurance I’m not owed. “It’s okay.”

Emmett claps me on the shoulder, silently conveying his support.

Once they’re gone, I sigh again, filled with shame. “I’m sorry, Carlisle.”

He shakes his head, feeling nothing ill towards me. It’s more than I deserve. “It’s alright. I understand the temptation, I promise. We must be strong enough not to act on it.”

Nodding, I follow him back across the lawn and into the house. Y/n has moved to the couch and is being held by Esme and Rosalie as she shakes silently. When Rose sees me coming, she stands so I can sit on Y/n’s other side. I slide my arm around Y/n’s shoulders, and she falls easily into me, still shuddering with soundless sobs.

Mercifully, she doesn’t ask where I went. I’m not sure how well I would handle having to explain my severe lapse in judgement.

Eventually, Y/n runs out of the energy needed to continue crying, but she stays in my arms well past the rising of the sun.

{***}

The soft steps precede the knock on the door. “Y/n, do you have a moment?”

Y/n sits up and I follow suit, but I don’t remove my arm from around her shoulders. We’ve been in her room for the past five hours, having moved from the living room once she started to feel a bit awkward. “Of course.”

Esme floats in, Carlisle trailing behind her. I can feel their hesitation. Whatever they’re about to say, they’re not sure how Y/n’s going to take it. I glance at her, now cautious myself. Carlisle and Esme have spent the past few hours holed up in his office, discussing how we would deal with Mark Whitman. Obviously, my instinctive course of action had been ruled out. We now had to get a bit more creative.

“Again, I am sorry that you were denied justice, in the traditional sense, at least.” Before Y/n can brush off Carlisle’s apology, he continues. “Esme and I believe we have figured out a way to see Mr. Whitman held accountable for his crimes, without taking too many liberties due to our natural advantages.” As I had tried to do. As I would have done, if they hadn’t stopped me. “We have found a long-term rehabilitation center that will be willing to accept Mr. Whitman once we present them with the forged documentation. He’s struggled all his life with drug addictions, and was heavily intoxicated himself the night he stabbed you,” Carlisle’s voice falters slightly, and I feel the tension in Y/n’s shoulders. “We believe this is a good solution to help both you and Mr. Whitman, and keep him from harming others in the future.”

I’m surprised by the dissatisfaction I feel. Despite my agreement that it would be wrong to kill Mark Whitman, a large part of me still wishes he were dead or, at the very least, serving a life sentence.

And another, furious part realizes that I owe this horrid man a debt. Without his crime, I would have never met my love.

This realization makes me feel ill.

“Are you okay?” Y/n’s thumb strokes my jaw softly, and I realize that, in my anger, I’d been putting a dangerous amount of pressure on her bed. She stopped me just in time to keep my fingers from clawing through the mattress.

“Sorry.” I quickly place my hand safely in my lap, though Y/n scoops it up in her own. She’s so sweet.

After a deep breath, she turns to Carlisle and Esme. “I think that’s a good idea. Thank you for working that out.”

“Of course,” Esme smiles, running a fond hand over Y/n’s head. “We will make the necessary arrangements.”

Esme and Carlisle leave the room, ready to get to work. As soon as I hear their footsteps hit the ground floor, I turn to Y/n.

“How do you feel?” I’m unable to keep the anxious undercurrent out of my voice. She feels suspiciously calm, and I want to make sure she’s not just forcing it for my sake, only to break down later.

She gives me a smile, lighting up her amber eyes. “I’m okay, I promise. I mean obviously, I wish he was in jail, but I’m done crying over it. I’d rather focus on you and our wedding and the life we’re going to create together.”

I beam, relief coursing through my body and relaxing every muscle.

“And that also means that we have to get back to planning. Alice won’t stop reminding me of how strict our timeline is.”

She’s not wrong.

I proposed to Y/n four months ago on the anniversary of her entrance to this life. Y/n and I talked and agreed that, even though we had forever to plan and get married, we wanted to become husband and wife as soon as possible. As the year mark passed us by, Y/n’s self-control, which was already going well, drastically improved, and her focus switched from the near-constant fixation on human blood to other things. Much to Alice’s happiness, that included wedding planning. Since self-control is no longer a primary issue, we’re able to get married whenever we choose. Y/n loves spring, and decided April, just nine months after I proposed, would be a lovely month to get married in. Deadlines don’t scare Alice, especially not after Bella and Edward’s speedy wedding, but she continues to insist that we have no time to waste.

So, dutifully and really not minding at all, I follow Y/n back to the living room where Alice and Rose sit, debating color schemes.

“Right on time,” Alice grins, gesturing to indicate that we should take our previous seats.

Immediately, she begins rapid-firing off names of nomadic vampires and various covens, letting me have the final say in who gets an invitation. Rosalie distracts Y/n with flower arrangements, which Y/n enjoys immensely. But there’s still another matter that’s yet to be arranged.

I have a honeymoon to plan.

{***}

There are many things to consider. While Y/n’s control has improved greatly, she’s not ready to be on a plane. So, that limits us to the Americas and Canada. Unless, of course, she’s willing to swim for it. But would she want to swim, the night of our wedding, and have to buy all-new clothing the minute we get to our destination?

“Stop! You’re giving me a headache,” Edward complains, rubbing his temples with exaggerated movements.

I grin tightly, feeling stressed. “Sorry.”

“I still don’t get why we ruled out Brazil,” Emmett throws a pencil down onto the tree stump acting as our table. “I think it’s a solid option!”

“Because,” I groan, standing to lean tensely against a tree. “Brazil is down south and we would have to cross through Maria’s territory to get there. And I plan on avoiding her at all costs, especially on my honeymoon. Besides, Bella and Edward stopped in Rio on the way to Isle Esme, and you can’t just steal someone else’s honeymoon. I don’t want Y/n to think I don’t care.”

Emmett rolls his eyes, holding up the notepad and maps we’ve been scribbling on for the past three hours. “Show her this and she’ll never doubt.”

Edward grits his teeth, feeling no humor. “We should just ask at this point. I’d be able to hear the reactions in her head and then we could pick somewhere she really wants to go.”

“No,” I protest, hating this idea just as much as the others. “I want to surprise her and really sweep her off her feet. She is going to be my wife and I don’t want to start our marriage with some half-assed plan.”

“Okay, then let’s go over this again.” With a sigh, Emmett picks up the pencil and flips to the first page of our notepad. “North America or Canada, but not southern North America.”

My answer is easy. “Yes.”

“Somewhere with hunting nearby.”

“Yes.”

Edward rolls out a map and gets a pencil of his own as Emmett and I continue to run through our criteria.

“Y/n likes mountains, lakes, and flowers.”

“Yes.”

“Somewhere isolated from human populations.”

“Yes.”

“Like zero humans around so you guys can be as loud and destructive as you want.”

I grit my teeth and fight the urge to knock Emmett over the head. “Yes.”

“Stop,” Edward declares, holding up a hand to illustrate his point. “I have an idea.”

And as Edward explains, I nearly tremble with excitement.

This is perfect.

A/n Hmmm any predictions for where they’re going?? Let me know what you thought and if you would like to be added to the tag list! Also, thank you so much for 200 followers <3

xx,

Bjr

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/627384331257659392/the-long-way-around-chapter-21

Tag list: @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @one-thread-can-save-a-life @salsameter @enchantedcruelsummer @meashy-moo @sana-li @femflorals @80strashbag @tomisbaeholland @heyimval13 @triscuitcracker @deviantly-gayy @sleepywinnie847 @vexingcosmos @avalongrey @artms-blnd @blackloveangel13 @dark-night-sky-99 @itsalonelygirlinalonelyworld @equallyguilty @foolsgoldxo @peppamultifanimagines @wayward-river @twilight-kpop

#jasper cullen #jasper whitlock #jasper cullen x yn #jasper whitlock hale #jasper hale #jasper twilight slow burn #jasper twilight fanfiction #jasper cullen fanfiction #jasper x reader #jasper x y/n #jasper cullen x reader #jasper cullen x you #jasper hale x you #jasper whitlock x you #twilight fanfiction #twilight reader-insert #twilight renaissance

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jjillekkot · 6 years

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2017 is ending ! and so should this bullying & negativity !

2017 has been a tough year on everyone. Regardless of where you live on this globe, we’ve all suffered in one way or another. From the US election to Brexit, from the terrorist attacks in London and Manchester to the ethnic cleansing in Myanmar. We’ve survived hurricanes and tropical storms in Texas, Florida, Puerto Rico and the Philippines. The mass shooting in Las Vegas. Even now in the height of Christmas season, California’s fires burn on. Palestinians are being illegally arrested, detained and displaced every day. Not to mention Net Neutrality battles in the US and Canada. No matter where you might be, something has affected you.

And outside of just the world news, the RPC has dealt with many things. We’ve seen hate crimes and suicides. Toxicity and bullying beyond belief. Ageism and accusations. There’s been so much hurt that the community has inflicted upon itself. So here’s a list of things that the RPC can work on in 2018.

AGEISM. Fandom is a place for people of all ages. It’s not just for teenagers and not merely for adults. This is applicable for both sides. There’s so many people who say “ Don’t talk to me if you’re under 18 ! Stop lying about your age ! “ and similarly there are others who say “ You’re too old for this fandom ! Focus on your own life and get your own hobbies ! “ What both of y’all need to understand is that roleplaying is a collaborative activity. And not only that, it’s such a large community that you could easily just go from one blog to another. To damn a whole age group for an individual experience is toxic and close-minded. Those who are underage still have a place here-- because it probably figures that you were online when you were underage. And for those who are underage, don’t get yourself into activities that could easily get the other party into legal trouble. Respect each other’s boundaries; and if you can’t play nicely, don’t play at all. There are so many variations of characters, of fandoms, of portrayals that you can very easily just... move on elsewhere. Do that, and do so quietly.

ANONYMOUS HATE. Or even, just hate in general. It should just be a rule in general: if you don’t have anything positive or constructive to say, don’t say it at all. It’s not that hard to just move on to another blog. If it makes you uncomfortable to see someone on your dash, unfollow them. Still there? Blacklist them. Tumblr Savior gives you the option to remove the banner that notifies you if an item has been hidden from your dash. It’s like they’re not around at all. Afraid they’ll message you? Block them. And one additional option would be to speak up if you can be non-spiteful about your message, clear the air, and go in peace. No reason to just be nasty to people.

PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE NEGATIVITY. I’m not counting vaguing because sometimes you need to be able to let people know about a situation without being too in detail: it can be a cry for help without being too obvious. But I mean just stirring the pot to see what will come of it. Just saying something negative to someone like “ No one cares about x ” or “ You know you should really do this or otherwise x. ” It’s childish & it shows a lack of accountability. People will ask for your opinion when they want it: otherwise you can probably keep it to yourself, or move on if the blog no longer suits your interests. No need to harass someone out of some sick sense of entertainment or pride.

ACCUSATIONS. Get both sides of the story, understand the situation, make informed decisions. And then, once you do, keep things to yourself. You can warn your friends or something privately if you have a concern about someone based off of personal experience, but rumors spread so fast around here. Even if something is proven to be true, like say someone is bullying or being abusive, and they’re still active? It’s not your responsibility to continuously bully them about it. If you’re so concerned, contact an authority figure. If you know Tumblr Staff isn’t taking it seriously enough, then contact your local authorities-- online bullying is a serious thing that police are supposed to take seriously. If you think you have a real case-- or heck, even if you’re worried? Get serious and contact someone. Otherwise, if you don’t have any evidence to back up your accusation, or you’re just tagging along, you’re just another part of the problem. You are contributing to an unhealthy online culture.

SHAMING. There’s a trend of claiming people are into pedophilia and bestiality, or even go on to call people rape and abuse sympathizers. That is not okay! At all! Some people write content to cope over something that occurred in their private lives. Some people want to experience writing something outside their comfort zone or daily lives. Some people are interested in experimentation. Whatever the cause may be, that’s no reason to call people anything. Do you not realize that if these victims-- yes, victims ( because that’s what they are ) could easily report you for abuse, and if inclined sue you in court for defamation of character? Because that’s what you’re doing, publicly slandering someone’s name out of something you personally don’t feel comfortable with. Don’t like someone’s interests? It’s probably tagged-- meaning you can blacklist it. Still uncomfortable? Chances are that there’s someone else who writes a similar enough style or character-- so unfollow. What authority do you have to blaspheme someone for the content they produce on their blog in their own space in their own comfort in their own time if it’s not hurting anyone else in the process?

FACECLAIM / POC BASHING. Which I think is a really interesting phenomenon because most of the time the people who call others out for their choice in face claim aren’t even of the race themselves? The idea of the faceclaim is to have that person pick a public face that matches the portrayal of the fictional character they’re writing, usually of an animated background. And it’s also gross to tag someone else to bash another person for you? I’ve been asked to publicly call out someone on their choice of FC-- and that’s disgusting. Don’t bully someone ‘cause of a personal preference. And if you’re trying to “ stand up “ for POC, which is what I assume this is supposed to be... you should probably just ask a POC what they think of the situation. But be prepared to like consider your thoughts wrong: ‘cause sometimes what you consider correct just... isn’t. I was asked to call out several people on “ white washing ” WOC, and honestly POC don’t come in a cookie cutter model... This isn’t to say I don’t appreciate the faceclaim resources made available: because those allow someone to make a valuable educated decision on a choice as opposed to a random Google search. But like, it’s not necessary to harass anyone over what you think might have triggered your radar. Instead, you could start a discourse without accusation, politely ask how the person made that decision, & then like if you don’t agree with the moral / ethical decision of that person idk, move on.

DUPLICATE HATE. Discomfort is acceptable: and you can unfollow or blacklist or block, whatever you need to do to distance yourself from a duplicate should you feel uncomfortable with them. But under no means necessary is it necessary to bully, abuse, harass, slander or otherwise attack another person for sharing the same muse as you. Because unless it’s an OC, you don’t own rights to that character anyway, and the only person who has the authority to tell someone not to write a character is the person / company who owns the creative rights. If you’re not pleased with someone else’s portrayal of your character? Focus on your own, make it the best it can be. Produce the content you’d like to see about ‘ your ’ muse. Stop deflecting responsibility onto everyone else.

I am sure there’s plenty of stuff I’m missing out on, but these are things I’ve seen a lot over the year & while it’s probably a dream, I’d love to see change in 2018. But I think change begins a person at a time, and it begins with us. If this at least opened your eyes a little, then I’m glad. Let’s make this next year a better one.

#[ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴜʀʏ ᴀ ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀʏ ] // oυтoʇɔнɒяɒ #[ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛᴀsᴛᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʀᴇɴᴅs ] // qƨɒ #long post //#ok to reblog !#2017 was rough for everyone ok.#but like no need to make things any rougher for anyone else.#this community would be a lot better if we all could respect one another. or act like it.#& i got bullied this year too and it was super shite?#i'm very anti bullying & i knew i wanted to say something about it eventually.#this just seems like a great opportunity to.#have a good holiday though okay??#feel free to share or ask questions !

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nookishposts · 3 years

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The Universal Truth

I have been slowly, layer by layer, peeling away my own haz mat suit. I worked hard putting on all of that armour damn it, only to discover that to learn anything at all, I had to undo all of the rusted-shut seams and take the thing off. In doing so, I’ve come face to face with the terror of having absolutely nothing between me and the real world. Yikes.

Brene Brown maintains that mid-life is an unravelling and what must take the place of that armour is curiosity. Fine, I get that. But the blue plate special of curiosity, (served at 5pm each day now that we are older,) comes with a generous side-dish of potentially paralysing “what-if?”. It’s the odd-looking potato salad we didn’t ask for, next to the fresh juicy burger we’ve been craving. How long has it been sitting in the fridge? What if it’s bad, the mayo is off, it’s made of yesterday’s mashed potatoes dressed up to look legit? It has the potential to spoil the whole meal, so perhaps its best to just avoid it altogether. Unless.., what if I am missing the best potato salad ever?

If I am honest, I have been “what-if-ing” my way into safe corners for years already, so what if “what-if” just doesn’t work anymore? What if “what-if” became something else like: “what now?” or “what’s next?” or “what’s new?”

I have watched my Beloved unravel an entire sock she has just finished knitting because there was something about it she felt she needed do better. I actually gasped out loud the first time I saw her do it, as all I saw was the hours of beautiful work destroyed in about 3 minutes. She just grinned at me, shrugged her shoulders and explained she wouldn’t be able to wear the sock if it didn’t fit properly, so she would simply try again. The only “knitting” I have ever learned to do resulted in chain-mail; protective, flexible to a point, and awfully heavy to wear full time. It took years of hyper-vigilance to construct, and will take conscious effort as well as time to unravel. Good grief, what if I am naked underneath ?

I’m 60 this year and just applied for my Canada Pension, early. I don’t know where or if I will even be here at 65 which is the usual time to apply. But, mostly self-employed and living simply, I figure I will take what’s offered now and enjoy whatever little extra it amounts to . Too many of my contemporaries are already gone, and I am determined to enjoy the remaining slope of my journey, whether it’s 5 years or 35 years. The subtle creeping question of how I want to live going forward has accelerated into a cosmic swat upside my head...which includes figuring out how I got here in the first place. Each link of that chain mail costume I’ve worn way too long represents a what-if and a calculated risk. Early trauma in my life led me to do one of two things in almost every situation: armour up in self-defence, or attempt to dance on a tightrope woven from delicate filaments of hope. Both of those involved steely resolve. Neither turned out to be risk-free. It is as possible to die in a cage of your own making as it is to take a leap of faith, and fall. I am terrified of both. But the periods of inertia, when I chose to do nothing at all, to cower quietly until the moment passed were where I think I lost the most.

The armour I built has served me very very well, gotten me through some painful times, held me upright when my knees buckled, allowed me to lend my arm as an escort along someone else’s journey, kept me from burning whenever I was forced to dash through flames. But while I was protected from the fire I was also untouched by other wonderful things, like unconditional love, like spontaneity, like being fully present without expectation. Loop by rusted loop, I find I am undoing the knots of fear in hopes of the spontaneous risks of being fully real. I feel like Pinnochio finally understanding the futility of his own fibs.

Most of my life has in fact been quite wonderful. But as a small child my body was violated so many times that even now, that is where my emotions will express themselves. In those moments of violation, my mind learned to remove itself, but my body took in all of the pain and the terror and the shame; they grew roots in my belly that spread and strangled and clenched my brow, my jaw, my muscles and my lungs. It is my body that betrays me when something awakens the echoes of terror, and the shame of being publicly vulnerable often keeps me away from opportunities to grow and learn. That indefatigable something in each child that saves them from collapsing despair was in me transformed to rage and stored in my organs, roaring forth in explosive moments of rebellion, retreating to simmer in it’s own vicious juices until the next time. On rare occasions it can still happen, even now. For many years I have understood this process, intellectually at least. But now at 60, the time has come to speak with that enraged and fearful child, unwrap her from her layers of survivalist gear, bathe her clean in unpolluted waters and hold her gently, not too tight, even as she struggles, until she can safely remember how to forgive herself the most of all.

There is something to be said for the “fake it ‘till you make it” strategy, but as life grows shorter and our time too precious to waste energy in just endurance, our masks grow cumbersome and we tire of wearing them. We divest ourselves of outworn clothing, outworn ideas, excess tasks and trinkets...why not of the behaviours that served us well and are thankfully no longer critical? If we’ve held our both breath and our tongue in order to be polite, make a living, to get through the milestones of adulthood until now, wouldn’t it be good to free them too? Even knowing that sometime, in spite of our best efforts, shit will still happen anyway.

If we are lucky enough to make it to mid-life and rediscover the luxury of choice, we’ve earned a chance to figure out who we really are. We are not our achievements or our mistakes though they certainly contribute to what is left when we distil them to their simplest form. And with that nugget of purity, what shall we do?

I’ve spent a career in helping to create safe spaces for others; through adjunct social services, recreation, volunteering, human resources, and the respectful body work practices I continue now. I have been subconsciously driven to ensure that I would never cause anyone else to be frightened or feel threatened or unsafe in any way. I would offer support to the extent of my abilities. We tend to choose ( when we can) those jobs which we ourselves will most benefit from, rarely understanding that until we’ve retired from them. Ergo; I’ve spent many many years finding safety and support myself, through trying to extend it to others. To some degree, it has worked. I’ve had the fortune to have met quite a few folks who think similarly, usually because of how they coped with their own traumas. We are sensitive to those who have not had the luxury of choice and who have become stuck in the endless loop of disappointments, knowing that something is missing but not what or how to find it, and endlessly acting out in the name of survival. No judgements. And at the time of life that our bodies begin to remind us that they are in need of more care, more patience , we are forced to slow down, sift through our bag of tricks, and realise the only person we have ever really fooled is ourselves. Which we often don’t need, or even want, to do anymore.

I liken it in some ways to skinny dipping of a summer’s evening; we arrive at the water’s edge dusty from our labours, weary of the journey, in need of a rest and a respite. Before we can get into the water, we have to look around as we worry about who might be watching...we have to get beyond the self-consciousness of our imperfect bodies, that we have aged, living and gravity have taken over,and we might even smell a little funky under our well-worn public personas. Might somebody steal our clothes when we aren’t looking thinking they are being helpful and hilarious at the same time? And then there’s the lake (stream/river/ocean/waterfall, your choice) itself? What lies beneath the surface? Is it deep? Is it cold? Do we even remember how to swim? Will we be able to make it back to shore once we take the plunge?

But there it is, right at our feet....a gorgeous expanse of water, perhaps lit dramatically by a setting sun and a rising moon (insert naked joke here) looking so...tempting. It’s quiet but for the breeze and the night birds. It’s just us and an opportunity. There’s nothing in there that wants anything to do with a skinny-dipping human being, and they will happily keep their distance until we are done. It’s so worth the risk for that luscious feeling of freedom, the unencumbered , gentle sluicing away of effort and cares and worries, bodily buoyed by the power of the water as you move through it however you need to, until it’s time to float on your back and watch the stars come out. And release all the held breaths.

If I have to start with one big toe, get goose pimples in all my hidden places, squeal-ease my way in up to my ankles, then my knees, then the sudden “whooo-mama!” entry of those bits of myself the sun seldom sees, well, gol-durn-it I’m gonna do it. I don’t want to wait anymore. I want to teach myself at long last that it can be okay to be carefree, to trust, to float, to get out of my head and look up. I want to be held like a small child learning to swim, and feel the easy, sensual power of my limbs understand how to propel me forward from wonder to wonder. I want to skinny-dip from the soul on out. I don’t care who’s watching.

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crossedbeams · 7 years

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Gosh you seem so angry all the time. Might wanna try eating more of those veggies. And meditation. Pretty sure Gillian would agree

Well I should eat more veggies and learn to meditate, so for now I’m gonna put your condescension on ice.

Because a) I would like to be less angry and b) if you actually calculate my (blockable) #rose rants tag as a percentage of my posting it’s less than 1%…

But honestly, does it piss me off that I can’t go in the Gillian tag without being bombarded by irrelevant and infuriating posts? Yes. I come here to read fic and see pics and enjoy my evenings, not to read lengthy expositions about why people who believe in one fan theory are superior to those who believe another and should pat themselves on the back for their wisdom.

I hate the divisiveness of it, not only because it shatters my good mood but because it’s illogical, unnecessary, and skewed in such a way that it means people (like myself) whose opinion differs from those shouting the loudest, becomes not just a difference but a reason to send hate, break up friendships and weaken the fandom.

I’m putting the rest of this under a cut, because I’m sure there’s plenty people who don’t wanna read it but for once I’m not going to condense my thought process into clickbait. If I’m gonna get hate then I may as well get it for my whole mind and not just the headlines.

Things that piss me off.

1. The assumption that Gillian’s (or David’s) relationship status is in any way relevant. It just isn’t. They don’t talk about it publicly, which means EVERYTHING personal we discuss is speculation.

2. The confusion of speculation with fact.

I have spiralled with the best of them. Sometimes we all go a bit crazy over something cute. But when does it end? There’s theory and then there’s lunacy and the fact that “evidence” as spurious as the presence of one man on a continent after a week of not getting papped, gets woven into a narrative as “fact” makes me want to scream. If I didn’t have a job, I would love to sit down and unpack both the Gillovny and Gilligan conspiracies, reduce them right down to facts. Make a list. No interpretation. No romance. Just the bare words and untouched pictures. Because what we have here feels like a folie a cent - it’s MADNESS. Since when did the Scully in us say - “you know what, faceless source, with sources - I believe your vague assurances”. Or “This random piece of jewellery MUST mean this random theory”.

When the blog that started a narrative becomes the point of reference in their own story, it all falls apart. For me, anyway. And to see people tote their own, months old suppositions as “factual evidence” in support of their current idea, hoodwinking both newbies and people who weren’t paying attention the first time wrong makes the scientist in me shudder.

3. Generalisation.

X said this one time, therefore they are Y always. Whether this is directed at a blog (e.g me being angry one time = me being a hateful person) or a star (DD once compared Gillian to a blow-up doll = DD is a misogynistic prick), it’s fucked up that we perpetuate it. Because it’s not valid reasoning and it’s gross.

e.g. Gillian wears black every time she does a public appearance :. she is a satanist.

Bull. Shit.

4. Hypocrisy

And this is what really got my goat this evening. The idea that one side of a theory is more valid than another leading to people making arguments that are so hypocritical it hurts my soul. I hate that it boils down to “Gillovny vs. Gilligan” but that’s where it seems to be right now .

I honestly think that Gillian could drag Peter Morgan up on stage at the Women’s March in London on Sunday, ride him bareback like a cowgirl while screaming “Fuck You David Duchovny” at the news cameras, and some people would still find a way to explain it away. And find people willing to back them and shout down anyone who just points at the footage and goes “but…?”

Is there definitive proof that PM and GA are dating… no. But there’s a lot more evidence to indicate those two are involved right now than Gillian and David (who haven’t been spotted together or even within a thousand miles since August of last year). Does that mean the Gillovny crowd have to give up? Well that’s their call.

For me though, I would like to say that I have NEVER gone into the Gillian tag and found anyone who skews “Gilligan” slandering David, accusing Gillian of being a slut, perpetuating a showmance or trying to find ways to devalue their nice Ga & DDs nice moments together like Kimmel or.. their whole careers. I’ve seen some stupid manips, a few awws but that’s about it. But the most ardent on the “Gillovny” side are not playing so nicely. The things I have seen written about Peter Morgan are, frankly, disgusting, the accusations levelled at Gillian are offensive and the need to prove Harpers Bazaar/Golden Globes meaningless is pathological.

Add to that that certain among the Gillovny remainers seem to feel the need to go after anyone who dares say anything positive about PM, commenting on harmless posts with horribl horrible things in some bizarre attmept to shore up their own belief by shitting in the yards of others… yeah.

It’s hypocritical and honestly it makes me mad enough that I wanna march into the homes of the people posting this shit and shake some sense and respect into them.

5. Anon culture

That a function intended to make blogs accessible to non-members and newbies gets hi-jacked for the spreading of hate and agenda. If you have as many opinions as find their way in to my inbox (and those of other blogs on both sides of the equation), make your own blog and put it out there with your signature on. Maybe my opinions and rants will loe me followers. Maybe they will lose me friends. But I put them out there with my face and my voice behind them. I am not ashamed of how I feel.

6. Apathy.

I am so over the expectation that silence is the only acceptable way to handle bad behaviour. Because that’s what some of this is, straight up bullying, mob-backed campaigns of misinformation designed to discredit decent people in the service of a fandom appetite and shame those who dare to differ from them into silence.

And I am not okay with that.

There is no honour, no peace for me in sitting quietly and watching my follower count rise as I post silly videos, or smutty fanfic or cute gifsets, and pretending like I don’t see what’s going on on the sidelines.

I would rather lose all my followers, talking about what I think is right, shining a light on our worst habits and trying to bring people together in a way that is honest and truthful rather than my just sweeping shittiness under the rug and playing nice, than be the most popular blog in the fandom.

And that. Anon. Is why I’m sometimes angry. Because with my new decision in terms of speaking up, I get home, go in the tags for inspiration, and instead of seeing a cute MSR pic I can be inspired by, I find shit that needs calling out, which generates anons I need to respond to, and bam, there goes my evening.

But I’d rather be angry than have regrets. So there.

#rose rants #anon replies #chit chat #Gilligan #Gillovny #opinions

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