I Love You Green. I Love You Forests. I Love You Smell Of Damp Earth. I Love You Feeling Before The Storm

i love you green. i love you forests. i love you smell of damp earth. i love you feeling before the storm breaks. i love you moss. i love you rivers. i love you streams. i love you thunderstorms. i love you sunlight shining through leaves.

But there was no need to be ashamed of tears, for tears bore witness that a man had the greatest of courage, the courage to suffer.

Viktor E. Frankl

Dissociation Starters

FROM THE EMPTY

“No… I’m not hurt.”

“I don’t…”

“… Sorry. Say that again?”

“Sometimes I just … do this. It’s fine.” 

“No, it’s bad, but I’m. Like. I’m fine. Just give me like, ten minutes.”

“I don’t - I don’t remember.”

“You waited how long?”

“… I don’t like [trigger].”

“Will you walk me home?”

“I love you, I just… I can’t… I’m dissociating.”

“I.. don’t know how I got here.”

“I didn’t feel that. At all.”

“Did I zone out?”

“Don’t touch me.”

“My name is [name]. I’m [age]. I live in [place]. My name is [name] -”

“I can’t think of anything to do that isn’t stupid, canyouhelpme?” 

“How did you find me?”

“I think I’m in [different State]. Will you come?”

FROM THE FULL

“Hey. [Name]? Look at me.” 

“I’m right here.” 

“How long have you been sitting here?”

“What happened?”

“Your shirt is on backwards.” 

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

“It’s windy today. This bench has a nice texture, don’t you think?”

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” 

“Okay, I’ll be here.”

“Hey - come in. Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you came.”

“Drink some water. It has ice.”

“I’ll run a shower.”

“Let me wash it for you.” 

“I can’t clean you up if I can’t touch you. Will you give me your hand?”

“We’ll ride it out. You’re safe here.”

“I’ll put on a movie.”

broken ties & bloody bonds

the origin story of Tamlin and Lucian | a Kip and Koda adventure for @inabcck

The wind rushed through Tamlin’s hair as his horse galloped through the NorthWest woods. The sound of clopping hooves and Andras’ wild laughter echoed through the trees. Tamlin rolled his eyes and bent further down, urging his steed into further speed, and ducking underneath a low branch ahead of him. He wasn’t about to let his sentry win a race that easily. His pride could take the loss, but he still had a reputation to uphold. Despite everything he’d done to change the Spring Court, some things required stitching and not sledgehammers.

Andras raced ahead. Tamlin circled the woods until he ended up in a wide-open glade. Tall Maples rose into the sky above him and fresh dirt silenced the gallop into a slow canter. It was quiet — too quiet. He gently tugged Elodin’s mane, reining him in, and training his ear on the horizon. 

A loud crash tumbled through the underbrush, followed by a brutal scream. Tamlin’s shoulders straightened and his eyes darkened as he watched the path that led towards Autumn. His borders were always under threat and the one with Autumn was more contentious than the one with Summer which was famously neutral to conflict. Amid the forest, bursts of vivid red and orange pierced through the greenery, taking the form of deep red tunics and fiery ginger locks.

Tamlim withdrew an arrow from his quiver and notched it in his bow, training his eye on the horizon. Familiar faces emerged from the dark leaves. The sons of Autumn, Beron’s children, raced through the trees. Their rapid footsteps and aggressive shouts did nothing to suggest a friendly visit. Yet, they had not spotted him among the trees. His gifts allowed him to blend within them as seamlessly as the breeze. 

They are chasing each other, Tamlin realized. His heart thumped quickly in his chest as adrenaline prepared him to intervene. He searched for familiar faces amidst the triad of brawling brothers. Eris, Autumn’s heir, and Lucien, its black sheep, were the only two that he knew.

The hair rose on the back of his neck as he saw Lucien’s slender form leaping through the trees, as nimble as a fox. The two others crashed behind him like hulking hippos. 

They were catching up. The border was six miles past them, now. It was likely they'd been running since dawn. 

When Lucien rushed past Tamlin, the High Lord urged his muscular horse onto the path between him and his brothers. 

“Halt!” He commanded, letting his voice deepen into the one gifted by the cauldron. As strong as Beron’s sons were, they could not disobey his orders after venturing onto his lands. Tamlin dismounted and sent his mount back towards the ailing Lucien. 

He held his arrow strong and pointed it directly at the brother in front, whose snarl was so feral that it reminded him of a wolf possessed by Rabies. “Take one more step and I will put an arrow in your spine.” 

His glimmering ash arrow was one of few that he carried. Using it violated Prythian law.  It was a death sentence to any fae. Even now, it burned through his gloves, blistering his fingers. 

 “You wouldn't dare.” The first spat. “Stepping between brothers and their business is bad luck, Lord of Spring. I would have thought you'd learned that lesson.” 

Tomlin flinched. His brothers were a tragedy that he would like to forget. His relationship with them was not much better than what Lucien faced now. 

“That’s High Lord to you.” He hissed. “Do not test me.”

Lucien’s brother could not hold back. His father’s rage propelled him. He raised his sword and swung it towards Tamlin’s chest. 

As quickly as he moved, Tamlin released the arrow. 

It pierced the thin leather armor on his shoulders and punctured the left side of his chest. The brawny fae fell forwards. His face flushed before it fell to a pale, ash white. His body stiffened and he fell to the forest floor. 

Just as he fell, Tamlin strung the second of his arrows, pointing it at the second brother. 

“Get out. Take your corpse with you.” He growled. “Tell your father that if his family tries to solve their disputes in my land again — I will not be so gracious the next time.” 

Silent and serious, the other Autumn faerie strung his brother over his shoulders and left as quickly as he’d come. 

Lucien. 

Tamlin whirled around, finding the younger fae curled in a ball on the moss behind him. It was red and soaked with blood. The skin on his back was a mess of blood and dirt, marred by the imprints of a seven-tailed whip. 

Whatever he’d done — this punishment was pure cruelty. It made Tamlin’s blood boil.

He winced and carefully hoisted the unconscious fae onto the waiting horse, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as they walked back toward the manor. “You’re safe now. I won’t let them near you again.” 

send “you okay?” to find my muse sitting alone on a roof at night.

-Patricia Smith