#I am feeling SPECTACULARLY sorry for myself right now

[rj-anderson]

😢

[kkoct-ik]

i can def relate to having an abusive mother, the worst part is that people always assume mothers to be good people. thankfully my dad and mother don't live together so i chose to stay with my dad permanently but my dad's girlfriend is constantly talking about how i should make up with my mother because "you only get one mom" and she completely ignores me when i try to talk about how abusive my mother was

yeah. ugh. sorry about your situation anon. it sucks and im sending sympathies

[forgedroyalseal]

Ranger Gathering Day Six

Lead-

Horace was not a leader. He was used to being told what to do, and that’s how he liked it. He was a knight, through and through, happy to let others do the lions share of the planning and plotting. When he was with Will or Halt, they were always be able to see ways around a problem that Horace wouldn’t have come up with if you had given him a 100 years. His talent was in the midst of battle, not in the days and weeks leading up to it. He was a doer, not a thinker, and he had never had a problem with that.

Until now.

Becoming a knight had always been part of the plan. Becoming the Prince Consort of Araluen? Not so much.

He hadn’t thought about what it would really mean to marry the Crown Princess. He seldom thought of Cassandra’s title, to him, she was just Cassandra, the woman he was madly in love with. He proposed because he loved her and couldn’t imagine his future without her right there besides him. Their engagement bliss was short lived though. The moment it was announced, Horace was thrown into meetings and lessons about his future role in the monarchy. With each day that passed, he felt to pressure building up around him. He was painfully aware that every time a member of nobility looked at him, they could see just how inadequate he was to lead the country.

All of this doubt came to a head after one particularly grueling history lesson. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t get the information to stick.

“This is important Sir. You can’t expect to lead a country that you know nothing about.” His teacher had said in frustration. Horace’s face had burned in humiliation, and he had sulked out of the study with his tail between his legs.

He spent the rest of the evening locked in his room, claiming that he was unwell when his valet came looking for him when it was time for dinner. It was late in the evening when there was nothing knock at his door. Assuming it was his valet coming back to check on him, he called out from his bed, “I’m alright Roberts. I just need some rest.”

“I’m sure Roberts will be relieved to hear that. I’ll make sure to past that update along, but I’d like to confirm that for myself.” The deep voice was unmistakable and Horace shot out of his bed and rushed to the door. He flung it open and ran his hand through his hair, in a fruitless attempt to make himself appear more presentable.

“King Duncan. Please come in. I’m sorry I wasn’t at dinner, I haven’t been feeling well this evening and-“

Duncan raise his hand, cutting Horace off. “Take a breath son, I’m just here to check on you, not scold you for missing dinner.”

“I appreciate it, but I’m fine, just needed a rest.”

Duncan nodded. “I heard you had a history lesson with Lord Barnaby. No wonder you’re exhausted, I struggle to listen to him for an hour, much less a whole day.”

Horace looked down at his feet. So that’s what this was about. King Duncan had heard about how spectacularly he was failing and he was going to tell Horace that he wasn’t good enough to marry Cassandra.

Sensing Horace’s discomfort, Duncan placed his hand on his shoulder. “I think we need to have a chat Horace.” He guided them over to a pair of chairs on the other side of Horace’s room.

“Now, tell me what’s wrong. And don’t say nothing, I can tell something is weighing you down.”

The warmth of Duncan’s words and the caring look on his face was all it took to open the floodgates. The words spilled out of Horace before he could stop them. “I know that I haven’t been doing a good enough job, but I promise I am trying best. I just, I was never born to lead. It’s never been the type of man I am. Will would have been way better suited for this job, or any other member of nobility for that matter, and I hate that I won’t be the husband Cassandra deserves, or the Prince Consort that Araluen should have. I can’t be the leader that everyone is expecting me to be.”

“I think that you are selling yourself short Horace. And I also think, that you don’t know what is the most important job of a Prince Consort. Your number one priority is and will always be to support Cassie. To give her the emotional and moral support she needs to rule over the country. She can lead, so long as you can support. I have as much faith in your ability to do that, as I have in her ability to be a great leader.”

Horace felt tears prick at his eyes and rubbed his hand over his face in an attempt to push them back.

“Look at me son,” Horace took a deep breath and met the king’s eyes, which were heavy with sincerity. “I promise, you would not be marrying my daughter if you didn’t deserve her. All her life, I have prayed for her to find a partner exactly like you. Not like Will, or a prince, or anyone else that you might think is better suited for the role. You. I truly believe that marrying you will be one of, if not the best, decision my daughter will ever make. And I will be eternally grateful to her for giving me the opportunity to have such a wonderful son.”

Both men were cry at this point. Horace had never felt so validated in his entire life. It was as if King Duncan had read his heart and knew exactly what he had spent his whole life looking for.

“I can’t tell you how much that means. Thank you.”

“You never need to thank me for telling you the truth. And if you ever, ever, need to be remained of it, you come to me, day or night, and I will be here.”

Maybe Horace wasn’t meant to be a leader, but maybe he didn’t need to be one after all.

[sarcasticsunshine123]

Nini watched as Dean Patel walked away, her heart in her throat. How was this going to work? How was she going to tell— “Hey.”

She spun around, the sudden appearance of someone behind her with no warning, scaring her out of her skin. “Gina!” Of course, she was far too good at walking silently. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” Gina looked sheepish. She rocked on her feet. This was perhaps the most nervous Nini had seen her. “So… I hear you're leaving.”

“What? You were listening? How long were you standing there!” Nini had had this secret for a couple of seconds. How could it already be out to be shared. Not that Gina was the type of person… Gina was frowning. 

“Huh? I didn't hear any of that, I just… assumed. Kourtney said the dean of a fancy school was here, and you were talking to someone with a clipboard. I just assumed it was a done deal.” She crossed her arms and shrugged. “Am I wrong? I can't imagine they could see you out there and not see your talent.”

Nini tried to pretend she wasn't blushing at the unexpected compliment. “No you… you got it.”

“Oh.” While Gina smiled convincingly, she watched as her shoulders slumped and her arms dropped back to her sides to fiddle with her jacket. “I'm happy for you, Nini. You deserve this.”

Frowning, Nini grabbed at her backpack straps. “Are you sure? Is there something wrong with me going?”

“No! No. You've earned this. I just learned I'm able to stay a bit longer and… it might be selfish, but I wish you were able to stay too.” She smiled and then looked down, huffing a laugh. “And I'm glad I learned this before I made a fool of myself.”

“What were you going to do?” Nini stared at her and watched as something morphed on her face.

“Nothing important. It doesn't matter.” Ricky walked in, and Gina tensed even more, and the expression on her face hardened even after he had walked out again. Nini barely paid any attention to anything except staring directly at her. Something was missing here. Gina grinned and nodded like she wasn't acting weird. “Go and enjoy yourself.”

Nini crossed her arms and stood using all of her height. It didn't make much difference, but it made her feel more confident. “No. What were you going to tell me? I'm not leaving you when you're worried about something. You can't make a fool of yourself with me, I would never tell anyone something you told me in confidence. I'm not that kind of person. I—”

“I was going to tell you I love you!” Gina's eyes widened, and her hands covered her mouth.

She wasn't the only one surprised. Nini felt like she swallowed her tongue in her shock. Love? Gina… loved her? 

“I didn't mean to say it like that. I didn't really mean to say that at all. I'm sorry. I was going to do something sweet. Something nice and poetic like you deserve, but I'm no good at that.” She shook her head and laughed, rubbing at her face. “I wasn't going to say anything cliche but… don't leave me. No, that wasn't—I'm sorry. I'm making a mess of this. Don't go.”

“Gina…” 

Gina grabbed her hand in hers. They were soft, and Nini smiled at her automatically. They had grown so much since the first time they held hands. She couldn't believe… “Please. I put off telling you because I thought I had to leave, and now I know I don't. Don't leave me.This is the least dignified thing I've done. I love you. I'm begging. Don't go.”

She shook her head a little but didn't move her hands away. “I can't—”

“I've fucked this spectacularly but I know I haven't made up the way you look at me. I can't be feeling this alone. Nini…” 

She was tearing up, and Nini was right there with her. “I don't know. I haven't thought about it. Ricky…” 

Gina's face fell, and she started to pull back. Nini let her. “I'm sorry, Gina. Ricky and I just got back together. And I have to leave. I can't stay here any longer; it doesn't feel like home anymore.”

“Oh.” Gina whispered. “This is the only place I've ever felt at home.” 

“That's why you have to stay, and I have to go. I'm really sorry, Gina. This just… doesn't work.”

“Right.” Gina laughed a sad little tune. She closed her eyes and shook her head. ”That makes sense. Good luck at YAC, Nini. I won't tell anyone.”

“I'll do the same.” Nini nodded and almost went for a hug, but she could see something closing on Gina's face and wanted to give her a moment to do it without anything hurting her. Nini's pretty sure a hug from her would break her.

“Thanks.” Gina walked away. Why did Nini feel the same as that day Ricky left her alone in her bedroom? Why does she feel like she should go after her? 

Why did she regret kissing Ricky?

[luciusspriggss]

i am going to acknowledge to everyone witnessing my livebogging my decent into madness right now (sorry if you thought it was going to be over when i woke up)

i relate heavily to ted lasso (scroll down until ted lasso meta begins if you don't want to read my background and perspective)

i was in a relationship with someone who was unhappy with me and didnt like how supportive and optimistic i was (or the fact that i wanted some courtesy of respect instead of being dismissed whenever i try to talk about my feelings)

i thought i was quitting. i thought i had given up. that i had failed so spectacularly at this relationship. and then i watched michelle tell ted that he wasn't quitting, he was letting her go and i believed her

and tried focusing my attention on being a better version of myself that i liked, while also helping those around me to the best of my ability

yeah i went through a fuck ton of therapy (note the breakup was 2 months ago), and i feel i am a better person overall and i actually like myself for the first time EVER in my life

i have lead crews the same exact way ted does richmond. i never read any leadership books, i didnt take my fellow leader's out-dated toxic advice, i just did what i thought was right

which was helping everyone to be the best versions of themselves, as well as lead themselves without me so they don't need me to do anything for them, i just exist and make sure everyone is okay in life and is happy with the crew's dynamic and take suggestions on how to make things better

(dont even get me started on the fact that i BUILT a confession box for EVERYONE, not just my crew, to make suggestions they would like to see happen at the work center and on their own crews)

and everyone did get better. everyone was happier and the work was done better than before, without ever focusing on trying to get "results"

i was lucky to do this because my supervisor actually listened to me, and let me experiment with leading my way instead of the way everyone else was

but me? i was miserable. i was with another person who didnt like my optimism and thought i was naive for thinking my way would work. i had no support network. and i eventually attempted suicide and left that job.

and did everything magically work after i left?

no

the systems and belief i brought to the center died. new leaders were appointed who went back to the standard old ways of leading and everyone followed

MULTIPLE people i was working with individually outside of work, who were having really hard times and i tried to help them with their feelings and appropriate outlets, and were really improving while i was there, were ALL fired. and to note, i convinced multiple supervisors to let me try and help people out instead of punishing them for their circumstances, and it worked!

until i was gone, and they lost the only leader that was in their corner and believed in them

i created an entire new system for the center council. my technical position was "secretary", but i did EVERY job on that council because nobody else would. sure the president would lead the meetings and read my notes and plans aloud to everyone, but that was all he did. i did the actual work

i created such a loving supportive network at the expense of my mental health

and it did not get better when i left, for anyone. it got worse, for everyone

META BEGINS HERE

so yeah, i see myself as ted. i was so hopeful i was going to see something actually succeed where ted got to stay and work on finding his own happiness, that i am utterly unimpressed with the ending.

ted goes back to his kid and (maybe) ex-wife? hollow? alone? trying to think everything will work out magically without him and nobody needs him except his son? maybe he and his wife will try again? with him masked?

ted wore a mask in the beginning, everyone did, but it came off for a little bit and it was nice to see. i don't like this new mask.

and i know from experience. because i did the same thing. i left people because i didnt think they needed me anymore. i stayed in relationships with people who wanted to fit me in a box and i let them.

i lived a honky dory life. leaving destruction in my wake and regressed to someone that was almost impossible for me to escape.

i just don't like seeing that ending for ted and only HIS hopes and dreams about everyone else. i genuinely believe people will succeed without him, i just dont think it will be the same. and that's cool, but wouldnt it also be cool for ted to let loose, reap the rewards, figure out his own happiness? all the while being part of an amazing family?

this show is either brilliant, and making a statement about how this show ISNT a good light-hearted comedy, it is actually a TRAGEDY, and we are supposed to see that ted chose to regress and accept a miserable life

OR

there is something that i am missing :/

[rd0265667]

A Known Unknown(Chapter 3)

Y/N's POV

1k words

(Just for reference, all convos here are in Korean unless specified otherwise)

"NO FATHER!" I yelled as I shot up from my bed

I looked around the room, scratching my head.

'Where am I? Was that just a dream? It felt, so, so...real'

I stood up from my bed, as a depressing reality set in. My name was Y/N? Not far from my dream I guess. High School Dropout. Surviving off scraps in Seoul, living in this grey box with four walls, barely fit to be called a home.

My stomach grumbled as I fumbled about my Pocket. About a thousand, two thousand won? Could buy me cup noodles. I scurried out of the sad grey box and headed to my nearest CU(convenience store in Korea)

As I rushed through the aisles to find the cup noodles, I suddenly bumped into this hooded figure, and I dropped my stuff, as he, or she, dropped their stuff too. Tremendous start to my day. The person I bumped into took her hood off and stared right into my eyes, guess she's a girl huh.

I watched as she batted her eyes and said, "Pick my stuff up" "Listen Miss, it hasn't been a great day for me so far, could you just pick your own things up?"

Upon saying that, a look of shock seemed to cross her face, as if it was her first time being denied a request.

"I'm sorry, what?"

A little annoyed, I quickly bent down, picked up my cup noodles, picked up her things, putting it on a shelf next to me before walking away, not looking at her. Not exactly a people person myself.

"That will be 1,600 won sir."

"Thank you" I said, grabbing the cup noodles and began cooking.

I saw as that girl from earlier seemed to stare at me, perplexed, seemingly still interested, or perplexed by me

I began hungrily devouring my food as my stomach continued grumbling. I tried my best to be unbothered, but try as I might, I cannot shake the annoyance of that girl staring at me. Do I have something on my face? I grumbled, can't even eat a meal in peace. I quickly swallowed what was left of my meal, leaving the store and heading back to my place to find some new freelance jobs. Lads gotta eat, and people aren't exactly lining up to hire a high school dropout. 

As I headed out of the store, I saw an empty limousine with a man in a suit standing outside, bodyguard probably. I looked around, and saw no one, except that girl from earlier. Guess she's someone important, probably why she thought I'd do whatever she wanted. Well, to be fair, if she had nicely, I would have helped. After all, Manners Maketh Man

"Don't move" I heard as I tensed up, feeling a sharp edge on my back. "Turn around" a gruff voice said as I turned, seeing a masked figure. I was already far enough from that store where that girl and her bodyguard wouldn't see me, and seeing as the alley I was in is in the middle of nowhere, I'm on my own.

"Hand over your wallet, now!" The man said, brandishing his knife to intimidate me

I chuckled a little hearing that, goddamn, this man is about to commit a crime for 400 won.

"Are you out of your damn mind? I said hand over your money. Now" "Listen buddy, you've kinda picked the wrong person to mug. I had 2000 won about 20 minutes ago, and one cup noodle later, I know have 400 won left. If you would like it, be my guest." "Well, fine, then hand over the bracelet" 'Wait, bracelet? What bracelet?' I thought to myself as I looked down, and lo and behold, a sleek black bracelet rested upon my wrist. I don't remember ever having this bracelet "If you make me ask for the bracelet again, I will gut you like a fucking fish" "Fine man, fine, I don't even know how I got this."

I reached down and tried to take the bracelet off, but...for some godforsaken reason, I couldn't take it off.

"Stop fucking with me kid." "Listen man, I'm trying, this bracelet ain't budging" "Well, that's too bad. Guess I'm gonna have to cut it off you." "Hey, hey, wait man..."

The man walked to me, backing me into a corner. As far as ways to shuffle off the mortal coil, this was a spectacularly depressing one. Just as the man raised his knife, I heard as a man yelled, "Stop right there." I turned to see that same man in the suit running at the masked man. I heard as he grumbled and muttered some curses, as he ran away. The man in the suit turned around, looking at that girl from the convenience store. The girl nodded, and the man in the suit gave chase to the mugger.

I crumpled to the ground, god, this day is going swimmingly isn't it. My face was then covered by the shadow of that girl again. 

"Who are you? Why are you helping me?" "The name's Yuna.Shin Yuna"

Hmm, Yuna, that name sounded familiar. I'm pretty sure I did hear it once on TV or something.

"Well, Yuna, answer the question please, Why are you helping me?"

Yuna seemed to pout, saying, "Can't I help someone in need of help? Technically I didn't even lift a finger, James did all the work. And, well, you intrigue me."

"Intrigue you? I'm not following."

"I'll tell you about it over a cup of coffee?"

"I'm not sure if you heard what I said to that mugger but I couldn't afford a bottle of water, much less a cup of coffee."

"Coffees on me, and hey, I just saved you, the least you could do is humour me and have a drink with me."

"Fine." I said, shrugging. 

"Great." Yuna said as she smiled widely. 

"Let's go,erm"

"You can call me Y/N"

"Great, lets go Y/N" She said, hooking her hands around my arm and pulling me forward

This day has been...most interesting

[afaramir]

3, 23, 24, 25, 27 and 30? 💕

hi hi ria!! blessings of rain be upon ye...

3. how you feel about your current wip

i am RATTLING the bars of the cage in my brain!!! by that i mean the faramir goes to rivendell au is possibly my favourite best thing ive ever written i am just stuck in the mudpit of the current conversation and i would like to. not be there. but i really do love working on it it feels like gradually assembling a structure around a framework and when i step back and really look at it its just. jrr tolkien and i are having A Conversation. you know? like yes!! i AM transforming the work!! i AM deciding whether he would fucking say that and i do think i am right at least 92% of the time!! ive had the concept of the au in my head for probably 3-4 years at least and i feel like. well i was never really going to feel Ready to write it. and yet i am grabbing it in my hands and doing it anyway and it IS making me a much better writer and i can Feel it. yeah i love it.

and umbar fic/situationship au is just me pushing the bounds of do it weird/do it horny/do it self-indulgent and it is. SO MUCH FUN. i think there has always been a little block in my head stopping me from doing that i mean like everything i write is kind of like. this is specifically created to cater to me. but the panopticon in my head is a crazy thing. but step by step we are defeating it. this is like the next step up from just so long as this thing's loaded which was kind of my first time pushing those bounds and. i mean there are a lot of things about that one that i think i could improve now (this is my REAL answer to that "would you rewrite anything" question from the other ask meme) but it definitely got me here. never underestimate the power of a rarepair to make you WEIRD. (<- abby rarepairnationcore sentences...)

23. pick three keywords that describe your writing

what is this a job application? LOL just kidding but i do suck at these. um. atmospheric. character-driven (yes this is two words but it is true). interrogative (i am IN THERE with. either the original text. or the minds of the characters. shakes u like a snow globe WHAT is going on in your head).

24. how do you recharge when you're not feeling creative?

im really bad at this. like actually spectacularly abysmal. i mostly sit around feeling sorry for myself for three to nine months. until i eventually buck up the motivation and executive function to actually (re)consume a piece of media and more often than not it will seize me by the throat and lead me out of the pit. yeah this does usually work best with things ive seen before that will awaken a dormant fixation.

25. besides writing, what are your other hobbies?

going to the grocery store. doing my dishes. LOL ok when i am Not Writing A Novel-Length Fic i knit. one day i will start doing it again i want to make. the extensive sweater vest collection of my dreams. but i already have this repetitive stress injury because i type for eight hours at work and then come home and type for four more and i think if i started knitting again on top of that i would immediately crumble to dust. and um. is that it? that can't be it. i do calligraphy sometimes. WAIT LOL I BIND BOOKS. -> @hexagonspress

27. your favourite part of the writing process

omg ok i'm not sure if this is like my Top Number One Favourite but ive recently started really enjoying drafting out ao3 tags and start/end notes it's really fun to work out what things i want people to notice that i might wanna talk about in the end notes and compressing everything down into tags (to varying extents) is also just a neat way to think about like. what was i trying to capture/convey with the fic. e.g. whether i wanna be really wordy with it and get it all out in there or just have the reader go in pretty much blind.

30. share a fic you're especially proud of

maybe i'll never shut up about TO THE VERY DEAR MEMORY OF [ ] but like...you guys. i love it so much. it's so so experimental because the place in my mind that is wrapped around yancy becket is so....complicated and full of grief and fundamentally altering to my brain chemistry and i can only capture it through the world's craziest extended metaphors but i kind of feel like i pulled it off. it is like truly the tip of the iceberg of a LOT of stuff that is really fundamental to honestly a lot of my? lotr work? i mean the way i think about water metaphors...the fundamental dead brother complex baked into my writer's brain...it's all pacific rim in there. this fic marinated in my head for THREE YEARS. that is the longest from inception to completion that any of my (published) work has existed (unpublished is a whole different story. there's a longfic that i created at the beginning of my freshman year of college and has stuck around into postgrad. i mean. girl). i wrote the poem that each first line of every section is extracted from in my parents' house during covid lockdown. and then it just had to sit and develop and develop until the yancy becket death anniversary this year yanked it forcibly out of my head and into a fully-formed format.

fic writer's asks

[fionnaskyborn]

Alright, I feel like an update of sorts is due. I do not use any social media in order to "be a presence" there - I'm just here to have fun and reblog things that make me happy. Even so, I feel like an explanation for my recent absence is justified. I'm putting it under a readmore so as to not clot anybody's dashboard, but if you want to hear the ramblings of a troubled young adult, well, by all means, be my guest.

As previously stated, I mostly go on here to reblog and save things that bring me joy. I believe to have privated at least one of my own posts talking about some more recent events, but I'm pretty sure some of them remain up. And I can't be arsed to go private them, to be quite honest. To make the long story short - I lost a significant portion of my writing, as well as a lot of other data that was important to me. Most would have stopped at that, but I couldn't accept the possibility of nearly two years of work and three years of accumulating various things that made me smile were gone, just like that. And, well, they aren't. But they are unreachable, for the time being. This prompted me to take a beeline in my lifepath, towards a discipline not too far away from what I originally planned on doing when my "true adult" years rolled around, but still decently enough separated from it to mark this as a pretty significant change of plans. I certainly never considered getting into quantum physics full-on - it was interesting to read about, sure, but I've always been interested in the macro scale of things far more. However, when the time comes to overthrow the technological systems currently in place, I want to be there, in the front rows, among the people who will have access to that kind of technology right away. The only other path to this, other than by being a mathematician, is to be unimaginably rich, and I am a pretty normal person as far as money goes. Just another average Joe on this planet Earth - not particularly wealthy, to afford three vacations per year, but with more than enough money to consider myself financially secure. Just a regular ol' person, trying to get by. That means that I need to start working towards that future right now. And it's all so painfully slow. I've spent most of my life waiting for one thing or another. The idea of waiting another several years for a slim shot at getting my beloved writing back is not an easy one to come to terms with for me. But it's the only chance I have, and I could even be considered lucky - imagine if all of this happened, and I weren't a physicist in the making! I'd have to wait decades instead of an undefined amount of time that could be as early as a single year or as late as ten years to get my words back - words I could never repeat, words I could never write in that same order. The first days after it happened were incredibly painful, and I am still uncertain, but, little by little, I'm getting it back. And I'm getting new things out of this - I never saw painful events as anything but just that. But perhaps it is because this is something I am not helpless against that changed things so much. I am now more than ever motivated to actually learn and excel. Earlier on, I was just rolling with the punches. Life wore me out so much I had pretty much just given up on putting any effort into anything because I was just... too exhausted to do it. My plan was to just do whatever until things either ended up going so spectacularly bad I'd earn myself some kind of intervention, or somehow miraculously worked out. But all of this was a wake-up call. (TO WHAT I REALLY BELIEVE. Sorry. Saw an opportunity, couldn't miss it. On the other hand - see? Unfortunately for everyone involved, I am still the same old dork I ever was.) I now have something - something more tangible than anything I've had before - to strive for. This is the first time in at least seven years, perhaps more, I've felt this confident in any plan of mine, that I've had this concrete of a set of goals. This was also the first time in my few decades and spare change on this Earth that I've managed to turn a large terrible event into a pushing force THIS strong. There's doing things out of spite, and then there's THIS. I do realize that I may very well be insane for this, but I'm not willing to let something that got me through some very difficult times in my life and that helped me grow as a person as much as it did slip away like it was nothing. I saw a shot, and, brother, I'm gonna take it.

I've also watched Gurren Lagann because I've heard it gives people the will to live, and that was something I desperately needed. At first, I watched it numb - or, rather, any positive feelings I had harbored about it were stored in the same place my overwhelming grief over my currently lost work was, and, well, one was more powerful than the other, obviously. But, as I got better over time, I found myself not just logically and objectively understanding why people see it as the greatest thing ever made, but taking the messages and words said in the show to heart. It, and the gradually increasing amount of support I got from the people around me, are the reason why I am where I am today. I truly cannot even start to express my gratitude for the people I found by my side (some after some time, some more immediately), let alone the support they started giving me once I had my revelation and change of trajectory and the way I live my life. It's just about as fortunate of a combination of things you could hope to end up with. The misery from those first days still lingers in some measure, but every day I get a bit stronger and a bit more capable of rejecting it in its entirety.

In the meantime, I will keep working on my project. But not at the cost of hurting myself to get as much on paper as I can - I plan to take things in stride. I'm not sure when I'll be capable of looking for art online like I did before the calamity, but the same strategy applies - if it brings joy, do it, if not, well, don't force yourself to do anything that would make you miserable. Simple as that. I am slowly, gradually, healing from everything that happened, all while having a thing I want to achieve, a thing that will grant me true and ultimate and lasting happiness.

I thought I would never be able to touch videogames as a whole. That mostly turned into "I'll never be able to touch the game series that changed me as a person and it sucks ASS". But even that is proving to be less and less true by the day. Who knows what the future holds? Not me. But as I walk towards a distant goal along a long and winding path, there are plenty of things to do in the meantime. I've got a cassette collection to grow. Playlists to organize. Designs to finalize. Vinyls to listen to. I still want to purchase that hugeass limited edition Trocadero foil print. There is so much music I want to listen to. I still want to enjoy things in life. It may not mean much to the average onlooker, but it means a lot to me because it's such a huge leap from the mental state I was in a week ago when it happened, and the days that followed.

In short, I'm doing fine. Still a bit empty in some places, but only sometimes, and I'm filling those empty spaces with either the motivation I need in order to keep going to reach that future I want so much, or reminding myself that I haven't lost just about everything. I'm patching myself up bit by bit, and I think I'm doing great at it so far.

My final message: I don't care what your stances on anime in general are, watch Gurren Lagann. Suspend your disbelief and just... trust me on this one. If you're having a grand old time in life, it'll only make it better. If you're having a spectacularly shitty time in life, it'll give you the strength to keep going. I'm on episode 15 right now (or... 16? Whatever, I finished the first half of it is what I'm saying.)

Almost at the bus stop now - I'll see you all later.

[adventures-of-the-creeping-bam]

NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM,  BOOK THREE: WARMER - CHAPTER 27

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Book 3 Chapter 1 is here …

MPORTANT:  Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN:  ART

I must’ve drifted off sometime in the afternoon, I realise now it must be getting late the way most o’ the candles have been extinguished round the room, just a few burning now, most o’ the remaining light coming from the fire burning in the hearth.  Reckon I was slow realising just how much time I’d actually gone without more’n a drunken snatch o’ sleep that Krakka then just burned right outta me with his god magic.  I mean he sobered me up, gave me an edge again for the fight on the Heath, but … fuck, it was a rough night an’ morning after.  And even worse after the warehouse …

Thorin … Hardway was annihilated.  Whatever the fuck that rogue wizard set up in there did its job spectacularly.  Worse the way they set up all that scrap metal to make the wreckage a whole lot more brutal, I never really heard about anything like that before.  Must’ve been something that evil bitch Vandryss dreamed up, seems like just the kinda cruel trick she’d think of.

The chaos afterwards … I’ll admit my sleep’s been less than restful cuz of it.  When I’m shaken awake again I come up a good deal rougher than I’d like, genuinely jumping outta my near-prone sprawl on the couch in the Temple lounge with my heart pounding, and I feel how clammy I am under my leather.  Sweating up a storm in my sleep … no wonder, given the half-remembered horrors I just escaped.  Something loud and angry and very wet, genuinely soaked in blood and terror, I reckon.  Whatever it was shook loose by that terrible blast and everything that followed it.  Not just what did but what could have.

So I’m sat right up when I open my eyes, wide as they’ll go I reckon, and I’m genuinely a little surprised to see it’s Yeslee who’s drawing back now.  I didn’t scare her, I know that much, she don’t look even remotely rattled and I wouldn’t have expected it either, but maybe there’s a touch o’ concern in her look as she examines me.  She ain’t straightened back up yet, still leaning over the back of the couch, watchful now.

“Oh … fuck, that was …”  I feel the flush of heat rising under my face, and like always I’m glad o’ my fur and the way it can so easily hide it.  “Sorry.  I’m just …”

I don’t finish as I feel the small, rumpled shape tucked in close beside me stirring now, a somewhat lost, confused mew of half-consciousness escaping her as she starts to shove herself up too.  Bloody hell … I can’t believe she actually stayed.  When she settled in beside me she told me not to say a word about it, and definitely not to try anything, she just needed to crash, same as me.  I fully expected her to be gone long before I woke up again.

Finally Darwyn sits up too, bleary as hell as she blinks away through her dishevelled hair, fighting for focus.  “Oh fuck … what is it?”

This just makes Yes frown a little deeper, but she don’t answer.  Instead she just straightens up at last, half turning to regard someone else who’s stepping forward now.  Normally I can see just fine in the relative gloom we’re surrounded by, but I’m still waking up myself, it takes me a long moment to focus so I have trouble recognising ‘em …

Fuck.  My eyes widen again, and I genuinely start to smile, I’m a little overwhelmed to see Shay.  “Hey!  You’re okay!  You are okay, ain’t you?”

Letting out a deep, weary sigh I feel in my bones, the half-orc slumps a little, reaching up with both her hands in order to shove her hair out of her face.  She’s stripped off her armour again, down to the well-fitted leather and padded linen under-armour she wears underneath it, which gives her a very svelte, lithe appearance.  That being said, the slouch in her posture kinda ruins the effect.  She’s tired, same as the rest of us.  “It’ll do.  Honestly, I think both of you had the smarter idea.”

She looks good, though, all things considering.  When we started to regroup after the blast, she was well out, having taken a major hit as Tulen jumped ‘em out, and if it hadn’t been for Hurrig Stormshield’s uncanny enchanted armour reckon she’d have been good and shredded.  In truth I’m surprised she actually removed it at all, I don’t think I’d ever take it off again after something like that …

That being said, she didn’t escape entirely unscathed.  She’s got a few cuts on her right cheek, one going pretty deep, that the healers have clearly been at, reduced to striking purple silk scars, and she got a little notch taken out of her ear too, I notice.  Like Kesla.  It don’t do a thing to make her look any less beautiful than she already is, it just makes her look more dangerous with it.

Shifting a little more on the cushions so I can swing my legs over the side and sit up properly, I give my back a little stretch.  “I dunno … feels like a bloody mixed blessing to me right now.  Can’t tell if I’m just fucked in the head now, or –”

“You’re fine.”  Yeslee growls, stood by now with her arms folded tight.  She’s as unmarked as the pair of us, of course, but then she had the good sense to start running the second people started shouting about getting the fuck out of that place.  “You’ll be fine.  You just need time.”

“Yeah, sure …”  I drop my head and brace my hands behind it as I double over for a long moment, breathing in and out several times through my nose and mouth.  Finally I give my back one last stretch, then look up again.  “Oh … okay, I’m all right.  What’s up?”

Shay don’t answer right away, instead shooting a cautious look at Yes while she just shrugs, although she looks down as she does it, suddenly unable to make eye contact.  Oh … well that can’t be good.  And now I start thinking about … oh shit … oh, no … that couldn’t be …

“No … please, she’s okay, ain’t she?  Tell me she didn’t –”

“She’s awake.”  Shay answers quick, wide-eyed and a little breathless as she catches on that she just shocked the hell outta me.  “Kesla’s … well she’s not not great, but she’s awake.  She’s pretty angry about her back, but I think that might be more about the tattoo than the actual wounds.”

Oh thank the gods … I breathe out again, my heart starting to slow, and after a second Darwyn surprises me as she gets up on her knees and reaches over, giving my shoulder a good, tight grip with her other hand wanders to the back of my neck and starts kneading with gentle but familiar surety.  Wow … ain’t felt that in a long time.  It’s almost enough to set me off purring.

“Yeah, sounds about right.”  I manage to chuckle now, mirthless and more’n a little bitter, I realise.  “Typical Kesla.”

She was definitely the one hit worst out of all of us.  Tulen took a nasty shot in the shoulder and very nearly lost hold of the other two, which I suspect might’ve been disastrous for Kesla and Shay when they were porting, I dunno exactly how that works, just how instantaneous the teleportation actually is.  When we found her she was screaming bloody murder about it, but I can’t say I was overly surprised – never mind it was a messy wound, a little deeper or just an inch more to the side and it might well have cut her arm clean off, I was quick remembering that it was also her first time ever actually getting hurt in the field.  She had no clue what it’d actually be like, so she was entirely unprepared.  So when we got back she was sent straight to the healers and I ain’t seen her since.

Kesla though … she definitely got it worse.  That flying metal … fuck, that shit must’ve been flying angry hot and scary fast to have torn through the steel of her back-plate like that.  Her half-plate got pretty comprehensively ruined by the blast, the shrapnel, I heard that’s what it’s called, hitting her harder’n one o’ Yeslee’s arrows.  I suspect if she hadn’t been wearing that plate, she might’ve been killed, and even Janna Merphin’s miraculous jack-of-plates only negated the damage a little more.  The worst of it still got through, and when we finally found her she was down, very much out, and bleeding badly.  She was priority number one, then – Lady Naru grabbed hold of both her and Shay on the spot and ported ‘em both back to the Temple before coming back to the rest of us.

When we finally got back, she was still in the most extreme back room of the infirmary, the Surgery itself, undergoing some serious, life-or-death treatment with the Temple’s most skilled clerics.  Honestly, when I last saw her Kesla looked bad enough I was genuinely expecting her to die, much like Shay damn near did a few days ago too.  Indeed I know full well that’s exactly what must’ve been going through her mind once she woke up again, prompting her to do the exact same thing that Gael did for her since it took her so long to resurface.  I’m sure she’s thoroughly relieved underneath all her clear exhaustion to see our friend and nominal leader’s gonna be all right after all … indeed, not only that, but it sounds like she’s already pretty much back to being her old self.

Once again, thank you Minerva.  You’re an incredible goddess.  You keep this up I just might have to start praying to you too.  Certainly I can now see what Gael’s always been going on about.

Thinking about our missing wizard puts a dampener on my good mood right away, and I deflate.  Shit … and that was our last chance to find ‘em, too.  Now we’re back to scrabbling about in the dark, meanwhile they’re …

When I look up again, I can see the clear concern in Shay’s face, knowing she’s read my mind pretty effectively.  So I take a deep breath and try to fortify myself again, figuring she would’ve just let us both keep sleeping if it wasn’t really important.  “Well yeah, that’s great news … so what is up?”

“Honestly?”  Shay’s expression don’t change, except maybe to get a little more haunted, actually.  That don’t do my nerves any favours.  “We’re not too sure ourselves.  Sessa just got back.”

I blink, having to take a beat to get my memories in order as the name throws me a little.  Must still have a little waking up to do … “Oh yeah, you mean Gael and Tulen’s friend?  The cute one?”

Darwyn hisses, immediately stopping with the massage while giving my shoulder a much rougher pinch before letting go now as she starts to shuffle away from me.  No surprise there, she knows me too well, even if I don’t really mean anything by it.

Yeslee, on the other hand, simply rolls her eyes, while Shay chuckles, somewhat ruefully.  “Gods Art, you think they’re all cute.”

“Well they are.  She certainly is.”  I cock a brow with a half-smile, letting her know I ain’t being remotely serious about it all.  “Yeah … anyway, that’s good, ain’t it?  I thought we were expecting her.  If anything she’s late.  Almost a whole day, in fact.”

Again, the two women exchange a somewhat worried, furtive glance, Shay’s shaky good humour evaporating instantly.  “Um … no, that’s not exactly … she came back alone.  And she was hurt.  Quite badly.”

I stiffen immediately, while Darwyn slips off the cushion now, dropping to her feet beside us as she reaches over to collect her gear and start pulling it all back on with a rather nervous look now.  “Oh, that … yeah, I can see how that sounds … bad.  What ‘s happening, then?”

“Well, we’re going back into the infirmary to have a word with her, see if we can find out what’s going on.  The last thing we need right now is any more surprises.  I figured you’d want to know about it.”  She sighs.  “I’m sorry, I know you’re pretty focused on getting Gael back right now, and believe me, I sympathise, but –”

“No, you’re right.”  I push myself up onto my feet, my legs surprisingly steady and my back not complaining like I might’ve expected – looks like that little bit of rest helped after all, despite the bad dreams.  For a moment I consider the rest o’ my gear, but in the end I leave it where it is in the bundle on the floor, instead just stooping for my swordbelt on its own.  “This is important, clearly.  Let’s get on it.  I wanna see how Kesla is, anyway.”

Smiling again, Shay, gives my mane a quick little ruffle, and I don’t shake her off.  Honestly, right now I don’t really mind any.  I start to strap my belt on while Darwyn cuts round to the chair where Zuldrad’s been camped out since we all settled in, and the way he’s just curled up in it now I reckon he’s succumbed to his own tiredness right now.  Even so, when she gives him a poke he sits up quick, blinking wide.

“What?  What is it … huh?”  He casts about for a moment, still blinking, until he registers the rest of us and starts to relax again.  “Oh.  Hey … what’s going on?”

“Something … I dunno.”  I shrug as I step over, picking up his own bundled tangle of harnesses and weapons and handing ‘em over.  “We’re heading over to the infirmary.  You good?”

Frowning, he shuffles off the chair and pushes himself upright, accepting my offering now.  “I’m … fine, I reckon.  After earlier, I … reckon I needed that.”  He dips into one of his pockets for a moment, and retrieves his smoked-glass lenses, snapping them open to slip on in preparation for the journey.  “Let’s go.”

Giving his shoulder a light slap, I turn to Shay and nod, and she returns it before stepping away, heading for the door now.  Yes hangs back for a moment, giving me a complicated look, and I stare back at her for a moment as I cinch the buckle in before letting my sword hang comfortably on my hip.  “What?”

She takes a couple beats answering, but I got the feeling she wants to say something all the same.  Finally she just shrugs, turning away too with a noncommittal grunt of:  “Later.  Maybe.”

I hold my tongue, not expecting to get any further now with a protestation than I ever have in the past, and just start after the pair of ‘em, trusting the others to follow.  Darwyn’s already caught up with me before we get into the hallway, and she seems to be in a better mood now, all things considered.  Certainly she don’t seem to still be irritated with me over that harmless crack, but then she knows me well enough.

In truth she’s been a good deal better all round with me since we got all that shit straightened out early in the morning, before we headed out.  She was proper relieved to see me in one piece after the blast, and genuinely nice to me when we got back here.  Sure, when we settled down she made it clear me trying anything would not be tolerated, but in truth it didn’t feel all that serious, like she was mostly going through the motions of her frustration now.  I reckon, after me meeting Vanna and all that air getting cleared between us, maybe she’s finally come round to me again.

I dunno exactly how I feel about that, now I think about it.  I ain’t pissed at her anymore, even after I made it clear she should’ve told me.  Maybe we’re on genuinely good terms again, maybe she might even be open to something like what we once had again, or maybe something new … but I dunno if I am anymore.  Something’s … I can’t really figure it, but it’s like something’s really changed.  It’s strange …

Even so, when I turn to her and give her a commiserating smile, she cocks a brow and at least quirks the corner of her own mouth up a little in return.  It’s something I wouldn’t have expected even a day ago …

When we make it into the main chapel, Zul now wearing his lenses again in deference to all the candles, we find Driver 8 still hunkered down in front of the altar, while three of the Temple’s resident wizards fuss about him.  He’s getting a proper royal treatment, clearly, but then he needs it after what happened to him out there.

The pervading theory, once we’d been able to actually think about what had just happened to us again after the warehouse got turned into so much blackened kindling and ash, was that while that trap was meant for all of us, Tavarrat had one target in particular in mind.  Even with an armoured ogre, clearly a leftover from the Northern Campaign back before the Occupation, there was ­no chance Jammund’s people could realistically get rid of our golem, so they had to come up with a workaround.  Looks like they picked a doozy.

Looking Big Man over as we approach around the side of the chamber, they came impressively close to pulling it off, too.  He’s definitely a mess, at least compared to his usual dusty, blood-splattered self after a normal fight, but then when we first found him he actually seemed genuinely out of it, there were a few minutes there where we thought he might actually have been genuinely destroyed.  I mean, granted he was still in one piece when we found him at the edge of the crater blasted into the centre of the wreckage that was once the Hardway warehouse, but he wasn’t moving, not even when Krakka started trying to resuscitate him.

To be honest I don’t think his god magic really did much to help the situation, and there was no lifting him from where he lay, on his side and smoking from where his whole shell looked like it’d been sandblasted and scalded, still glowing hot in a few places.  Even the glow in his eyes was out, they were just dull red glass, but at least they were intact, and after a whole lot of praying and urging from our increasingly flustered cleric, the fire finally rekindled itself.  Even so, it was several minutes before he even started moving again, and longer before he could gather himself enough to talk.  Like he’d genuinely been knocked right out.  That scared the hell out of all of us.

We couldn’t risk Lady Naru getting wiped out again trying to port him back and leaving the rest of us stranded, so instead Yeslee elected to camp out on the edge of the wreck and watch for anyone coming to check out what was going on.  Meanwhile me and Zul did the best we could to clear a big enough patch of ground of ash and detritus so the sorcerer could draw out a teleportation circle so we could all go at once.  She even has the foresight to plan it out so that it would destroy itself once we used it, a trick Darwyn immediately recognised cuz apparently Gael used it after they caught Vik.

Even so, we came damn close to getting caught, by the time the circle was ready to go Yes was creeping back fast through the chaos to warn us that there were townsguard moving in to investigate the damage.  They were being pretty cautious given the smoking, hellish mess, but clearly that wouldn’t last, so we needed to move now.  So we helped Driver 8 crawl onto the circle the best he could and then Lady Naru activated it and we were back.

He's been here since, with half a dozen Temple staff taking care to fix the damage that’s been done to him the best they can.  I’m sure part of it’s just their sense of duty, theirs is a temple dedicated as much to aiding their fellow man as the pursuit and appreciation of knowledge, so to them he’s just another unfortunate in need of healing.  But these wizards are also, undoubtedly, pretty enthusiastic about just having the chance to actually get to handle and maybe even mend a real honest to gods golem, which is very much in keeping with the sheer wonder he’s engendered the whole time he’s been here.

Clearly they’ve already done some impressive work fixing him up, I can see whole sections of his previously pitted, gouged and badly scored armour that’s looking pretty pristine again, but there’s still a lot of work to do.  As it is a small pile of half-melted pieces of twisted metal shrapnel that’s been pulled free from his shell has grown at the base of the statue of Minerva, like some strange offering, and there’s still plenty more stuck in him now.  Whole plates on his right arm and much of his chest are still pretty wrecked, and the three who are still working at it look to be tiring now.  The rest are stretched out on the front pews, looking thoroughly exhausted, although they still make an effort to sit up as we arrive.

“Hey, Big Man.  Y’all right?”

The golem shifts slightly at that, giving me at least the impression he’s now looking my way, and when he starts speaking he sounds the same as always, albeit more impressive now given the acoustics of the great vaulted room.  “I am well enough, Art.  The good folk of the Temple have been very kind, helping to bring me back to my optimum operational parameters.  I am most grateful to them.”

“It’s our pleasure, sir.”  One of the busy wizards pants, lowering her hands from one of his chest plates and giving ‘em a good wring.  She looks unsteady on her feet, while her eyes are heavily lidded, and I can see how bad her hands are shaking as she tries to loosen up her stiffening knuckles.  The other two don’t look much better off.

“Minerva … have you lot been at it all this time?”  I turn to Shay.  “What time even is it now?”

Frowning, Shay thinks about it for a moment.  “I think it must be close to midnight by now.  They were doing this before when we came to find you.  As far as I know they’ve been doing this non-stop.”

“They have indeed.”  the golem rumbles, matter-of-fact as always.

“For Minerva’s sake, take a break, you lot.  Get some sleep or at least rest for a bit.”  Shay lets out a heavy sigh, setting her hands on her hips now as she looks down, shaking her head.  “I don’t know … what do you think Big Man?”

“I am functional enough for now, Shay.  I will keep, as Kesla would say.”  I think he must consider for a moment, because he then asks:  “Are we needed again?”

That makes her frown.  “Oh … I don’t know, Big Man.  Can you make it into the Infirmary?  I’m not sure the doorways are really built with you in mind.”

“I am sure you can fill me in on anything that I need to know afterwards.  For now I am content to wait.”

Turning to regard Yeslee for a moment, Shay sighs again while shuffling her feet.  “Okay, I guess you’ve earned the right to rest for a little longer if you feel you need to.”  Now she turns and starts eyeing all the other wizards closely, particularly the three who are now making their very weary, slightly unsteady way to join the others on the pews.  “As long as the rest of you follow his example, at least until you feel you can help again without burning yourselves out.”

“Yes, Mistress.”  that same wizard sighs after planting herself, wiping the back of her sleeve across a very sweaty brow as she blinks her bleary eyes.

“We’ll let you know as soon as we can.”  she tells Big Man as she turns back  “Hopefully it’s nothing that can’t keep, anyway.”

“Of course, Shay.”  He don’t nod, but I suspect he would if he could.

Frowning again, Shay looks around at the rest of us, and I suspect she still don’t actually want to leave him outta this.  But then Yeslee just starts walking on her own, and that decides it for her as she scrambles to follow.  “Okay, well … just, I don’t know.  See you when we’re done.”

I let the others go ahead, instead just looking up at the golem, and I reckon he’s doing the same back now.  I’ll admit I’m glad he’s all right, it genuinely surprised me how hard seeing him laid out like that actually hit me.  I’d come to think of him as genuinely unstoppable, it was a sobering moment.  I realise now it’s a sign of just how fond of this massive metal man I’ve become.

So I offer up a fond, is somewhat tired smile, and he dips his shoulders ever so slightly in a very clear responding nod.  That makes me smile a little wider, and I return my own nod before heading off to catch up with the others.

When I reach Darwyn, I find her stood just outside the now open main door to the emergency ward, while the others are nowhere to be seen, but I can hear voices inside the room now, a whole cluttered selection of ‘em in fact.  It’s not unlike the last few times we been back here, when there’s been chaos after a fight and everybody’s been rushing round at once.  To be honest I’m really starting to dislike this place on principle through its associations.

Then I see Dar ain’t waiting on me after all, she’s looking down at the floor, and the way she’s so stiff and tense immediately puts me on alert.  She looks proper shook, I realise, then I realise why – there’s a sizeable splash of blood on the floor at her feet.  I realise now that it ain’t the first one I seen, either, it’s just that up until we got into this part o’ the Temple the relatively dark carpet made it hard to spot.  And then there’s the attendant I just passed, diligently mopping the floor, and I realise now he was clearly making his way up to this patch.  But this is too fresh to miss, even on the dark tiles here, still wet and slick enough to reflect the lamplight.

“What the fuck happened?”  I ask her as I step up.

Darwyn don’t respond, and for a moment I think she’s genuinely frozen, just rooted to the spot, but then the finally looks up and points through the door.  “In there.”

Oh … yeah, that can’t be good.  I look at her for a long beat but she just stares right back, and while she ain’t scared witless like I thought, she’s definitely shook.  Not really knowing what to say to perk her up right now, instead I just turn and head through the door after the others, taking great care to skirt the blood while I’m going.

It’s another stark, minimalistic chamber, white walls and lots o’ light with another smooth, dark tiled floor, but a little different from some of the others.  There are racks and cupboards lining two of the walls, each shelf arranged with arrays of tools and instruments in gleaming, pristine steel or phials, bottles, flasks and pots of medicines and oils and whatever else they need to treat wounds and whatever.  The other walls are lines with beds, almost a dozen of ‘em altogether, although the vast majority are empty right now.  After all, the majority of the intensive care from this morning and before should have been taken care of by now.

The clamour’s settled down some, but the room’s still in something like professional chaos all the same.  The others are pulling back from one of the beds in the middle of the room, where three of the clerics are currently working away, while I find Krakka’s stood close by, not actually helping right now but still with his head bowed, hands knotted together.  Muttering under his breath like always as he offers up prayers to his own goddess.

Tulen’s there, sat on the bed, which surprises me, I thought her own wounds would’ve been healed a while ago.  Except it’s not her that the clerics are working on right now, she’s simply there for comfort, her arms wrapped around Sessa as she moans and cries and winces, wide eyes wet with tears as they work on her arm.  Oh gods … as I walk in I finally get a look at what’s happened to her, and then I can’t stop moving towards her now, deeply struck by what I’m seeing.

Fuck … it’s been a little while since I saw wounds like that, we ain’t been up against something that mauls folk since back in the Reaches.  Her right hand is just … gone, there’s nothing at all below her wrist, and she’s entirely missing her sleeve from close to her shoulder, while much of the flesh of her arm has been badly ripped and stripped, very little skin left untorn.  Many of the marks gouge deep into her flesh, some right to the bone, and while the healers are working hard to fix the damage, so far they don’t seem to be having much luck.

That’s not all, either.  There’s a big tear in her robes as well, on her right side, where the worst of the attack must’ve been, although from what I can see the flesh seems to be mending there now.  Likely the clerics focused on that first, since that definitely would’ve been the most life-threatening wound.  Certainly they’ve clearly managed to stop the worst of bleeding from her arm, but they’re still a long way from done with the rest of it.

There are two deep gashes in her cheek too, the higher one barely missing her eye, and these are still bleeding a lot.  Gods … what the hell happened to her?

When I finally stop and look round at the others, they’re all as spooked as Darwyn, and I realise just how shook I am too.  Even Yeslee’s hanging back, her eyes wider than they usually get, which is always a bad sign, and there’s a slight screwed up creasing to her nose that shows she’s catching a particularly bad smell … gods, that’s it, that’s what’s hitting me so hard.  There’s something in the air, something really wrong, that smells like death.  It’s coming from Sessa, which don’t make any real sense, she’s still with us, clearly …

No, it’s coming from her clothes, and her wounds.  Oh … okay, that can’t be good.

After a moment Tulen kisses her lover on the unwounded cheek and gives her a gentle crush, leaning her forehead against Sessa’s crown, and I can see now that she’s openly weeping too.  That ain’t any kinda surprise, it hurts her to see the person who means the most to her torn up like this.  I can easily imagine what that must feel like.  She’s going through as much hell as Sessa right now, but her scars won’t be visible after.

“All right, all right … I’m done, here it comes.”  Lady Naru’s hustling over from the corner of the room now, and she’s holding a jug in one hand and a cup in the other.  She looks pretty chill right now, all things considered, but now I’m looking reckon I can see a subtle edge to her all the same, like this is wearing on her too.

Tulen reaches out a hand before she’s even close, and as soon as the cup’s within reach she just snatches it out of the sorcerer’s hand, but I can’t blame her for forgetting her manners right now.  She shifts herself a little on the bed now and pulls Sessa a little tighter as she raises the cup.  “Here, this’ll help.  Drink it.”

Sessa just looks down at the cup, her eyes wide and wild, and the way they’re rolling right now I’m not sure she’s really seeing anything.  She just whimpers, her one remaining hand clawing without any real focus, just snatching up a fistful of Tulen’s robes.

“Oh … come on, Sessa.  Baby, please … Sessa!  Come on!  Please, just … please!  Just drink it, please!”  She holds the cup in front of her face now, bringing it close to her mouth, and Sessa blinks several times, her brow knitting while she clenches her teeth, and after a moment she finally seems to focus enough to see it.  Finally she manages to pull her fingers free and raise her hand, reaching for the cup now.

Even so, it’s shaking badly, so when she finally gets hold of it Tulen maintains her own grip on it too, helping her guide it to her lover’s lips, then tipping it to help her gulp it down.  For a moment Sessa balks, her eyes screwing up narrow as her face tightens, it’s clearly some bitter tasting shit, but Tulen won’t relent, insisting now as she makes Sessa finish the whole cupful.  Only then does she hold it out for Lady Naru to collect again.

For a few moments Sessa gags, looking like she’s fit to vomit, then the urge must pass cuz she just gasps, panting some as she lets her head fall back, whimpering again … then she opens her mouth again and lets one hell of a burp out.  Any other time it’d be one hilarious bastard, but right now …

But it seems to work, I realise – her shaking slowly starts to ease off, and she stops flinching, her muscles seeming to relax.  Finally she lets a little sigh go and her head lolls a little, turning now so she can rest her face against Tulen’s and she just sits for a long moment, breathing in and out now, slower and deeper than before too.  More controlled, and seemingly more comfortable.  Looks like the pain’s easing right off, then.  I could do with some o’ that shit myself right now, ‘least for my nerves.

The healers renew their efforts with greater focus now as she relaxes, and finally, I reckon, I can actually see the wounds looking … well, they’re still bad, but maybe they’re starting to heal up again.  Looks like it’s still slow, nasty work, though.

Finally Shay steps forward again, and the others seem to be relaxing a little too, or at least their tension’s starting to ease a little.  I’m feeling a little better myself too, although I’m still a long way from great – she still looks too bad to put me at ease.  “Sessa?  Hey, Sessa … sweetheart, are you with us now?”

A frown starts to touch her forehead again, but it’s more confusion now than actual discomfort.  She blinks a little as she looks up, but it don’t take her so long to focus this time as she looks at Shay.  “Oh … oh, Mistress Swift-Kill.  I’m … I’m sorry … that was …”  Her frown deepens a little more, and she winces again, but it seems more detached this time, nowhere near as focused.  So she’s still feeling some pain, then, it’s just fuzzy and indistinct.  Guess that stuff just took enough edge off for her to come back to herself.

“Sessa, it’s okay.”  Shay drops onto her haunches now as she steps closer, reaching up to take hold of the half-orc’s remaining hand in a gentle grip as she glances up into her big, distressingly red eyes.  “You’ve been hurt, very badly.  I can understand you’re a little … scattered.  But we need to know what happened.  Where you’ve been.  And where Madame Daste is.”

“Oh, I don’t … I’m …”  She licks her lips now, wincing again as she looks down, trying to move now but Tulenj just wraps her arms a little tighter and keeps her in place, gently shushing her.  “No … no, I do … oh …”  She frowns deeper for a moment when she looks up, casting about now, and I think this might be the first time she even sees the rest of us gathered round her.  “Yes, Madame Daste … oh … oh no …”

“What?”  Shay straightens up a little, becoming more alert as she takes Sessa’s hand in her other one too.  “Please, Sessa, we need to know, what –”

“Dead …”  The word comes out in a bare whisper, nothing more than a breath really, and she looks so haunted all of a sudden.  “She’s dead … she’s dead.  They’re all dead.  Madame Daste is dead, Halik is dead, everyone who was with us … oh … there were so many, all dead now.  Oh … oh, Minerva … help me …”  Her face starts to crease up, and the tears are coming again as she whimpers.

“Shit …”  I’m the first to speak after a long, heavy moment where no-one seems to know what to say, and at least half of ‘em jump when it’s out.  I reach up now, brushing my paws up and back over my scruffy mane, not sure what to do as I start to turn towards the door again.  In time to see Darwyn stood a little way inside now, looking shocked as the rest of us.  And she ain’t alone now.  Kesla’s behind her, not so much stood in the doorway as leaning against it, like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

You’d think she’d be as haunted as the rest of us right now, given what we just heard, but she just looks pissed.  Angry and not even remotely scared …

TO BE CONTINUED ...

[hlizr50]

Update: The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 6

A little pain relief for everything I've put you through

Read on AO3

When Azriel landed in the training ring he shook his head, exasperated with himself. Now that he was here, what exactly did he plan to do? He couldn’t very well find Gwyn’s room, shake her awake, and beg her to forgive him.

He took a moment to survey the ring, racks of wooden weapons, steel, shields. The Valkyries had grown from desperation to get Nesta on the right track to three females surviving the Blood Rite to a small legion of Illyrians, priestesses, and other fae. They would be outgrowing the space soon, and he pondered that as the stone glowed blue in the moonlight.

Gwyn had never spoken much about the Blood Rite, not that he could blame her. The Illyrian tradition was barbaric under normal circumstances, and much more so with Briallyn’s meddling – with the intention of killing all three of the females. Azriel couldn’t help but grin to himself.

How spectacularly had her plan backfired.

He had not admitted that Cassian was not the only one sleepless and mortified that week, but where the general was a barely-contained force of will and expression Azriel was schooled in hiding his emotion. He’d had to stay stoic – to find Briallyn and Koschei, to support his brother while his mate fought for her life. But his relationship with Gwyn had begun to develop by then, as well. Slowly. It was all he could do some days not to fly in and destroy them all. She had already suffered unspeakable horrors, and the possibility that she had been at the mercy of Illyrian males – bred with a thirst for blood and flesh – had been nearly unbearable.

When that general is finished hurting her she has to feel the soul-crushing terror of watching the next soldier take his place because you don’t come to save her.

He ran a hand through his onyx hair, remembering Nesta’s words. His shadows seemed to wither around him, drooping over his shoulders and wings. How had it come to this?

The shadowsinger sat himself down on the ground, knees drawn up. He rested his forearms on them and gazed at the ink-dark sky painted with stars. Much like his High Lord, seeing the stars had always been a comfort to Azriel – a reminder that he was free from the prison of his upbringing, that he had escaped and had replaced his father and brothers with a family that cared for him and showed him what love and brotherhood really meant.

His found family had grown so much in such a short time. He was grateful for that, for so many reasons. Rhys had emerged from Under the Mountain a broken male and Feyre had helped piece him back together. She had quickly become a glue for all of them, holding them tight and treating them with such love that Azriel was often awed by it. It wasn’t hard defending her, being dedicated to her safety as High Lady. She was far more than a monarch to him.

Then came Nesta and Elain, and what a storm that had been. Cassian and Nesta were meant to be since the beginning, but that path had been long and painful, and not just for his ears and the new… sanitation concerns for public living spaces in the house. Sometimes he was surprised that he counted Nesta as his friend. She had been intentionally hurtful so many times. How often had he seen the pain in his brother’s countenance because of something she had said or done? And yet now he understood her, maybe more than he cared to admit. She had been hurting and afraid and overflowing with self-loathing.

He had hurt Gwyn for those very reasons.

Gwyn.

He felt his shoulders and wings sag with the weight of Nesta’s questions tonight. Accusations thinly veiled as questions, and each one like a carefully crafted throwing knife plunged into his gut. He’d made her cry for at least the third time in as many weeks. Training and working to exhaustion, and not being able to sleep because of the worsening nightmares – nightmares that had cruelly transformed to remind her that he had abandoned her.

Even his shadows felt heavy.

The spymaster hung his head, shame like a blanket smothering him in summer heat. How could he ever forgive himself for causing that pain? It was a fate he had personally prevented, and now she was forced to experience it in her dreams. Because of him. Because he was a coward.

Azriel let his eyes drift closed and focused on his breathing. Sleep would not be an option tonight, and he could only pray that the priestess was sound asleep in the house, getting the rest she so desperately needed. Training didn’t seem to be in the cards either, as he sifted through the torrent of thoughts and emotions. He just needed to sit and think. And in the morning, he would speak with Gwyn as soon as he could. He would fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness if he had to.

“Azriel?”

The inky tendrils flitted to life around him at the sound of that voice. Cauldron damn him, of course she would find him now. But part of him was relieved to be able to talk to her so soon – that she was even here.

“Azriel, are you alright?” His heart squeezed at the softness of Gwyn’s voice, music to his ears – a sweet melody with harmonies of concern and kindness. How could she still be so kind to him?

“I don’t deserve to be asked that. Especially not by you,” he murmured, staring down at the stone between his feet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Azriel.” Her soft footsteps seemed to echo in his head, a ringing alarm that she was coming closer. He didn’t want to run from her, but his heart was still racing. How could he face her inevitable rejection? He noticed her shadow fall over the space between his legs and when he looked up she was crouching in front of him, eyes shining with sincerity. “You deserve for people to care about you. And I do. I won’t just leave you out here alone when anyone could see the weight of the world pressing down on you.”

Gods, but wasn’t that exactly what he had done to her?

The shadowsinger had no air in his chest as he studied her. The expression on her face was difficult to describe – caring and teasing and scolding all rolled into glittering ocean eyes and the slightest quirk of her full lips. She rose and his gaze followed as she held her hand out to him, beckoning him to stand with her. It took more courage than he cared to admit to place his violence-scarred hands in hers, but their warmth spread through him like sunshine warming his bones as she helped him to his feet.

She didn’t let go, and that gave him the strength he needed.

“Nesta found me at the river house tonight. She had… a lot to say,” Azriel began as he saw color bloom on Gwyn’s cheeks. She looked down to their hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for her to –“ He squeezed her hands and she snapped her head back up to meet his gaze.

“I deserved every single bit of venom she threw at me, Gwyn. Do not apologize.” The shadowsinger looked down, then, unsure how to move forward or which of his many transgressions he should address first. So he asked, “Is it true? About the nightmares? That… that I don’t come for you?” He could feel the emotion catching in his throat, cracking his voice. His eyes burned as he looked back to the priestess. Her lips were pressed together as she tried to keep the silver lining her eyes from spilling down over her cheeks.

“Yes,” she whispered, lashes lowering as the silent tears fell. Each droplet was a nick in his heart, the guilt and pain salting those wounds. How could she be so strong, to endure this agony and yet hold the hands that caused it? He released one of the hands and lifted it to her face, hesitating with his fingers a breath away from her cheek. Azriel had his mouth open to ask if he could touch her when she leaned her face into his palm. He brushed at her tears with his thumb before bringing up his other hand, cupping her jaw.

“Gwyn,” he breathed, pleading silently for her to look at him. The shining pools that opened to him were so enthralling, depths shimmering with trepidation. Gods, what he would do to bring back the joy in those eyes. “I will always come for you. No matter what. And I will never be able to forgive myself that there might be any part of your mind or your heart or your soul that could believe otherwise.” He watched as she took a shuddering breath, but her eyes held his and he was emboldened.

“I’m so sorry, Gwyn. For all of this. I was a fool and a coward and I let my guilt and my fear own me. And it only hurt you.”

Gwyn’s hands covered the scars on his own as she pulled them away from her face, returning them to their place entwined between them. Azriel stayed silent and her head tilted as she studied him.

“What could you possibly be afraid of?” she released a hoarse, hiccupped laugh. The shadowsinger could only gulp down a breath and look toward the stars.

“I… I was afraid of the feelings I was developing for you. And of the pain I would feel when you would see all the things I have done and the monster that I am and run away from me. Or that you would be hurt because of this darkness inside of me.” His eyes had returned to hers and, while he saw understanding swimming there, her expression was uncompromising.

“Have I not been hurt already?” Her bluntness shocked him, and he felt the slightest twinge of panic that told him to run. Her fingers tightened like a vice around his hands and he saw her eyes darken, as if she knew what he was thinking. “Don’t you dare even think about running away, Azriel. Not now. I deserve better from you.” Even his shadows seemed focused on where their hands touched, intent on keeping them tied together.

She did. She deserved so much better. Better than what he’d done. Shame washed over him that he could have thought to flee from her. Again. He had already wronged her… too many times. But he had come here determined to right those wrongs. Azriel wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to give her what she deserved, if he would ever be good enough for her. But he sure as fuck was going to try.

“You’re right,” he conceded, that panic replaced by resolution and a faint, foolish glimmer of hope. “I’m not going anywhere.” She grinned softly and he thought his chest would burst from relief. They were still here, together, talking. They were going to figure this out.

“Why did you run, Azriel? If you care for me, like you say,” she demanded, that sea-deep stare piercing straight into his soul. “Why? Why are you afraid of me seeing who you are?”

He should have known that she would demand an explanation. Gwyn was strong and confident. She knew her worth and what she deserved, and him sharing the story behind all of his idiotic decisions was the very least of that. But he was not prepared, and he didn’t want to. He never wanted to darken others’ lives with his history.

“That’s… a long story, Gwyn,” he huffed, hoping that might be the end of it. But he saw her eyes, determination and challenge and fire blazing blue in the moonlight.

“We have all night.” She released his hands and gestured to the darkness around them. She would not be deterred, would not back down until she accomplished her goal. It was one of the many things he admired so much about her. “Should we sit?”

Azriel found himself smiling as he nodded, sitting cross-legged on the stone. Even though the impending admissions rang as a death knell in his mind, it warmed his heart to know that she cared so deeply – that she wanted to know the worst of him.

He had put her through enough, and he could relive his pain and push out his fear for this night, if only for her.

“I don’t know where to start.” He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous tick he was usually good at hiding. But then Gwyn – that sweet, incredible, special female – gathered his other hand with those long, pale, graceful fingers and he felt the tension ease. He looked at her, taking in the beauty and serenity of her features. Freckles were scattered over cheeks stained pink, an encouraging smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.

“The beginning seems like a good place, don’t you think?”

So that’s where he began.

~~~

Azriel was not proud that he could not find the strength to look at Gwyn as he walked her through his story, but he could still hear and feel her reactions. And he dared a glance at her from time to time, trying to read everything her eyes were saying. He told her about the cell he was kept in as a child, how little touch or affection or love he had experienced, and how the shadows around him seemed to move and react and speak. She clutched his hand tighter when he told her about what had happened to them, that his brothers had set fire to them to see how he would heal. She hadn’t said a word, but he smelled the salt from tears and felt impossibly soft strokes of her thumbs over those scars.

He explained his time in Illyria and the fearsome reputation he and Cassian had to maintain, simply to make up for the circumstances of their birth. And while Cassian had been brute force and power, Azriel was deadly calm, precision, intellect, terror. He admitted to her how he had hoped to find validation in his role as spymaster under Rhysand’s father, and that he could truly revel in his duties under the right circumstances.

“Those soldiers I killed in Sangravah,” he told her. “I would have enjoyed dragging out their deaths as long as possible for what they did to you.”

Gwyn’s hands were so gentle around his as he told her how much the death and darkness grated against his soul, and how he’d had nothing to tether him to the light. He talked to her about Mor, a waste of literal centuries. And then, somehow, he told her about Elain. Not that he’d loved her, because he never had. But that he’d felt entitled to her, like he deserved what his brothers had found with the other two sisters. That he was the third brother and she was the third sister and that was all that mattered. His entitlement, his lust and desire for the bond - as opposed to love for the person - just another ugly facet of his true self.

“So I suppose that brings me to you, to these past few weeks.” Azriel made sure to meet her gaze for this. “I panicked after the necklace, because I wasn’t prepared for what it would do to me to see that hurt in your eyes. And when I told you things would go back to normal I still didn’t know what to do. I thought distance would be best between us, because I knew you would be able to draw me out of myself. And that was dangerous.”

The shadowsinger’s throat burned with emotion when Gwyn smiled softly. He could see so much roaring in her gaze, but there was no sign of pity or disgust or fear. Azriel ran his free hand through his hair before resting it atop their other clasped hands. Wetness burned his eyes, but he didn’t care.

“When I found you in the rain that night, I could smell your tears and I saw your hands – split knuckles and bruised, swollen fingers. And,” he choked down his feelings even as the tears began their descent, “and I was torn apart with the guilt. It was my fault that you were doing that to yourself. I might has well have put those marks on you with my own two vile hands.” Azriel closed his eyes and let the tears fall – not many, but enough. The silence rang through his ears, his history hanging between them. He waited for the fear, the rejection, especially when she drew her hands away from his. But his eyes snapped open when delicate calloused fingers stroked his cheeks. Gwyn had risen to her knees to dry the wetness on them, her stare a storm of trust and understanding... and compassion.

“Thank you for telling me your story, Azriel,” she whispered. “I see you. You have nothing to fear. I’m still right here.” Then she smiled brightly, and he unraveled.

“Gwyn, I don’t know if you can ever forgive me – I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t. But I care for you as more than a teacher, more than a friend. You are a light in my dark life and these past few weeks have been miserable without you in them.” Her smile widened slightly and he reached out a thumb to catch a stray tear that had fallen from those precious, beautiful eyes. He felt his own grin pushing his cheeks against her warm hands.

“I care for you, too, Azriel. As more than a friend.”

He held that watery stare until she released his face. She stood up, brushing off her knees before reaching her hands to him again to help him to his feet. He tilted his head curiously at the determination flashing in her eyes.

“Here is what’s going to happen,” she began, looking down at her hands in his. “Before we pursue anything… romantically, I need to be sure that this isn’t something that will happen again.”

He opened his mouth to speak but she pressed her fingers against his lips. “We both have darkness and fear and I understand that. But if you feel it taking over, I need you to come to me, to talk to me. Because if I open my heart to you and this happens again – if you insist on shutting yourself off from me or deciding for me what I deserve or want – I will be heartbroken.” The confession left Azriel raw.

“What can I do, Gwyn? How can I reassure you?” He could hear the desperation in his own voice, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

“We are going to go back to how things were before this mess.” She had returned her hand to his and gave both a squeeze. A shadow darted down around them, as if to approve of the contact. “The way it was that led us to realize that we feel the way we do. And you are going to prove to me that we can have what we had before I found out about that stupid, lovely necklace. Do you think you can do that?” He could have fallen to his knees seeing the hope in those ocean eyes, mirroring the spark of hope inside of him. It was something he hadn’t dared to let himself fully feel with her.

“I will.” Azriel’s voice was low and rough. “I swear it.”

“And then we can decide what comes next. And I can prove to you that your hands and your darkness are just as important to me as the rest of you.”

He was grinning like a fool, he knew. He still had a chance, because Gwyneth Berdara was the definition of grace and love. And by the Mother he would not screw this up.

He felt more than saw her wrap her arms around his back, pulling herself into him. For a moment he was frozen by the intimacy of it – shocked by her initiation of it – but he quickly let his arms settle around her waist. He breathed in, pulling her tighter, and leaned his cheek on the crown of her head.

“Don’t let me down, Shadowsinger,” she muttered into his chest. He chuckled and dared to move one hand to comb through her hair. “I want to see… what comes next.” He wanted to see, too. He wanted to know what it was like to look to the future and see more than dread and loneliness and exhaustion. He could see it with her.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Berdara.”

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[castexpectopatronum]

Liquid Amber - Part V [Remus Lupin x Reader Imagine]

Summary: You had been crushing on Remus Lupin for an eternity when you finally decided to ask him out. However, things do not go as planned and you remain wondering just what exactly is going on with this boy.

notes: reupload because the original got deleated

trigger warnings: none

word count: 2.3k

Masterlist

Time stretched like a package of Droobles Best Chewing Gum. With every glance you took at the clock, its hand seemed to be creeping along even slower, taunting you, torturing you, until the constant ticking was the only thing echoing in your mind.

When the time to meet Remus had finally arrived, it seemed like a miracle to you. You already went to the now empty Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom thirty minutes early because you couldn’t stand the waiting any longer, but you found you weren’t any less nervous there than before. Your heart was thumping, your palms were sweating, the blood was rushing in your ears...

You were sitting on the teacher’s desk, the heels of your feet bumping steadily against the wood as you swung your legs to an unheard rhythm.

Ten to eight.

There was no need for Remus to be as overly punctual as you were.

Nine to eight.

There was still enough time.

Eight to eight.

Words were swirling around in your mind, but you failed spectacularly at putting them in a consistent order. Nothing made sense. Nothing had meaning.

Six to eight.

The heels of your feet were numb from colliding with the desk. You didn’t stop.

Five to eight.

Enough time...

Four to eight.

Was this really such a good idea? Maybe he would get angry. It was his own business, after all.

Three to eight.

No. You had to talk to him. Even if he didn’t want you to interfere in any way, he had the right to know that you knew.

Two to eight.

He was not running late. Not yet.

One to eight.

Not yet.

The clock stroke eight o’clock.

Remus wasn’t there.

At five past eight, you were still patiently waiting. At ten past eight your legs stopped swinging. At twenty past eight you turned your eyes away from the clock. And at half past eight you admitted to yourself that Remus wouldn’t be coming. That he had never planned on coming at all.

You weren’t surprised. In some way, you were actually almost thankful that he had freed you from having this conversation you had been so nervous about the entire day. But for the most part, you were simply disappointed. Yes, you had known better, but hoped for so much more. Hoped for him to at least listen to you. Just this once. This one time when you had so much to say.

You didn’t leave immediately. For a while, you just sat there on the desk, alone with your thoughts. The clock’s hand crept on, its ticking echoing in the dark classroom, wandering from half past eight to twenty to nine to ten to nine, and you were still sitting there in the dark classroom, still hoping for what you knew wouldn’t happen.

You knew it was time to leave. But you couldn’t quite bring yourself to it. Not just yet...

It was almost nine when the door to the classroom suddenly creaked open and a figure stepped in, tall and slender. You lifted your head, not trusting your eyes on what they were seeing.

Remus seemed almost startled to see you there but still he smiled at you. It was a rather forced smile but it was a smile nonetheless. He could have yelled at you for all you cared – he had shown up and that was all that mattered.

Remus closed the door behind him. “I didn’t think you’d still be here,” he admitted and stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers.

You gave him a weak smile from your place on the desk. “I’m somewhat surprised myself.”

“So...” Remus took a few steps into the room. “You wanted to talk?”

You nodded, so slightly it was almost impossible for him to see in the darkness. “I’m glad you came,” you said quietly.

Remus made an odd motion, a mixture of a shrug and a nod. “I figured I owe you at least that.”

You breathed a laugh. “For turning me down? I told you before, Remus. It’s okay.”

The corner of his mouth curled up in an awkward smile, and his eyes began to flicker around the room to avoid your gaze. You didn’t mind much. You knew he was listening.

“I knew there was something going on with you,” you began. “You seemed so troubled and you were sick so often... I knew  something was off and I wanted to help you. But you wouldn’t tell me what was going on, so... I took matters into my own hand.”

Remus furrowed his eyebrows. An alarming look appeared in his eyes, the same look you had seen when you had visited him in the Hospital Wing. It seemed like ages ago.

“I did a lot of research,” you continued. “The amount of books I read... I don’t think anyone in this castle knows more about magical diseases than I do, so if you have questions, I’m your guy.”

Remus didn’t laugh. He stood, still as a statue, and stared at you with a look of pure horror in his eyes he didn’t even bother to hide.

You let out a quiet sigh. “I know, Remus.”

For a moment, there was dead silence. Then-

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Remus-”

“No.”

He turned on his heel and was halfway through the classroom when you said, “Remus, please.”

To your surprise, he stopped, almost at the door, but he didn’t turn around. You heard his sharp breaths and the ticking of the clock on the wall.

“How long have you known?”

“A few days,” you answered. “Maybe a week.”

His shoulders had dropped defeatedly. His head was lowered; he was staring at the ground. You wished you could have been able to see his face but he still had his back turned towards you.

“Is that why you’ve ordered me here?“ he suddenly asked in a hoarse voice. “To tell me you know what I am? To tell me I’m a monster?”

Your head snatched up; a deep frown appeared on your face and you jumped from the desk. Without delay you walked straight through the classroom, stepping around Remus so you were able to face him.

His gaze was still lowered to the floor; he was fixing the stone with his eyes, refusing to look at you.

But you looked at him.

“You’re not the monster, Remus,” you said firmly. “You’re the victim.”

Remus blinked and raised his head. For a moment, there was only the look of confusion on his face. “W-What?”

You smiled softly. “You heard me. Stop putting yourself down for something that isn’t your fault.”

Remus breathed a bitter laugh and looked away. A muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I’ve done my research, Remus,“ you said. “The wolf is a part of you. But it’s not you.”

Remus’ entire body was shaking although he was wearing both his jumper and robes, and his chest was rising and falling heavily.

“I’ve ’ordered’ you here to tell you I know you’re a werewolf,” you continued, your voice remaining firm even when you saw Remus flinching at the word. “And to tell you it doesn’t change a thing.”

Remus’ eyes were fixed on your own. Your heart raced as you looked at him and you wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and tell him everything would be okay. But you knew he would just run off again like he always did.

“You... You don’t think I’m a-” He halted, forcing the words to come out of his mouth. “I’m a-”

“Monster?” You smiled bitterly. “No. No, I don’t.”

You hadn’t felt like lighting the room when you had entered, so there was not even candlelight to enlighten it. Remus’ face was hidden in the shadows; only because you were standing so close to each other could you make out his expression. His eyes were grazing over your face, a frown on his face. He looked like he didn’t know what to say. Or even think.

“I told you I wanted to help you,” you whispered and took a step closer. Remus gulped, but he didn’t turn away from you. “But I can only help you if you’ll let me.”

“You can’t help me,” he muttered.

“I refuse to accept that,” you said.

Remus breathed a laugh. “You’re a persistent one, aren’t you?”

“You’re saying that as though it was something bad,” you replied with twinkling eyes.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I suppose it depends on the person.”

„I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Remus chuckled. Then, his expression turned more solemn again. “Are you... Do you really...”

He found himself unable to finish the question, but he didn’t have to for you to understand.

“Yes, I do,” you said with a gentle smile. “Remember what I told you back in the Hospital Wing?” Remus cocked his head slightly to the side. “I told you whatever it was that you were going through, it could never change my opinion on you. And I was right, wasn’t I? I still feel the same way about you I did all those weeks ago.”

A smile had appeared on Remus’ face but when you spoke the last part of your sentence, he suddenly furrowed his eyebrows. “Feel?”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you realised your mistake. “Think,” you said quickly. “I meant ... think.”

“(Y/N)...”

“It doesn’t matter, really...”

But suddenly, Remus had bent down and kissed you. It wasn’t more than a light touch of your lips, but it was enough to make your heart stop in your chest.

After only a moment, Remus pulled back, though, slowly, his mouth slightly agape. You stared at him with wide eyes as he straightened up again, seemingly startled by what he had just done.

“I’m – I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Remus-”

“I should’ve asked you first-”

“Remus!”

Remus fell silent. His chest was rising and falling heavily as he stared down at you. You still couldn’t see his face, but you were sure a blush was rising to his cheeks.

A smile spread out on your face as you slowly stepped forward, your hand lying on his chest, causing him to walk backwards until he stumbled against his desk and sat down.

For a moment, you simply took him in, biting your lip as you did and smiling to yourself. Remus’ brown hair was falling into his forehead and his soft eyes were gazing into your own, flickered from your eyes to your lips and back to your eyes. Your smile widened as you slowly leaned it, your face inching towards his.

Remus still had the time to stop you if he wanted to.  But he didn’t. He sat there and waited, his breath going faster each moment. He licked his lips nervously; your breath mingled with his, your heart thumped in your chest, your noses brushed...

And then, your lips touched.

It was soft, at first, light as a feather. Your lips carefully moved against each other, testing, exploring, only slowly daring to go further. You heart was doing cartwheels in your chest as your fingers moved up his thighs and his own, big hands snuck around your waist to pull you closer. You tilted your head slightly to the side, your lips moved faster, the kiss became deeper; Remus arms were now hugging your back, pressing you as close as possible while yours were tightly wrapped around his neck, one hand entangled in his soft, thick hair. You two were clinging to each other as though you were drowning, the kiss becoming deeper and more desperate with each moment.

Only when you were in need of air did you break this kiss. But you didn’t let go of each other. Breathing heavily, you stared into each other’s eyes and then leaned forwards to rest your foreheads against each other.

Suddenly, you breathed a laugh.  “Wow.”

Remus chuckled. “Yeah. Wow.”

You grinned. “This conversation turned out better than I expected.”

A smile appeared on Remus’ face. “I must say I haven’t expected that either.”

“So... that thing that we do, that we don’t talk to each other... I take it that’s over now?” you asked, seemingly casual, but your stomach tightly knotted together.

A shadow flickered over Remus’ face.

Your fingers strocked his neck, kept him in place. “Let me help you, Remus. Please.”

But Remus let go of you. He loosened your grip around his neck and let out a deep breath as he lowered your hands, intertwining your fingers. Then, he pressed a soft kiss to your hand.

“There’s only so much you can do,” he whispered against your fingers. “But if that’s truly what you want.”

“It is,” you breathed. “I care about you, Remus. A lot. And I want to help you.”

“Why?”

You lifted your gaze. Remus was looking at you with such vulnerability in his soft eyes that it took your breath away. “Because you’re a good person, Remus. And I really, really like you. Like, my-heart-stops-beating-every-time-you-walk-by-and-I-want-to-take-you-out-for-dinner-kind of like.”

Remus let out a shaky breath. He was silent for such a long time that you began to fear you had overstepped your boundaries. But then, he said “I’d also like to take you out for dinner.”

You laughed. Your knees turned weak with relief. “That sounds like a plan,” you whispered, a smile playing at your lips, and leaned in to kiss him once more; a kiss which Remus was more than happy to return.

Turned out Remus did like you, after all.

[slightlysuspect]

Duties and Obligations

While Padme heads to Naboo, Anakin gets stuck teaching classes at the Jedi temple, despite them originally planning to leave together.

Unbelievable. Master Windu denied my leave because of some frivolous class for younglings. "You are a master now Skywalker." He said. "You have responsibilities to this order. Yoda is feeling ill, and you need to fill in. It's a lightsaber class. Should play to your strengths." Padme is giving birth soon, which I'm still a little uneasy about, but instead of being with her, I'm babysitting these kids as they play with droids?

"Good morning younglings. I am Master Anakin Skywalker. Regrettably Yoda couldn't make it today. Why don't you show me what you guys are working on?"

"We sense the droid's attacks and then block them."

"Ok good. And what form progressions are you using to block them?" No one answers this question. This is proving to be just as tedious as I feared. At least I never actually had to take this class. I was older than these kids when I joined the order. "Alright class before we begin, let's learn something new. I'm going to walk you through Shii-Cho." This seems to generate some excitement. Honestly why haven't they learned this? "Ok first you need to take your stance." I take the stance and prepare to demonstrate the progression. "You will open up offensively. It begins with strikes 8-2-1-4-3. Return to stance. Then defend 8-2-1-4-3. Straightforward enough?" Once again no one says anything. "Good. Pair up, and run through it together. One starts on offense, the other starts on defense."

Finally one of the runts says something. "Master Skywalker, you want us to swing our blades at each other? I don't think we're allowed to do that."

"What? You're all Jedi are you not?" I ask. "I'm teaching the class today, and I say you can do this. These are the most basic strikes, and you can run them at half speed. Don't worry."

I realized quickly that they SHOULD worry. Apparently 5 things is too many to remember. Time and again one of the younglings would defend the wrong way or attack from the wrong angle, resulting in near catastrophe. Fortunately their training blades can't actually cut anything.

I walk over to one of the kids who's struggling extra spectacularly and attempt to remedy his form. "Here run it by yourself. The movement needs to feel as natural as walking."

"I'm sorry Master Skywalker, I'm just no good with my right hand."

Hmmm a natural lefty. Maybe I should show him some of the stuff that I've been working on myself lately. "Here let's try a different progression that favors the left hand. I call this Sky-Wo."

Author's Note

I feel like if anyone ever reads this they'll find the basic idea of Anakin teaching a class laughable. Who knows maybe they're right. But I think he did a decent job. I mean they're all still alive so.

[sk1fanfiction]

the many faces of tom riddle, part 4

-attachment, orphanages, and yet more child psych: time to add yet another voice to the void-

FULL DISCLAIMER THAT THIS IS JUST MY OPINION OF A CHARACTER WHO DOESN’T HAVE THE STRONGEST CANON CHARACTERIZATION, AND THUS ALL THIS IS BASED ON MY CONCEPTUALIZATION.

I'm going to be super biased, because my favorite portrayal of Tom Riddle is actually Hero Fiennes-Tiffin as eleven-year-old Tom Riddle, in HBP and I get to chat about child psych in this one, sooo here we go.

First of all, I’m just so impressed that a kid could bring that much depth to such a complex character.

This is the portrayal, I feel, that brings us closest to Tom’s character. Yes, Coulson’s brought us pretty close, but by fifth year, the mask was on.

We don't really get to see Tom looking afraid very often, but it's fear that rules his life, so it's really poignant in our first (chronologically) introduction, he looks absolutely terrified.

The void being the fandom's loud opinions on a certain headmaster. I wouldn't call myself pro-Dumbledore, but I'm certainly not anti-Dumbledore, either. (Agnostic-Dumbledore??)

Since I'm not of the anti-Dumbledore persuasion, I decided to poke around in the tags and see what the arguments were, so I don't make comments out of ignorance.

Most of the tag seems to be more directed towards his treatment of Harry and Sirius, but a few people mentioned that Dumbledore should have treated Tom with ‘exceptional kindness’ and tried to ‘rehabilitate’ him.

As I said in Parts 2 and 3, I am 100% in favor of helping a traumatized kid learn to cope, and I don’t think Tom Riddle was solidly on the Path to Evil (TM) at birth, or even at eleven. Not even at fifteen.

Could unconditional love and kindness have helped Tom Riddle enough for the rise of Lord Voldemort to never happen? Possibly, but...

Yes, I'm about to drag up that Carl Jung quote, again.

“I am not what happened to me, I am what I choose to become.”

The problem with this is that if you’re going to blame Dumbledore for this, you also have to blame every other adult in Tom’s life: his headmaster, Dippet, his Head of House, Slughorn, his ‘caretakers’ at the orphanage, Mrs. Cole and Martha, and possibly more. In fact, if we're going to blame any adult, let's blame Merope for r*ping and abusing Tom Riddle Senior, and having a kid she wasn't intending to take care of.

Furthermore, you cannot possibly hold anyone but Tom accountable for the murders he committed. (I should not have to sit here and explain why cold-blooded murder is wrong.) And if you like Tom Riddle's character, insinuating that his actions are completely at the whim of others is just a bit condescending towards him. He's not an automaton or a marionette, he's a very intelligent human being with a functioning brain, and at sixteen is fully capable of moral reasoning and critical analysis.

I've heard the theories about Dumbledore setting the Potters up to die, and I'm not going to discuss their validity right now; but he didn't put a wand in Tom's hand and force him to kill anyone. Tom did it all of his own accord.

And while yes, I have enormous sympathy for what happened to Tom as a child, at some point, he decided to murder Myrtle Warren, and that is where I lose my sympathy. Experiencing trauma does not give you the right to inflict harm on others. Yes, Tom was failed, but then, he spectacularly failed himself.

We also have no idea how Dumbledore treated Tom as a student.

In the movies, it’s Dumbledore who tells Tom he has to go back to the orphanage, but in the books, it’s Dippet. We know that Slughorn spent a lot of time around Tom at Slug Club and such, yet I don’t really see people clamoring for his head.

I regard the sentiment that Dumbledore turned Tom Riddle into Lord Voldemort with a lot of skepticism.

But let's hear from the character himself -- his impression of eleven-year-old Tom Riddle.

“Did I know that I had just met the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time?” said Dumbledore. “No, I had no idea that he was to grow up to be what he is. However, I was certainly intrigued by him. I returned to Hogwarts intending to keep an eye upon him, something I should have done in any case, given that he was alone and friendless, but which, already, I felt I ought to do for others’ sake as much as his."

Now, assuming that Dumbledore's telling the truth, I'm not seeing something glaringly wrong with this. No, he hasn't pigeonholed Tom as evil, yes, I'd be intrigued, too, and it's a very good idea to keep an eye on Tom, for his own sake.

“At Hogwarts,” Dumbledore went on, “we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have — inadvertently, I am sure — been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school."

Again, it seems like he's at least somewhat sympathetic towards Tom, and is willing to at least give him a chance.

More evidence (again, assuming Dumbledore is a reliable narrator):

Harry: “Didn’t you tell them [the other professors], sir, what he’d been like when you met him at the orphanage?” Dumbledore: “No, I did not. Though he had shown no hint of remorse, it was possible that he felt sorry for how he had behaved before and was resolved to turn over a fresh leaf. I chose to give him that chance.”

Now, I think Dumbledore is pretty awful with kids, but I don't think that's malicious. Yeah, it's a flaw, but perfect people don't exist, and perfect characters are dead boring. I am not saying that he definitely handled Tom's case well, I'm just saying that there's little evidence that Dumbledore, however shaken and scandalized, wrote him off as 'evil snake boy.'

It's also worth taking into account that it's 1938, and the attitudes towards mental health back then.

Why is Tom looking at Dumbledore like that, anyway? Why is he so scared? What has he possibly been threatened with or heard whispers of?

"'Professor'?" repeated Riddle. He looked wary. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?"

"I don't believe you," said Riddle. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!"

"You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor,' yes, of course -- well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!

Tom keeps insisting he's not mad until Dumbledore finally manages to calm him down.

I'm really upset this wasn't in the movie, because it's important context. Instead we got these throwaway cutscenes of some knick-knacks relating to the Cave he's got lying around, but I just would have preferred to see him freaking out like he does in the book.

There was extreme stigma and prejudice towards mental illness.

'Lunatic asylums,' as they were called in Tom's time, were terrible places. In the 1930s and 40s, he could look forward to being 'treated' with induced convulsions, via metrazol, insulin, electroshock, and malaria injections. And if he stuck around long enough, he could even look forward to a lobotomy!

So, if you think Dumbledore was judgmental towards Tom, imagine how flat-out prejudiced whatever doctors or 'experts' Mrs. Cole might have gotten in to 'look at him' must have been!

Moving on to the next few shots, he is sitting down and hunched over as if expecting punishment or at least some kind of bad news, Dumbledore is mostly out of the frame. He’s trapped visually, by Dumbledore on one side, and a wall on the other, because he’s still very much afraid. uncomfortable, as he tells Dumbledore a secret that he fears could get him committed to an asylum (which were fucking horrible places, as I said).

It brings to the scene that miserable sense of isolation and loneliness to that has defined Tom’s entire life up to that point (and, partially due to his own bad choices, continues to define it).

And, when Dumbledore accepts it, his posture changes. he becomes more confident and more at ease, as he describes the... utilities of his magical abilities. 

"All sorts," breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to."

Riddle lifted his head. His face was transfigured: There was a wild happiness upon it, yet for some reason it did not make him better looking; on the contrary, his finely carved features seemed somehow rougher, his expression almost bestial.

I do think Harry, our narrator, is being a tad bit judgmental here. Magic is probably the only thing that brings Tom happiness in his grey, lonely world, and when I was Tom's age and being bullied, if I had magic powers, you'd better believe that I'd (a) be bloody ecstatic about it (b) use them. And, like Tom, I can't honestly say that I can't imagine getting a bit carried-away with it. Unfortunately, we can't all be as inherently good and kindhearted as Harry.

Reading HBP again, as a 'mature' person, it almost seems like the reader is being prompted to see Tom as evil just because he's got 'weird' facial expressions.

So... uh...

Nope, let's judge Tom on his actions, not looks of 'wild happiness.'

To his great surprise, however, Dumbledore drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, and gave the wand a casual flick. The wardrobe burst into flames. Riddle jumped to his feet; Harry could hardly blame him for howling in shock and rage; all his worldly possessions must be in there. But even as Riddle rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged.

Okay, one thing I dislike is Tom's lack of emotional affect when Dumbledore burned the wardrobe, in the books, he jumped up and started screaming, instead of looking passively (in shock, perhaps?) at the fire. Incidentally, I can't really tell if he's impressed or in shock, to be honest. I think they really tried to make Tom 'creepier' in the movie.

This is one of the incidents where Dumbledore's inability to deal with children crops up.

I think he was trying to teach Tom that magic can be dangerous, and he wouldn't like it to be used against him, but burning the wardrobe that contains everything he owns was a terrible move on Dumbledore's part. Tom already has very limited trust in other people, and now, he's not going to trust Dumbledore at all -- now, he's put Tom on the defensive/offensive for the rest of their interaction, and perhaps for the rest of their teacher-student relationship.

Riddle stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore; then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand. "Where can I get one of them?"

"Where do you buy spellbooks?" interrupted Riddle, who had taken the heavy money bag without thanking Dumbledore, and was now examining a fat gold Galleon.

But I'm not surprised Tom is 'greedy.' He's grown up in an environment where if he wants something, whether that's affection, food, money, toys, he's got to take it. There's no one looking after his needs specifically. I'm not surprised that he's a thief and a hoarder, and I don't think that counts as a moral failing necessarily, and more of a maladaptive way of seeking comfort. It would be bizarre if he came out of Wool's Orphanage a complete saint.

Additionally, I think given that the Gaunt family has a history of 'mental instability,' Tom is a sensitive child, and the trauma of growing up institutionalized and possibly being treated badly due to his magical abilities or personality disorder deeply affected him.

And there are points where it seems that Dumbledore is quick to judge Tom.

"He was already using magic against other people, to frighten, to punish, to control."

"Yes, indeed; a rare ability, and one supposedly connected with the Dark Arts, although as we know, there are Parselmouths among the great and the good too. In fact, his ability to speak to serpents did not make me nearly as uneasy as his obvious instincts for cruelty, secrecy, and domination."

"I trust that you also noticed that Tom Riddle was already highly self-sufficient, secretive, and, apparently, friendless?..."

And while this is all empirically true, these are (a) a product of Tom's harsh environment, and (b) do not necessarily make him evil. But the point remains that child psych didn't exist as a field of its own, and psychology as a proper science was in its infancy, so I'd be shocked if Dumbledore was insightful about Tom's situation.

But I've gone a ton of paragraphs without citing anything, so I've got to rectify that.

Let's talk about Harry Harlow's monkey experiments in the 1950-70s.

If you're not a fan of animal research, since I know some people are uncomfortable with it, feel free to scroll past.

Here's the TL;DR: Children need to be hugged and shown affection too, not just fed and clothed, please don't leave babies to 'cry out' and ignore their needs because it's backwards and fucking inhumane. HUG AND COMFORT AND CODDLE CHILDREN AND SPOIL THEM WITH AFFECTION!

I will put more red writing when the section is over.

This is still an interesting experiment to have in mind while we explore the whole 'no one taught Tom Riddle how to love' thing and whether or not it's actually a good argument.

Andddd let's go all the way back to the initial 1958 experiment, featured in Harlow's paper, the Nature of Love. (If you're familiar with Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, him and Harlow actually collaborated for a time).

To give you an idea of our starting point, until Harlow's experiment, which happened twenty years after Dumbledore meets Tom for the first time, no one in science had really been interested in studying love and affection.

"Psychologists, at least psychologists who write textbooks, not only show no interest in the origin and development of love or affection, but they seem to be unaware of its very existence."

I'm going to link some videos of Harry Harlow showing the actual experiment, which animal rights activists would probably consider 'horrifying.' It's nothing gory or anything, but if you are particularly soft-hearted (and I do not mean that as an insult), be warned. It's mostly just baby monkeys being very upset and Harlow discussing it in a callous manner. Yes, today it would be considered unethical, but it's still incredibly important work and if you think you can handle it, I would recommend watching at least the first one to get an idea of how dramatic this effect is.

Dependency when frightened

The full experiment

The TL;DW:

This experiment was conducted with rhesus macaques; they're still used in psychology/neuroscience research when you want very human-like subjects, because they are very intelligent (unnervingly so, actually). I'd say that adult ones remind me of a three-year old child.

Harlow separated newborn monkeys from their mothers, and cared for their physical needs. They had ample nutrition, bedding, warmth, et cetera. However, the researchers noticed that the monkeys:

(a) were absolutely miserable. And not just that, but although all their physical needs were taken care of, they weren't surviving well past the first few days of life. (This has also been documented in human babies, and it's called failure to thrive and I'll talk about it a bit later).

(b) showed a strong attachment to the gauze pads used to cover the floor, and decided to investigate.

So, they decided to provide a surrogate 'mother.' Two, actually. Mother #1 was basically a heated fuzzy doll that was nice for the monkeys to cuddle with. Mother #2 was the same, but not fuzzy and made of wire. Both provided milk. The result? The monkeys spent all their time cuddling and feeding from the fuzzy 'mother.' Perhaps not surprising.

What Harlow decided next, is that one of the hallmarks being attached to your caregiver is seeking hugs and reassurance from them when frightened. So, when the monkeys were presented with something scary, they'd go straight to the cloth mother and ignore the wire one. Not only that, but when placed in an unfamiliar environment, if the cloth mother was present, the monkeys would be much calmer.

In a follow-up experiment, Harlow decided to see if there was some sort of sensitive period by introducing both 'mothers' to monkeys who had been raised in isolation for 250 days. Guess what?

The initial reaction of the monkeys to the alterations was one of extreme disturbance. All the infants screamed violently and made repeated attempts to escape the cage whenever the door was opened. They kept a maximum distance from the mother surrogates and exhibited a considerable amount of rocking and crouching behavior, indicative of emotionality.

Yikes. So, at first Harlow thought that they'd passed some kind of sensitive period for socialization. But after a day or two they calmed down and started chilling out with the cloth mother like the other monkeys did. But here's a weird thing:

That the control monkeys develop affection or love for the cloth mother when she is introduced into the cage at 250 days of age cannot be questioned. There is every reason to believe, however, that this interval of delay depresses the intensity of the affectional response below that of the infant monkeys that were surrogate-mothered from birth onward

All these things... attachment, affection, love, seeking comfort ... are mostly learned behaviours.

Over.

Orphanages, institutionalized childcare, and why affection is a need, not an extra.

His face is lit the exact same was as Coulson’s was in COS (half-light, half-dark), and I said I was going to talk about this in Part 3. I think perhaps it's intended to make Fiennes-Tiffin look more evil or menacing, but I'm going to quite deliberately misinterpret it.

Now, for some context, Dumbledore has just (kind of) burned his wardrobe, ratted out his stealing habit, and (in the books only, they really took a pair of scissors to this scene) told him he needs to go apologize and return everything and Dumbledore will know if he doesn't, and, well, Tom's not exactly a happy bugger about it.

But interestingly, in the books, this is when we start to see Tom's 'persona,' aka his mask, start to come into play. Whereas before, he was screaming, howling, and generally freaking out, here, he starts to hide his emotions -- in essence, obscure his true self under a shadow. So this scene is really the reverse of Coulson's in COS.

And perhaps I'm reading wayyy too much into this, but I can't help but notice that Coulson's hair is parted opposite to Fiennes-Tiffin's, and the opposite sides of their faces are shadowed, too.

Riddle threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. "Yes, I suppose so, sir," he said finally, in an expressionless voice.

Riddle did not look remotely abashed; he was still staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. At last he said in a colorless voice, "Yes, sir."

Here's an article from The Atlantic on Romanian orphanages in the 1980s, when the dictator, Ceausescu, basically forced people to have as many children as possible and funnel them into institutionalized 'childcare', and it's absolutely heartbreaking.

There's not a whole lot of information out there on British orphanages in the 30s' and 40s', but given that people back then thought you just had to keep children on a strict schedule and feed them, it wouldn't have a whole lot better.

The only thing I've found is this, and it's not super promising.

The most important study informing the criteria for contemporary nosologies, was a study by Barbara Tizard and her colleagues of young children being raised in residential nurseries in London (Tizard, 1977). These nurseries had lower child to caregiver ratios than many previous studies of institutionalized children. Also, the children were raised in mixed aged groups and had adequate books and toys available. Nevertheless, caregivers were explicitly discouraged from forming attachments to the children in their care.

Here's a fairly recent paper that I think gives a good summary: Link

Here, they describe the responses to the Strange Situation test (which tests a child's attachment to their caregiver).

We found that 100% of the community sample received a score of “5,” indicating fully formed attachments, whereas only 3% of the infants living in institutions demonstrated fully formed attachments. The remaining 97% showed absent, incomplete, or odd and abnormal attachment behaviors.

Bowlby and Ainsworth, who did the initial study, thought that children would always attach to their caregivers, regardless of neglect or abuse. But some infants don't attach (discussed along with RAD in Part 2).

Here's a really good review paper on attachment disorders in currently or formerly institutionalized children : Link

Core features of RAD in young children include the absence of focused attachment behaviors directed towards a preferred caregiver, failure to seek and respond to comforting when distressed, reduced social and emotional reciprocity, and disturbances of emotion regulation, including reduced positive affect and unexplained fearfulness or irritability.

Which all sounds a lot like Tom in this scene. The paper also discusses neurological effects, like atypical EEG power distribution (aka brain waves), which can correlate with 'indiscriminate' behavior and poor inhibitory control; which makes sense for a kid who, oh, I don't know, hung another kid's rabbit because they were angry.

Furthermore...

...those children with more prolonged institutional rearing showed reduced amygdala discrimination and more indiscriminate behavior.

This again, makes a ton of sense for Tom's psychological profile, because the amygdala (which is part of the limbic system, which regulates emotions) plays a major role in fear, anger, anxiety, and aggression, especially with respect to learning, motivation and memory.

So, I agree completely that Tom needed a lot of help, especially given the fact that he spent eleven years in an orphanage (longer than the Bucharest study I was referring to), and Dumbledore wasn't exactly understanding of his situation, and probably didn't realise what a dramatic effect the orphanage had on Tom, and given the way he talks to Tom, probably treated him as if he were a kid who grew up in a healthy environment.

In case you are still unconvinced that hugging is that important, there's a famous 1944 study conducted on 40 newborn human infants to see what would happen if their physical needs (fed, bathed, diapers changed) were provided for with no affection. The study had to be stopped because half the babies died after four months. Affection leads to the production of hormones and boosts the immune system, which increases survival, and that is why we hug children and babies should not be in orphanages. They are supposed to be hugged, all the time. I can't find the citation right now, I'll add it later if I find it.

But I think it's vastly unrealistic to say that Dumbledore, who grew up during the Victorian Era, would have any grasp of this and I don't think he was actively malicious towards Tom.

Was Tom Riddle failed by institutional childcare? Absolutely.

Were the adults in his life oblivious to his situation? Probably.

Do the shitty things that happened to Tom excuse the murders he committed, and are they anyone's fault but his own? No. At the end of the day, Tom made all the wrong choices.

And, for what it's worth, I think (film) Dumbledore (although he expresses the same sentiment in more words in the books) wishes he could go back in time and have helped Tom.

"Draco. Years ago, I knew a boy, who made all the wrong choices. Please, let me help you."

[pitrsattabhaadmeinjaa]

She looked me in the eye.

…, she had the utter audacity to look me in the eye after what she had just done, and she drove the dagger further in my chest.

My hand fell away from her messed up hair, coming to weakly hold the dagger with her.

“Well, well, well” I choked out, “you finally snapped. What did it for you, my love?”

“Don’t call me that!” She said through gritted teeth, “you don’t get to fucking call me that!”

“Why not? Are we not together? Have I not called you my love everyday, Hana?” I stumbled back, leaning against the dresser.

“YOU MURDERED MY SISTER! YOU TORTURED MY PARENTS TILL THEIR BODIES WERE UNRECOGNISABLE, YOU BITCH!” I could see tears build up in her eyes, starting to fall.

“Oh? I did? Well I don’t particularly remember that. I remember doing that to the Boyds.” Their blood was spectacularly sweet.

Her face warped into a furious expression. “You don’t even remember killing my family?”

“Darlin’, I remember all my victims, and you, uninformed moron that you are, have just wasted a perfectly good shirt of mine.” I took a hold of the dresser and shakily sat down. “Who the fuck in their right mind gave you such false information?”

“You’re denying it? YOURE FUCKING DENYING IT?” Her eyes were now red, a snarl set on her face. “You don’t remember cutting off my sister’s limbs, or burning my parents arms? You don’t remember last month, when you were at your north house, making my family bleed? Dumping them in the river behind?” She spat.

“Ah. Last month. Well, honey,” I winced, the dagger moving in my chest, “if you had just done your paperwork on time, you would know that last month, the only time I went to my North house, was to pick up Adi’s stuff. My son, you’ve met him?”

I could see confusion enter her eyes, starting to believe me.

“The documents are on my nightstand, if you wanna check, feel a little bit of regret, and overall regret your idiocy.”

Hana narrowed her eyes at me, but still went to check.

She opened the file, began to look through it, and then-

Ah, there it was. The aching feeling of regret, the heartbreak.

She turned to me, pressed a hand to her mouth, more tears rolling down her cheeks. Her hand holding the file went slack, all the papers falling out and being disorganised.

“I know that this is an emotional moment for you, discovering that you just stabbed your girlfriend through the chest for nothing, and that you’re gonna hate yourself forever now, but did you have to fucking drop the file?” I asked, my head turned to her, one eyebrow quirking.

She dropped to her knees, scrambling to get to me, her hands hovering over my chest.

She, again, had the fucking audacity to look her betraying eyes into mine.

“I- Gods, fuck, shit, FUCK, what have I done?” She cried out. “I’m sorry, I’m so- I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry babe, fuck, oh my god.”

“Well, for starters, you, my dear, have just sentenced me to death. Stabbed me through the chest, so I’ll either die slowly if this stays inside me, or bleed out early if you could kindly take your dagger out.” I forced out. “I would much rather prefer I didn’t die suffering.”

She sobbed harder at that.

“And if you could get my son over from his room, so I can see him one last time, that would be great too.” Adi was the only reason I was sad about leaving. He was the light of my life. My precious, amazing son.

Hana would’ve been the second reason, but, well, we all know how that’s going.

She just kept sobbing and apologising. I sighed, I had to everything myself. A woman can’t die in peace, can she?

I grunted, shifting a bit to pick my phone up from where it had fallen, back when my beloved shoved a blade in my chest. I pressed the power button three times, knowing he’ll know to rush up to my room.

The door banged open, Adi standing there, panting, eyes immediately finding me, the dagger in my chest and the blood seeping out.

His eyes widened, he fell to his knees before me and his arms came around me from the side. “Mom! Oh my gods, mom! Mom, stay with me, stay with me!”

“Hi, baby.” I caressed his cheek with one hand, shaking, “I love you so much, you know that right? You’re-”

“No! No, shut up, you will not do that, this is not fucking goodbye mom!” He cut me off and quickly called the medics.

“Who did this to you? Who did this?” His tear-filled eyes, overcomed with rage, staring holes into mine.

I could feel the darkness trying to take over now.

“My girlfriend is a traitor. But Adi, listen to me- No! Listen to me!” I exclaimed when he opened his mouth and turned his wrath-filled eyes to her. “I am so proud of you. So, so proud. And you are going to be a fantastic leader. You are. I will always love you, kay?”

He sobbed harder at this. “Mom please don’t leave me, please, I can’t do this without you, I can’t, please Momma.” He buried his face in my hair at that.

I pulled his face back, looked him in the eyes. “Bye, Aditya. I love you so much, meri jaan.” I smiled softly.

“Head up?” I asked, one final time.

“Shoulders straight, Ma.” He kissed my forehead gently. “I love you so much too”

I let the dark take over.

[gossip-girl-of-middleearth]

I feel so isolated because where I lived before I never had any trouble creating a community for myself but I've found it nearly impossible here because the culture is so different that every attempt I've made has just failed spectacularly and now I'm leaving in 2-3 years so like what's the point of making friends?? I moved around a lot when I was younger and I know first-hand that you say you'll keep in touch but you never do so?????

Also, my therapist asked me to point out ways in which I'm like my peers and I had no fucking clue, like... we're near in age? We sometimes listen to similar music? Lots of people read books? And my mom told me to think about this girl that I knew 2 years ago and I'm like mom I barely remember her name, how am I supposed to remember the things we had in common. I remember we both liked musicals and as far as I know, that's the only thing we had in common.

My cousin keeps asking me if I think being queer is a sin and where I draw the line between sinning and not sinning and it's like bitch I don't even know if I believe in god gimme some space

Everything about going and visiting Aidan is so difficult because he lives so far away and I'm probably traveling with my mom instead of my cousin which means I will see him, but I won't be able to kiss him and I'm bitter

My teacher (I'm in a charter school, so I just have one teacher that helps me get materials and courses and regularly checks in but I do the work by myself) is leaving because the charter school I'm in has implemented so many changes that she can't stay and keep her sanity and I'm so glad she's doing what she needs to take care of herself but this woman has been my rock for the last three and a half years and we were in the home stretch and I feel a little abandoned.

also, math is breaking my brain but I have midterms at a later date so like. I have to figure it out.

On a good note, I got a 92% (I think that's an A? Might be a B because the american grading system is fucked and also very confusing) on my comp 1 midterm so I'm just hanging onto that with everything I've got

Sometimes there are stages in life where we’re just primarily alone, and that’s okay! It’s good to have opportunities to learn to be comfortable with ourselves. It allows us to get to know ourselves better, thus letting us be sure of who we are and what we want out of relationships; romantic, familial or platonic.

I’ve gone days without speaking before, because I simply had no one to talk to. Just me and my thoughts. Learnt a lot!

And sometimes, people we do talk to make us feel like never communicating again. Your cousin is intrusive and sucks. Sorry to say.

I call stages of life like these “growing pains”. We’re ready to move on, and all these things that accompany said change can hurt and ache and annoy us. Hence, “growing pains”.

Not being able to enjoy your privacy with Aidan is simply a growing pain. You’ll have your privacy one day; you’re both simply just in that uncomfortable phase of change where things are heading in the right direction, but are doing so at an annoyingly frustrating pace — definitely been there before. Heck, I’m there again right now waiting on the day next year I can move to Middle-earth New Zealand! Rest assured, you’ll both get there one day!

The fact that you’re still at school and striving for good grades means you’ve already graduated! It’s a mentality thing. Just keep on your current path, and it’ll see you through to where you want to be!

Whether that’s at college enjoying your freedom and privacy or after doesn’t matter! Just know it’ll happen one day. But for now you’re right where you need to be, and it may ache and annoy you now, but trust the process!

Good luck to both you and Aidan!!

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

there is something your writing makes me feel that no other fics do and i cannot put it into words but it is incredible. i don’t know how ti explain but you’re able to establish such a loving. sweet. calm. peaceful feeling. in the words that you use and i UGHHBDBDNDSN you really have a talent. and i love how you write marc

also i love rare hearts but haven’t heard it in a while so i went back for a relisten and i’d like to thank you for that

Bestie I don't even know what to say to this. It literally brought tears to my eyes when I read your message.

I have been writing for various Marvel characters for about a year and a half now, but I deactivated a couple of months ago for various reasons. I wasn't really sure if I was going to get back into writing but looking back on it now, one of the biggest struggles for me, right before I ended my old blog was that I kept repeating to myself 'show don't tell'.

I was such a huge stickler for that, that even when I wanted to be like 'he was jealous, his eyes were flaring' or something along the lines of that, I'd thought I'd have to write a flashback with fleshed out dialogue that fit into the story's plot to show how that character would get jealous and vaguely imply it when I got back to the main plot.

That for me was extremely suffocating. I would want to write a simple 1k and then I'd be neck deep in 12k with no end in sight.

Then everything really changed.

Idk if you can tell, but I am obsessed with the Sally Rooney extended universe (lol). During my little break I got the chance to read Normal People and Conversations with Friends as well as watch both of their Hulu series. What amazed me with Sally Rooney was how 'telling not showing' her writing was, and how well it worked for her. Her writing extremely moved me when I was reading it, so when I started writing again, I tried to let go of that hard rule I kept for myself.

Not to get too much into the beef I have with the MCU, I also think that I had hit a bit of a creative dead end with the characters I was writing for. The MCU had taken their characterisations in ways I didn't identify with, and that left me little to no creative foundations to draw form, having already exhausted some of their earlier content.

But Moon Knight really kinda just took over my world the way the other movies and shows didn't. It was spectacularly executed, and really rooted in reality.

Besides that, Marc just speaks to me on another level, Steven too. The struggle that Marc went through, the way it's portrayed on the show, and Oscar Isacc's specatcular acting really was the whole deal. I guess my writing stemmed from the violent need I had to hug him in Episode 5.

So, to put it mildly, it's not just me, it's this heaping spoonful of top-tier quality content I've consumed in the past few months, as well as the fact that I've stopped policing what I write so much.

I love you, nonnie, you're the absolute sweetest for telling me this, I really just want to melt into the ground. Sorry if this wasn't the answer you were really looking for.