#I cannot express how loved and comforted and safe I felt hearing my parents sing:

[rights-for-redshirts]

So viel meine Kindheit mir nicht gut getan hat - meine Eltern haben mir, als ich klein war, "will [mich] der Feind verschlingen, so lass die Engel singen: dies Kind soll unverletzet sein" und es war das Tröstlichste ever

[takafritzz]

Hey I read your rules and I wanted to ask if you could write some Shoji X very talkative and bubbly gf who sings 24/7 if you don't mind. Would be nice! Cya :>

hihi!! thank you so much for your request! i'm so excited to write for shoji, cause he's just so adorable. anyway, i'm so sorry i took so long with your request! (reminder that requests are still open). i love you; stay safe + drink water!! <3

Mezō Shōji With a Very Bubbly GF Who Sings!

Honestly, so many people will probably argue with me, but I can fight, so here goes nothing: Mezō probably adores having an extroverted, bubbly girlfriend who can't stop talking. There. I said what I said.

What with him being such an introvert who only ever speaks when necessary, having an extroverted s/o really helps him out.

You often find yourself ordering for him - which confuses many strangers around you - or speaking on his behalf if he's feeling especially shy.

Wait, but ordering for this boy is so cute oh my god. Just imagine standing in the queue, waiting for your turn to put in your order. Right before you reach the front, your sweet, huge boyfriend leans all the way down to your ear and tentatively whispers an innocent:

"Could you please order for me, love?" he starts twiddling gingerly with your fingers, careful not to hurt you.

"Of course, Mezō," you smile gently at him, reassuring him that it's okay for him to ask these things from you. He smiles back (or, you detect the smile from his eyes) with a soft blush, and that's enough to show you just how grateful he is to have you as his girlfriend.

Everyone's giving you either cute or weird stares, cause you can only imagine how it looks with this giant of a boy looming behind you with two of his large hands placed on your shoulders as you order your food with a bright grin plastered on your face. The contrast is evident wherever you go.

Also, let it be known that Mezō absolutely lives for your singing voice. If you're just walking around, singing or humming while minding your own business, expect to be followed around by him.

Every time he hears you singing, he likes to close his eyes and relish in the sound of your voice. He finds you so perfect and beautiful in every single way, and this is no exception.

When you two are cuddling - you know, you curled up on his lap, palm resting on his chest above his heart so you can feel each beat. Him cradling you to his torso, ever so slightly rocking you, almost lulling the both of you to sleep. His nose nuzzled in your hair, a kiss planted every now and then. His hands holding you close, keeping you warm and occasionally twirling a stray strand of hair around his index finger. You know.

Anyway! When you two are cuddling, sometimes he'll ask you to sing to him if he's a bit sleepy or feeling soft or whatever it is. Give him what his lil heart wants.

Most of the time when you do sing to him while you're cuddling, he'll fall asleep to the feeling of your soft voice vibrating against his chest. Plus, your voice soothes him better than anything else can.

Since you're real chatty, you've helped him develop his listening skills a whole lot. You know that thing that's like 'talks a lot' and 'listens'? Yeah, that's you and Mezō.

You've basically become the cutest couple of 1-A, cause everyone finds your interactions super sweet. You're always making jokes or telling him all about the latest thing on your mind, and he's always there, listening with eager eyes and nodding along to everything you say. He's just so mesmerised by you.

He was a bit apprehensive about taking off his mask in front of you for the first time, since he knew you were an excitable person, so he wasn't sure how you'd react. When he did for the first time, it was such a personal moment that brought the two of you much closer to each other.

It happened about two weeks after you started dating, and after much asking and pestering on your end. Until then, you had been showering him with kisses only on his cheeks, hands, forehead and wherever else you could find.

You still made sure to tell him that it was important that he felt comfortable when he eventually decided to show you his face. And he did. But his flushed face told you otherwise.

He reluctantly peeled his mask off, pupils glancing off to the side in an effort to avoid eye contact. Once it was hanging around his neck, your eyes widened for a few moments, taking in how utterly pretty he was to you. You scanned his face with awe, taking in the beauty of each of his features in full now that you could see all of him. He was - and this is an understatement - gorgeous to you.

He loves you so so much. Mezō would literally never trade you for anyone in the world, and it shows.

He was very excited when you first met his parents, and it went really well, actually. They liked you and found your personality beneficial to Mezō coming out of his shell.

He takes you on the nicest little dates. Summer carnivals, flowery gardens, scenic parks and for special occasions: candlelit dinners at your favourite restaurant(s).

He brings you flowers regularly to show his appreciation and love for you, because he knows that he probably doesn't express himself as much as he would like to, and you're constantly voicing the fact that you care for him a lot.

Anyway, Mezō love love loves you to a degree which I cannot type up. So, yeah, you two are perfect for each other and never change the way you are cause he would never if he got the choice.

Lots (and I mean LOTS) of movie nights. It's the perfect date for you, really. You get to talk and talk about how much you're enjoying the movie and how great the characters and plot are, and he gets to fall in love with you even more while watching a cool production. Everyone wins!!

Nicknames he would call you include: love, sweetheart, angel. This guy loves you to a fault.

thanks for reading!! likes + reblogs appreciated. have a good day! <3

[seven-homosexual-dinosaurs]

Don’t let me go

Chapter 4: her story

Chapter 3  Chapter 2  Chapter 1

TW: kidnapping, swearing

“You okay?”

Cathy paced back and forth before the fire the two had made as they set up camp. Crow watched her with varying levels of concern and amusement, though it appeared her curiosity had gotten the better of her. Cathy paused her pacing, flapping her arms anxiously.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine,”

Crow’s eyebrows raised apprehensively.

“Sure. And I’m a dolphin.”

Cathy groaned in exasperation, throwing her hands in the air.

“It’s just- it’s been a while since I’ve seen my godmother. I’m a bit nervous,”

Crow sat up a bit straighter, turning to Cathy.

“So how’d you actually end up in the facility?”

Cathy shrank down, hunching her shoulders awkwardly. Realizing her mistake, crow hurriedly corrected herself.

“You don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable! It’s just, if you ever need to get that off your chest, I’ll be here,”

Crow finished off with a gentle smile, and Cathy inhaled shakily.

“No, it’s okay. I probably need to talk about it anyways,”

“When I was little, my parents died and I went to live with my godmother. She wasn’t very old, certainly not old enough to take care of a child, but she didn’t want me to end up on the streets. She said I’d be safe with her, that she’d make sure nothing happened to me,” Cathy spoke with a faraway look in her eyes, as if recalling a better time.

“Well we all know how that went,” Cathy gave a hollow laugh at that, wiping the wetness from her eyes.

“One time, we were out in the market, looking for I think carrots? And this man comes up the her and starts talking. While they were talking, a different guy came out of nowhere and grabbed me. I tried calling for help, but he hit me over the head and I fell unconscious. Next thing I know, I wake up in this weird cell in a weird place across the room from a weird girl. And I guess you know the rest,

As she finished her story, Cathy eyed crow curiously. “And what about you?”

Crow startled, taken aback by the sudden question.

“I-uh,”

Cathy blinked, realizing dawning over her.

“Shit, sorry! I forgot you can’t remember,”

Crow nodded, suddenly finding the ground quite interesting. Was it wrong she couldn’t remember? Should she apologize for forgetting?

Perhaps sensing her thoughts, Cathy spoke up.

“It’s okay that you don’t remember you know, nothing wrong with forgetting,”

Crow nodded, not trusting her voice to form proper words. Silently, Cathy plopped herself down next to crow, laying her head on crow’s shoulder. The two sat there in the quiet cover of the night for what could have been a thousand years as the two drifted off to sleep, comforted by the knowledge they weren’t alone.

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

“Cath, you sure you’re ready for this? I can practically feel the anxiety rolling off you,”

It had been two days since their conversation near the campfire, and according to Cathy they were nearing their destination. As time went on, Cathy’s anxiety grew, getting stronger and stronger as they grew closer and closer. Now barely two hours away, Cathy appeared to be reaching her breaking point. At crow’s concern, Cathy stopped walking, biting her lip anxiously.

“It’s fine, it’s just- what if she thinks I ran away? What if she doesn’t recognize me? What if she moved away and she doesn’t even live there anymore? What if-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay!” Crow stopped, turning to face Cathy.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine! Chances are, she’ll just be happy to see you! I know I would be,” The last part was said in a whisper, a murmured truth crow would never admit to admitting.

“What was that last part?”

“Nothing!”

Cathy eyed her doubtfully. “Alright... you’re probably right. I’m just overthinking again,”

Her voice lacked conviction or certainty. Unsure of how to comfort her distraught friend(?), crow grabbed Cathy’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Cathy’s eyes met hers as crow gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Hey, even if things go to shit, at least we got each other, right?”

Cathy smiled at her fondly.

“You’re right. We stick together,”

Crow pretended not to hear the uncertainty in her voice.

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

Just as the sun began to set, the two came across a quaint town, echoing with laughter and singing. A look in Cathy’s direction told crow all she needed to know about their location.

Looking around, crow decided she liked this town better than Shidgherd. For one thing, the people seemed friendlier. Wherever she looked, she’d see people smiling and laughing, a sense of joy filling the air. It was much less crowded as well, which was definitely a relief for crow. Wordlessly, Cathy led them through the masses as if she’d done so hundreds of times before (Though crow supposed she had). Stopping before a small, worn down cottage, Cathy froze.

“Nope. No, can’t do this. Nope!” Turning away from the cottage, Cathy glared at crow as she blocked her exit. 

“What gives?”

Crow sighed, running her hand through her hair. “Come on, just knock on the damn door!”

Cathy shook her head rapidly, stepping away from crow. 

“No, I think I’ll pass,”

“Come on, just go talk to her!”

“No, I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t!”

“Why not?!”

“BECAUSE I HURT HER!”

Silence followed her outburst. Rubbing her eyes furiously, Cathy turned away from crow.

“Look, you don’t know her like I do, okay? She may not act like it, but Lina’s one of the most overprotective people you’ll ever meet,”

Crow wordlessly waited for Cathy to elaborate. Turning to look at her, Cathy sighed, a sad smile on her face.

“She’d never taken care of a kid before, so she was always extra careful with me. She’d tell me: “Even when you’re old and wrinkly, you’ll always be my baby Cath,”. She was trying so hard to take care of me but I-”

Cathy hiccupped, wiping the tears from her face.

“I just had to go get myself kidnaped! And knowing Lina, she ran herself ragged trying to find me, except she never did, ‘cause I was stuck in the fucking facility! And now, she’s probably lost, like, twenty years of her life due to stress, all because I just had to get kidnaped!”

Cathy breathed heavily, thick tears running down her face as she struggled to keep her composure. Wordlessly, crow stepped forwards, wrapping her arms around the taller girl firmly. Cathy froze before melting into the embrace, heaving sobs wracking her body. As the two stood there, suspended in time, crow spoke up.

“Look, I know facing her might be hard- actually never mind I’m supremely unqualified to deal with this- but even I know stalling isn’t going to do anything. If Lina’s anything like you sad, she’ll probably just be relieved to know you’re alive. It might not be easy, but I think- and this is just my opinion- you should probably face her,”

Sniffling, Cathy dug her face into crow’s neck. 

“I-I know I have to face her, but, hic, could we just wait a bit?”

Crow hummed, gently rubbing her back.

“Of course love, take all the time you need. Just as long as it’s not, like, more than forty-eight hours. You may be a good hugger, but I cannot just chill here for two days,”

 Cathy gave a watery laugh (crow felt the strange warmth blooming in her chest once more) and nodded, still shaking slightly. As the two stood together, crow couldn’t help but feel everything was gonna be alright.

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

“Cath, you good? You’ve just been standing there for, like, ten minutes,”

the two stood before the wooden door, Cathy’s hand raised and ready to knock. Cathy looked to the door a blank expression plastered on her face. Turning to crow, her mouth opened, no words came out. Gesturing to the door, crow spoke up.

“Look, I know I said take all the time you need, but can we hurry it up a bit? I’m on a bit of a schedule,”

Cathy snorted, swatting crow’s arm playfully. 

“Shut up!”

Turning back to the door, Cathy inhaled deeply.

And knocked.

[btsthlm]

Magical Garden—Chapter III

> genre: kingdom au, kind of enemies to lovers? fluff, comedy, angst, romance, fantasy

> pairing: crownprince!yoongi x crownprincess!reader

> warnings: fluffffff, some angst.

> wordcount: 1.4k

> authors note: hello!! I am so sorry for this late ass update but i had somethings to deal with, i hope you all forgive me! I am also clueless on how to do a masterlist so until i can figure it out, you can find this au by searching “magical garden” as well as the number of the chapter. enjoy this chapter and please feel free to give my any kind of feedback, i really appreciate it. thank you so much! have a nice weekend lovelies!

........................................................................................................................................................

Banging on the door made you wake up in a very rough manner. Slightly dazed and confused you tried to recall memories from what have happened, though it did not take much time before you sighed. The sunlight peeking through the windows, the birds singing a beautiful melody made you smile despite. A voice from the door was heard. “I’m very sorry Princess but the King has requested you joining breakfast with him and Prince Yoongi. Are you awake?” You had met the King of Begonia many times and he was not a unfamiliar face, no it was the opposite. The King was many of the few whom you trusted with your whole heart. This however, it made you anxious. But you realized where this bubbling and ugly feeling came from. Were you ready to face the harsh reality? Here was a crownprincess in another kingdom. Why? Her own kingdom was taken over by her own people. Not only was her mother and father killed, but a part of her died as well. Were you ready to face the problems? Nevertheless it just made you anxious. You did not know what to feel and it made you uneasy. The voice was looking for you but all these thoughts were blocking you from functioning.

“Princess can I come in or are you sleeping?” Another voice said. This time however your daydreaming stopped abruptly. “No, it is okay, you can come in” you said as you pulled the covers away from you and stood up. Though you and Prince Yoongi were childhood friends and both royalties, you still had respect for him. He was two years older than you and your parents had always been on you ever since you were a child about royalties and ranks when it came to age, so you automatically functioned. Much alike a robot.

The door opened and once again you were face to face with the person whom had been apart of you being saved. Even though your father had taught you that in every fight, you will always be your own saviour despite helping arms, you could not be more thankful to be in Begonia. You needed to give the guards a hug later honestly.

Yoongi nodded to you and walked over to the window to look outside. “I am assuming you had a good sleep Princess” he said while observing the far forest. If you looked closely, you could see the towers of your own kingdom. Your heart clenched. “I had a very good sleep, thank you Prince Yoongi” you answered while looking at his back. He chuckled.

“You do realize that we are both royalties, no need for the Prince before saying my name Princess”. Rolling your eyes you knew he was just messing around with you. Knowing Yoongi, you knew he was very punctional and loved structure. Not only did he love punctionality and structure, but later on in life when he was King, getting used to the formality was very important. Even til this day, hearing “Princess” before your name was weird and for a King or Queen to feel like that was not much fun. This was every day life. You cannot simply run away from it. Thus, even for “royalties”, this was important. Also you not mentioning the “Prince” before his name would just mean more material for him to use and pick on you. Not that it was severe picking to the point that it would hurt your feelings, it was mutual. You and Yoongi had a bit of a “love” and “hate” relationship. I mean, really sometimes you just wanted to make him into a pancake and eat him, but that would not be possible. We never crossed the lines to where it would hurt any of us, it was just our humor.

The room started to feel stuffy somehow and your breathing was getting caught up in your chest. You needed some fresh air. “As if you wouldn’t throw me out of that window if I actually did you idiot” you replied as you walked over to him to look out of the window. Once again he chuckled. “Oh, you would have been way out of that window, trust me”. You laughed and hit his back playfully. Feeling a breeze coming, you closed your eyes. The floral smell was still ingrained in the wind. Your breathing slowed and for a second everything seemed alright. Yoongi glanced down on you and felt his heart tense up. Of course he would be sad about this whole situation.

You may annoy him to death sometimes, but you are still a very important person in his life. You have always been. No matter where fate might bring you, he has always thought of you highly. Yoongi may not say or act like his thoughts, but that is what he felt. You knew of course. Everyone always looked on Yoongi and would describe him as cold and distant to everyone, but that was not it. He just had trouble expressing himself and would express himself in other ways, and that is completely fine. Everyone does it differently, just because you express yourself in one way does not mean the other way is wrong. Yoongi, to you was someone that you also looked highly of. He was such a loving, caring and understanding human being. He was so selfless and could swim oceans to help others.

Yoongi’s stomach rumbling made you open his eyes and look at him as if he just killed a cat. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked on you. “What? I am hungry and I was supposed to take you for breakfast with my father, not to be sightseeing”. Sighing you hummed and looked down on your feet before realizing that you needed to change. There was absolutely no way you would greet the King looking like this. Yoongi noticed you clenching silky fabric of your dress between your fingers before taking your hand in his.

“Do not worry Princess, I had some of my personnel to get you some dresses for different occasions. They also bought anything else you may need. This room is officially yours, do whatever you’d like with it.” For some reason this made you teary eyed. Why? You had no idea. It was just finally hitting you, your home was gone. This did not go unnoticed either and soon you felt warmth caress your cheeks.

“Princess, my kingdom and I will do everything in our power to get your kingdom back again. Camellia will be rescued as soon as we know what have happened over there. For the mean time, you know that this castle has been and will forever be a second home for you. Never feel like an intruder.” He sighed before he continued. “I am so sorry about what happened with your parents and I would have done anything to help you save them”. Hearing him say those words officially broke you. Sobbing before throwing your arms around Yoongi and taking him by surprise, it did not even take seconds before he also had his arms around you and swaying you in a comforting manner. He let you cry for a bit before hushing you and used the sleeve of his silky shirt to dry your tears.

He lead you to the bed and made you sit down on it. Opening the closet he looked through before finding a white cream colored summer dress and some flats before throwing them on you. “Hey, be careful” you said as one of the flats hit your head. He laughed a bit to himself. “Okay listen Princess, you have other personal stuff in the closet and in your vanity you have makeup and what not if you want to use, feel free to take a shower and then tell the guard outside to take you to the garden, we are having breakfast there.” Yoongi said as he pointed at the furniture mentioned. You were very much glaring at Yoongi, but the mentioning of the garden made you instantly smile.

“I have to go before I get executed by these looks you have been giving me” He said as he walked over to the door and picking up a velvety box that had been neatly put upon a beautiful stand. You nodded and put the clothes on the bed. “Before I forget, your crowns along with other important jewelry’s were safely taken out of the castle. Your crown is here, put it on before you come out.” This made you a bit happier and relieved. The crowns meant so much to you. Before Yoongi had the chance to go, you called for his name. He turned around and looked at you. “Thank you so much for everything”. He smiled before nodding and heading out.

[losingmymindtonight]

(inspired by a conversation with @parkrstark, who I adore and who is always willing to scream about irondad with me)

“Mister Stark?”

Tony’s head snaps up at the voice. The voice that belongs to a boy who was supposed to be asleep.

“Peter? What are you doing up?”

“I, uh...”

The first thing Tony notices is that the kid’s entire body is trembling. His hair is sticking up awkwardly and the billionaire can see where tear tracks have stained his cheeks. He’s off of the piano bench in an instant, moving to comb his fingers through Peter’s curls and tug at his shirt until it sits properly on his shoulders again.

He drops his voice into the soothing tone that never fails with the kid as he cups the side of his neck, tracing a thumb over the underside of his chin. “What’s wrong, buddy?”

Peter’s words are barely a mumble. There is shame there, and Tony wants nothing more than to snuff it out. “Nightmare.”

Oh, Peter.

The kid hadn’t been sleeping, well, at all, since Thanos. Tony knew that it would be sort of hypocritical to blame him. After all, every time he closed his eyes, Peter’s death danced in front of him like some kind of sick puppetshow. He couldn’t outrun it. He couldn’t repress it. It was as if even the deepest, darkest corners of his psyche kept vomiting the memories back up.

And Peter remembered. He remembered how it felt to have his body crumble into ash. He remembered how his spider senses had clawed at his lungs and how his accelerated healing had tried futilely to piece him back together. He remembered the after, too. The all-consuming darkness. The silence. The absence of anything at all.

These were the things he’d told Tony in between the nightmares. These were the things he couldn’t talk about when the sun was up.

Tony and May had been working vigorously on different methods to coax Peter into a much-needed full night of sleep. They’d learned that the teenager could usually get some rest if one of them stayed up with him, so they were trading the kid back and forth so both of them (mainly May, since Tony didn’t really sleep anyway) could get some rest in between their “Peter shifts.”

(“It’s co-parenting,” May had said, a tint of a laugh on her lips, “next thing you know, we’ll be going to PTA meetings together. I hope you’ve got an outfit picked out for his graduation, Stark.”

He did, by the way. Complete with a custom tie in Midtown colors.)

Tonight, Tony had slipped out of Peter’s room a couple of hours after the kid had finally passed out. He’d really hoped that the poor teenager might actually get a dreamless, uninterrupted sleep for once.

Evidently not.

“I-I was there, again. And-and you were trying to hold me together but you couldn’t and I just-”

The kid chokes off on a sob, wiping his nose on the sleeve of one of Tony’s SI sweatshirts that he’s taken to stealing. The older man shushes him gently and rubs the pads of his fingers against the nape of his neck.

“It’s over. I put you back together, remember? You’re okay.” Peter gives a half-hearted nod, eyes still stormy with the imprint of the memories, and Tony makes a split-second decision. “C’mere, kiddo. I wanna show you something.”

Curiosity lights up like lightning amidst the clouds in Peter’s eyes as his mentor leads him towards the piano. “What is it?”

Tony sits at the bench and tugs the teenager down beside him. “This was my mom’s.”

Peter starts. Tony doesn’t talk much about his parents, so it’s always momentous when he does. “Oh.”

The billionaire runs his fingers over the keys reverently. They feel right under his touch. If he really listens, he can almost hear his mother’s quiet hum. “She taught me how to play.”

“She did?”

“Yep.” He grips Peter’s shoulder and guides him down until he’s sprawled across the bench with his head pillowed in his mentor’s lap. “She used to play for me when I was sad or sick.”

Peter shifts so he can gaze up at Tony with a lazy smile. “Are you gonna play for me?”

“I am.” He brushes his fingertips over the kid’s forehead before moving both hands into the proper position on the keys. “And this is a special, secret performance just for you. So don’t tell anyone I can play, alright?”

The kid muffles a yawn against Tony’s stomach, and the older man can’t stop the fond expression that falls over his face. “Sure.”

“Good.” He starts off with a few scales to warm up before melting into one of the lullabies his mother used to play for him during really bad thunderstorms. He hums along gently, half focusing on the song and half focusing on the head resting against his thighs.

His plan was working. It only takes five minutes for Peter’s eyes to droop and the tension to melt away from his muscles. He’s gazing up at Tony, pupils shifting drowsily between his mentor’s face and hands.

The first song finishes, and the kid blinks slowly. “Mmm. Liked that one.”

Tony reaches down to retrieve Peter’s arm, which had slipped off the bench and was hanging with the knuckles scraping the floor, and drape it carefully over his stomach. “Yeah? Want another?”

The kid’s eyes slip shut. “Please.”

Tony lets his fingers play the next tune that’s in his muscle memory. Peter’s lips part and his head lolls slightly as he finally drifts off. The billionaire’s stomach swoops with pure affection as the kid unconsciously tangles his fingers into the hem of his t-shirt and nuzzles into his jeans.

I’m dedicating every day to you...

The lyric pops into his head unbidden. Before Thanos, Peter had been beyond obsessed with Hamilton, and Tony had ended up learning most of the songs simply through exposure. The only one he’d ever listened to by choice was Dear Theodosia.

Because, well, it reminded him of a certain Spider-kid.

That admission would have been impossible to acknowledge, even internally, before. But after having nearly lost Peter forever, Tony found it a lot easier to accept his love for the kid as a fact rather than push it away.

He’d printed off the sheet music and taught himself the song while Peter was… gone. He could still remember the way his hands fumbled on every other note as silent sobs tore through his chest.

His fingers found the keys again easily, and he took a brief second to be thankful for his eidetic memory as the lyrics and sheet music settled comfortable at the forefront of his mind.

He sang along softly, hoping that his voice might help soothe Peter into a peaceful, Thanos-free sleep.

Please, he thought, please just let him sleep.

“When you smile, you knock me out, I fall apart,” he’s a little surprised to find his voice thick with emotion as he murmurs the lyrics, “and I thought I was so smart.”

He glances down at Peter. He suddenly hates the fact that the song requires both his hands, because something inside him itches to tuck that errant curl back behind the kid’s ear.

“We’ll bleed and fight for you, we’ll make it right for you.”

I bled for him. I fought for him. I made it right again. I made it all right again.

“Oh Peter, when you smile I am undone, my son.” He swallows hard as the kid’s mouth twitches at the sound of his name. His next words come out so choked that it can barely even count as singing. “Look at my son…”

My kid. My son.

Peter.

He stops for a second, hands poised over the keys and eyes trained Peter’s peaceful face. He looks at the kid. Really, really looks at him. It’s a kind of scrutiny that would make the teenager blush and squirm if he were awake, but Tony can’t help it. His eyelashes are dark against his cheeks and there is something so overwhelmingly youthful about the kid that it steals his breath straight out of his lungs.

He would kill for this kid. He has killed for this kid. And he would do it over and over and over again without even a single ounce of regret.

When he starts the song again, his hands shake slightly with the vastness of it all. The emotions are swelling up in his stomach, a tangle of feeling that he cannot pull apart. Love, protectiveness, attachment, fear. They collide and crash and fill his body with so much weight that he wonders if he will be crushed by it. Can someone truly feel this much without being swept away?

“Pride is not the word I’m looking for… there is so much more inside me now.” The melody falters as he clenches his hands into fists before plowing forward. “Peter, you outshine the morning sun… my son.”

He wonders, suddenly, if Peter knows. Has Tony ever told him that he loved him? He doesn’t think so. Even when he’d come back from the literal dead, the billionaire hadn’t actually given voice to why he had torn apart the universe just for him.

I should tell him, he thinks, when he wakes up, I need to tell him.

“My father wasn’t around,” he thinks of Howard. He thinks of the whiskey on his breath and the reprimands on his tongue. He thinks of the whistle of a belt and the shattering of glass. He thinks about that fact that Peter will never know these things, “I swear that I’ll be around for you.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.” I tore the universare apart to bring you home, and I’d do it again if that’s what it took. ““I’ll make a million mistakes.” I let you die. I let you die and I didn’t even comfort you. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. “I’ll make the world safe and sound for you.”

I promise, Peter. I’ll leave something better for you. I would take this shitty world and turn it into gold if I could.

Hell, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

“And you’ll blow us all away, someday, someday,” Tony watches the kid’s eyelids flutter and feels a tender warmth swell up from his chest and fuzz through his hands, “yeah, you’ll blow us all away.”

Tony takes a deep breath as the notes fade into oblivion. One hand settles in Peter’s soft curls while the other checks his pulse, which is thudding strong with life but slow with sleep. The kid’s fidgeting has stilled, which usually means that he’s well and truly out.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” His voice is barely a whisper. “How’s he looking?”

His AI matches his volume. In fact, her answer is spoken so softly that he has to strain to hear it. “Mister Parker’s vitals are all normal. His brain waves indicate that he is in Stage 4 sleep. If you plan to move him to a more comfortable location, I suggest you do so in the next ten minutes before he reaches REM sleep.”

Tony wipes a bit of drool from Peter’s open mouth with the hem of his shirt. The kid sleeps soundly.

He knows that this is just one of many sleepless nights ahead. He knows that what Peter went through, what they all went through, cannot be healed by a Hamilton song and his mom’s old piano.

But, hell, it’s a start.

And, for now, that’s all they need.

[mininky]

Heavy Lies the Crown - 3

Summary: (Y/N) has the fate of her people on her shoulders and according to a seer, the only way to save her kingdom from the bloodthirsty wolves is by giving herself to the god of the hunt.

Pairing: werewolf!Namjoon x reader

Warnings: none in this other than threats of bodily harm

word count: 4.2K

Prologue Chapter one two three four

   You were seated next to Namjoon at Jin's crowded kitchen table in an awkward silence after being introduced to the six others. The warm crackling fire and flickering candles cast long shadows around them the longer you all sat there, almost daring the first person to break the quiet. You weren't sure if you were supposed to speak first as the younger boys seemed like they were eager to speak but facing the same internal dilemmas. Finally, you took a long swig of the beer that Jin had handed you and began to speak. "I'm sorry for intruding rather suddenly, however, there is much that I would like to speak to you about. My people are dying, if we cannot hunt we are losing a large food source and we are also taking people out of their ability to make money and livelihoods. The butchers are nearly destitute at this point, trade is dwindling as no merchants want to travel to a place where they cannot acquire hearty meals during their stay. I will not deny that they have caused harm though, they have clearly hurt your people. Unfortunately, we are now just going in a vicious bloody circle of death. I need your help to end this."    Yoongi gave a scoff, leaning across the table towards him you asked, "Is there something that you would like to say?" You weren't about to back down from a challenge, you'd dealt with people minimizing your words your entire life and had never shrunk from it before.    Yoongi cast a venomous look at you before his eyes flickered to Namjoon. Slowly he leaned in closer to you and said, "Why, none at all princess. You think you've got this, so why don't you tell us the plan?"    Your blood boiled with rage, his careless attitude felt so painfully similar to the men in your father's courts who had oftentimes mocked you. You were too used to this attitude at this point though to allow your anger to show other than a slight tick in your jaw and the elevated blood pressure you could feel coursing through your veins. "I have a lot that I can offer your village if we agree to work towards peace. I am a trained healer and while I might not have the innate skills that you were all born with I am also a trained fighter and hunter. Most importantly though, if you do not agree to stop this eye for an eye your people will continue to be hunted by mine and there is nothing that I can do to stop it. If you do agree with me though then I can stop my people. They believe that Namjoon is the god of the hunt, they will listen to his words. If your people agree to stop then I can assure the same."    "And if they don't listen to you, princess?" Oh, how you wanted to take a knife and twist it into his ribs. Namjoon could clearly sense your growing anger as his hands soothingly rested on your back.    "Then I will agree that you are allowed to hunt the ones who killed, but only the ones who killed. Killing innocent women who've been thrown into the forest is beyond disgraceful." Your words came out with matched venom as you tried to slow your breathing. Being diplomatic had never been your strong suit and now it was your main role, but you would do the best you could.    The angry staring match was finally broken as Yoongi let out a sing-song laugh and it took everything in you to not reach across the worn wooden table and strangle him before he finally spoke, "You are unwavering, I like that. I believe you, and I'll do what I can to help. Anything else?"    That was it? After all that he just changes? You couldn't help but give Namjoon a bewildered look at the emotional whiplash you just received, but he only gave a wide smile back in response as if to say 'he's always like this.' Sighing you looked over at the rest of the boys, "Do I have everyone else on board?"    Most of them just silently nodded, too dumbfounded at Yoongi actually giving someone a compliment to respond. Jin, however, cleared his throat and spoke up, "I have one question. How exactly will you get your people on board? Will they really just listen?"    "I will have to travel back to them. The first thing I will have to do is explain the situation to my father and then we will hold an announcement to the people. I will be sure not to tell any of them who you truly are. My plan is to explain to them that Namjoon is the god of the hunt and that the wolves in this forest are his holy spirits, to kill them will mean certain death, destruction, and the downfall of the kingdom. Trust me on this, that will get all of their attention." Namjoon stiffened under your explanation of travel, in the midst of all the other discussions you had held today you realized that you hadn't explained this part of your plan to him.    "I see...well if you are traveling you will need to go with at least Namjoon. Not all of us can be away for too long, and that trip will take at least a day's full travel. I'm sure your parents will want you to spend some time there. Unfortunately, we will only be able to accompany you to the point of the clearing we...uh..met in." Jin gave you a bashful look of embarrassment at the memory of your brush with death before continuing, "Having all of the strongest leave the village for too long isn't a good idea but we can make do without Namjoon safely for a while."    Namjoon nodded in silent agreement when you looked back at him. "Thank you, all of you. I expected more of a fight, I appreciate this more than words can express."    One of the younger ones, the one who had handed you your headdress (Jimin if you remembered all the introductions correctly), squirmed in his seat after you spoke before finally blurting out, "So you're really a princess??!?"    "Ah...yes I am." You took another sip of the beer, relishing in the warmth of the alcohol as it rolled down your tongue before realizing that he seemed to want to hear more. "Listen, it sounds a lot more exciting then it is. Being a prince might be a lot of fun, my brothers seem to enjoy it thoroughly. Princesses and women in general in my kingdom though are thought of more as status symbols. A pretty young woman on your arm is always a good look." You couldn't help it as thick animosity dripped out of your mouth, but you felt yourself soften at his fallen puppy dog look. "I think being a werewolf would be much more fun." They all seemed to cheer up at this statement and soon another one was talking to you.    "You said that you're a healer, I've been starting my training to take over as our current one isn't getting any younger. I would love to know more about what you have learned." Hoseok gave a brilliant smile at you, his warm features softly illuminated as he gave you a hopeful look.    "Oh, you're training to be a healer? Well, when I go back to the castle I'll be sure to bring back plenty of books for you. After I was injured on a hunt my mother made it mandatory for me to at least learn how to patch myself up, but the more I learned the more interesting it became. I'll also be sure to fetch some of our oils and herbs if I can carry it all, that way what you aren't already growing and making we can have here. We have some holy trees that we use to make frankincense, so I'll be sure to bring at least those seeds back."    "Frankincense? I've read about its uses, but we've never actually been able to get our hands on it before." Hoseok gave a wistful gaze as he leaned back. "Not even the first day on the job and you're already making a great Luna."    You were grateful that you had already swallowed the last of your beer, you were sure you would have choked if he had said that to you while drinking. You could feel the heat radiating off your cheeks as you smiled back at him and prayed that no one noticed you blushing. Only a day, and yet everything had changed. Hearing yourself be called this foreign term, Luna, made everything feel so real. You tried to push away the feeling of desire that surged through you at the at the term as you listened to the others banter on with each other but your brain was miles away as you realized that Luna meant his, only his, and that kept your thoughts completely occupied until late in the night when you finally departed back for Namjoon's house.

   There was a gentle breeze, the scent of wildflowers and evening dew carried on the wind. The night sky was completely clear this evening, the crescent moon and brilliant stars casting a dim twinkling light over the setting of the town. Your eyes wandered around the quiet village. Houses were dimly lit with warm fires, the occasional laugh or bits of conversation could be just barely heard in the still of the night over the sounds of chirping crickets and the rustling of the trees. You had never spent much time outside of the castle at night save for on the few times you had been on long hunting trips, and you had certainly never been in the actual town at night. You had heard stories of festivities, of the bars, of the brothels and the change in the ambiance that came in a large town at night but you had never actually been a part of it. The comforting feeling of peace, even in the middle of the night in the secluded forest was almost surreal to you. There was a beauty in the stillness of it all, and your heart couldn't help but warm the more you realized that this place not only already was beginning to feel like a place you could call home but it soon could be.      "You seem to be lost in thought." Namjoon's voice was gentle as he spoke to you, his body coming slightly closer into yours until your shoulders were grazing his body.    "It's just so beautiful here." You stopped as Namjoon crouched down to the ground, curious as to why he stopped you tried to bend down with him but almost as soon as you did he was back up with a beautiful white flower in his hands. Without uttering a word he pushed back your hair and tucked the flower behind your ear. Your eyes steadily held his concentrated gaze, the soft light from the twinkling stars giving a velvety glow to his golden features.    "Not as beautiful as you." His words were just a soft whisper, his hands featherlight as they skimmed across your cheek before he gave a wide smile at the flush blossoming across your face. "The flower, it's called 'queen of the night.' It's one of my favorites and it blooms only under the moon."    Your mouth opened to speak, but all you could manage was a hushed 'thank you' as you continued on the path. His house could be seen clearly now and the two of you both seemed to slow your steps, neither of you ready to finish the night just yet.    "The boys really like you. It's quite a feat to get a compliment from Yoongi." He gave a small chuckle at the annoyed grunt you gave. "He might seem harsh, but he's very loyal. The few who can win him over he is very protective over." Namjoon glanced up at the moon before speaking again. "It's best if we get everything ready before the full moon. I will call a town hall for tomorrow so you can speak to everyone in the afternoon. If all goes well then we can leave the following day, that should give us enough time to make preparations. I was thinking about asking Taehyung and Jimin to come with us. They're very reliable, although Taehyung hasn't traveled as much as he's rather prone to getting lost and Jimin has always been greatly interested in royals after reading so much about them so I thought that it would be a good experience for them."    "You speak as if it's already settled that we'll be traveling."    "I have no doubt in your abilities, and I also have faith that my people will do the right thing. There are only a few that have actually hunted your people, many of them felt that going after random humans made us barbaric." Namjoon opened the door to the house, the earlier fire just a small glowing ember in the furnace. "It's very late, and we'll have a lot to do. I suppose we should get some rest now while we can."

   Your stomach was twisting, the gurgling of anxiety running through your body and clouding your mind as you saw the tavern come into view. Boisterous conversations could be heard over the clanking of mugs. You had spent the morning going over everything repeatedly in your head, small worries gnawing away at your thoughts as you had tried to just get ready. Trying to wait patiently through the morning as you bathed, ate, and then spruced up the house with your free time had shot your nerves but now that you were almost there apprehension was flooding your system in full force. With a deep breath in you gathered up your courage and followed Namjoon through the large oak doors, it was now or never. Each step as you weaved through the crowd was heavy with worry, the sounds of your steps echoing in your mind.    A hushed silence fell across the crowded room as they watched you carefully. You were used to the prying eyes and judgemental gazes, but as you looked around you were surprised to see that most of them looked at you with excitement. Your mind buzzed as you heard Namjoon give an introduction and you almost tuned everything out. You could hear your name, 'mate', 'kingdom' being spoken, but everything felt fuzzy with the fluttering of unease sinking into your stomach. The air around you felt suffocating, the weight of your kingdom resting heavily on your mind. Murmurs and congratulations rippled through the air and when the silence fell back you walked up to the front of the bar. You had everything to lose if this didn't go well but you fought past these consuming thoughts as you stood with determination, your eyes blazing fiercely as you willed out any trepidation from your voice.    "As you can all tell, I am human. I come from the kingdom in the south beyond the forest." You talked louder over the whispers that began to run through the room, "I must ask something of all of you. You have been harmed by my people, and I beg of you all to listen to my request. My people started this, I won't deny it. They were consumed by greed, they have forgotten the importance and reverence that comes with hunting and the cycle of life. I know it might seem unfair, but I stand here today to ask all of you to put an end to the bloodshed. There have been many innocent lives lost, both your people and mine. I was sent to your Alpha as a sacrifice, a peace offering to the forest. I can promise you that my people will no longer hunt you but you must not hunt them. They are dying, even those who have not hunted. Young women have been lost in sacrifices to appease this war. Food is becoming scarce as we have lost the ability to hunt for a major food source. The kingdom will soon crumble if we can't provide to our people or to other merchants. If the kingdom crumbles someone else will take over and they too will hunt and it might be bloodier for you, even more so than it already has been. I beseech you all for help in finding peace and harmony, for the pack's sake and for my people's." You bowed deeply as you waited for an answer, the crowd now talking animatedly at your silence before one voice roared from the crowd.    "Who do you think you are human? Know your place, I think this is all just a plot. We know that Namjoon was always against us going after your pathetic lot and I don't see a mark on ya girl, he's lying to us." His anger shook the crowd, the tension becoming palpable and frenzied. You could feel Namjoon growl next to you at this proclamation, his body tensing and ready to fight as angry conversations broke out among them. With a fit of rage you snapped up and grabbed a knife at the bar and thrust it deep into the wood until only the hilt could be seen, an uneasy quiet fell as everyone watched your outburst.    "SILENCE. I don't know who you are but what you say is lies. You should be ashamed for speaking of your leader that way, and you are a disgrace to this pack for such hateful slander. You can hate me and my people as much as you want but if I ever hear you utter another insult about him I will cut your tongue off myself and feed it to you." Your breathing was uneven with the rage still wracking through your mind. Your mind was reeling as you heard Namjoon speak.    "I would not lie to you. And if I wanted something to change without care for your opinions I would simply enforce it rather than go through an elaborate scheme but I am not that type of person. She has agreed to allow me to mark her only if she can save her people, I am allowing myself to possibly let my mate go at the choice of my people. She is here to ask for your decision, not to force it. But I will only tell you this once; if you ever belittle her again like that I will personally kill you." Namjoon's voice was relatively calm with restraint as he spoke, but his eyes were fierce with malice and his hands were balled tightly into fists.    Yoongi's lazy drawl could be heard from the back, "We have already spoken to (Y/N), she is fiercely loyal to her people but she will also do the same for us. She could just choose to ignore everything, she could just choose to live her life freely without the worries of innocent lives but she instead has taken it upon herself to be the change that I agree we need. We are above killing for the sake of killing, and she has agreed that those who betray this pact of peace can be sought after. I see no reason not to side with her." The other six boys agreed loudly before Hoseok spoke up.    "She can teach us the art of healing, she we be an exceptionally skilled Luna and if we push her away then I fear that we are only going to slip into darker times of bloodshed. She makes a great ally, but I don't doubt that she would make a fearsome enemy. She is fair, she hasn't denied the wrongdoing of her people and we would be liars to say that we don't have a part in this. Who started it, who agreed and disagreed is no longer important. What is important is that she is here to offer change."    There was only a moment longer of hushed air before a woman in the back stood up. "We have maimed innocent people and have decided to believe in an eye for an eye for too long. It is time that we not only live in peace for their sake but for our own. If you swear that they will not harm us then I accept." Slowly more people stood up and eventually the whole bar, even the man who had so angrily spat venom at you was standing (although he appeared warier than the others as he did so, his eyes still resting on the knife lodged deeply into the bar.) The atmosphere suddenly shifted as they all stood in solidarity with you. You couldn't help but stare at them with a dumbfounded expression as one person loudly proclaimed "I stand with our Luna" before others began to join in, their cries bouncing off the walls, reverberating around you. Namjoon was pulling you in for a hug and you nestled into his warmth as you listened to their jovial cries. Suddenly you found the two of you being flung about, greeting these new strangers, your new people with Namjoon at your side. It was all so sudden, so strange and foreign to you. You had never been close to your people, royalty ruled from a great distance in your kingdom but this felt right. They felt more like a family, like your pack.    For hours you got to know everyone. The village was larger than you first assumed. There were about eighty people in total that you met, although the village was around twice that size. They had farmers, blacksmiths, carpenters, mothers, teachers, families in their pack. You couldn't help but feel absurd for not thinking that of course, they would have all of this. As the day began to set you finally felt Namjoon join back at your side, exhaustion sweeping through you as he pulled you away from everyone.    You could still hear the rambunctious noises from the distance as Namjoon spoke to you. "So...you'd cut someone's tongue out for me, huh?"    You couldn't help but laugh at that, "You'd kill someone for me?"    "I'm pretty sure cutting a mans tongue out would mean certain death." The two of you broke into fits of laughter before his tone changed into gentle warmth. "You are an honest speaker, my people felt your heart. I...am very happy that you are my mate."    You wanted to respond by telling him that you weren't his mate yet, that you two still needed to take that step but you felt the words lodged deep in your throat, thick with desire that you were unable to utter yet. Instead, you gave an awkward smile, your eyes focusing on the dirt path all the way back to his house.

   Hours later you stared at the darkness of your room, your lids drooping with insomnia as your brain kept turning while you toyed with the wilting white flower in your hands. Was he also thinking the same things, lying awake with thoughts of you just a room over? Would the two of you actually become one soon? How absurd that you just met this man and yet you were quickly being overcome with want for him. You had spent the last night in fitful sleep as your brain wondered how he would taste and now your thoughts seemed to return in full blast to that. Would he taste of tea and lemon, would he taste sweet with need? This feeling of yearning was all so new to you and yet you had a hard time thinking of anything else in moments of quiet, your thoughts just seemed to gravitate towards even the smallest of things about him. His golden skin, his deep voice, his moments of introspection, strong leadership and unwavering faith in his pack, molten eyes, thick pout, slender yet deceptively powerful build, butterfly soft and electrifying touches. You had so much to learn, so much that you wanted to do and you wanted to voice that to him, you wanted to tell him that while you didn't understand all of these feelings you did have them but somehow whenever you wanted to express this you kept stopping yourself. Was Namjoon feeling the same way? He had briefly expressed that he was holding back, perhaps he could sense your lack of experience with men and he was being patient for you to come to him first. It seemed ridiculous that you had the courage to be so bold as a woman who challenged society, as a leader who fought for her people but somehow when it came to this new urge of the flesh you felt so painfully nervous in these unchartered waters. Being bold had never been a problem before, in fact, you had always struggled with being the meek image that was expected of you but something about this strong raw feeling of lust had your mind reeling too much to be bold. But you had a feeling that you would have to be the first to make a move. Namjoon was too polite, he seemed too conscious each time he touched you and you knew if this was ever going to progress you would have to just tell him. After you finally got your people on board you would tell him soon, and with that resolution lifted off your mind you finally felt yourself slip into sleep.

[sunshowers-and-sunflowers]

I tried to write about love

I posted this piece on fet and some man told me to “Go fishing and talk to someone” but the joke is on him bc I HATE fishing.

Admittedly I did come in hot...I tried to clean it up for tumblr so it doesn’t get taken down. TW: mentions of abuse and toxic relationships, blood and consensual acts of harm. Oh and suic*de

One of the only reasons I haven’t killed myself is because I know love is real.

 If I had never experienced it, I might have ended my own suffering. But every day I wake up and I remember what it felt like to be in love. And I can’t die when there is a possibility, I could feel that way again.

 I love a lot of people. Actively and passively every single day.

My platonic love is overwhelming. It’s a bright orange, like creamsicles with the soft pale-yellow swirl. It is messages asking about your day. It is always paying for lunch. It is a text exactly one hour after you left asking if you made it home safely. It is a warm blanket draped over you while you fall asleep watching a movie with me. It is a warm hand placed on your arm accompanied by the warmest most sincere smile I can muster. It is holding you while sobs rack your body and you shiver in my arms. It is absorbing your punches as you scream their name, pound my chest and curse. It is slowly rubbing circles with my thumb while we hold hands. It is carrying napkins, tissues, chapstick, change, extra sunglasses and a snack at all times. Just in case you need it. It is sending you positive encouraging messages reassuring you of your brilliance. It is four-hour long phone calls while you talk, and I nod along even though you can’t see my face. It is a handmade card for your birthday even though we’re nearly 23. It is remembering your parents, grandparents and siblings’ names. It is a soft kiss planted on your forehead. Rustling your hair. Laughing until I cry even though your joke definitely was not that funny. It is playing the same three songs when you get in my car because I know you like them. It is being the voice of reason. Reminding you to study instead of go out. There is no scolding, but a silent disappointment when you make the “wrong” decision. It is a heavy sigh when you tell me about repeated behavior that is causing you pain. It is a firm but gentle nudge forward towards your dreams. It is holding you accountable for your actions. It is forgiving you. Your favorite words fall into my vocabulary and when I catch them coming out of my mouth I can’t help but smile and think of you. It is seeing your favorite things and texting you a picture. It is searching for the perfect meme that I know you’ll love. It’s spending too much money on gifts and wanting to spoil you with material items because I am not good at expressing my love with words. It is a privilege to be by your side and watch you grow. It can be intense, but it is always soft.

 My familial love is a dark purple, the deepest color in a bruise. It is beauty even when there is pain. It is picking up after you. It is cooking your favorite meal and dropping it off at your house. It is calling you and hearing the same things I have heard since childhood. It is listening to the same story I have heard one hundred times but smiling and nodding along anyways. It is staring at old photos of us for too long. It is sneaking my cousins their favorite snacks. And not scolding them when they curse. And laughing at their stories. And never letting them win card games. It is ice cream during the hot summer. It is kissing their heads and whispering I love you and I can’t believe how big you’re getting. It is saying “I remember the day you were born” and choking up with tears. It is knowing I’d give the world to them if I could. It is holding my grandmother’s hand. Running my fingers through her hair. Listening to my grandfather talk about the Army, and every job he’s ever had. It’s remembering how he let me play games at the carnival even though I never won anything. It’s forgiveness. Forgiveness for all the things I needed that you could not provide. Forgiveness for the raising of voices, the breaking of dishes and the hurling of insults. It is never sharing how I felt as a child, because I know it would break you. It’s sitting in silence and watching HGTV with my father for five hours. It is sweeping his floors, and helping him fold laundry because I worry, he won’t do it without my help. It is watching TV with my mother even though she pauses the show and stretches a 30-minute show into almost 2 hours. It’s sitting down on the couch, and then being immediately asked to grab something and doing it anyways. It is birthday cards, and Christmas cards, and even Easter cards every single year. It is the soft rays of an early morning drive. It is the swelling in my chest when I remember you are all human. It is feeling satisfied, but still sad, that you tried your best and it was not enough.

Then there is the love that drives me. But I guess there isn’t just one.

The soft yellow, a warm ray of light slipping through the blinds. Looking straight at the sun and smiling.

The waking up at 11 am on a Sunday, limbs tangled, light spilling into the room, a barely audible hum and a feeling of peace. It is making chocolate chip pancakes with smiley faces that exist for ten minutes at most before you devour them. It is reaching across the table with a napkin to wipe your face. It is grabbing onto your forearm in public when I am scared. It is the intertwining of feet at the dinner table. It is grocery shopping together and running with the cart. It is laughing so hard that people start to stare. It is watching your favorite movie 100 times and not complaining once. It is waiting to watch the next episode of tv with you even though I’m dying to find out what happens. It is leaving love notes in your lunch. Or on the bathroom mirror. Or the refrigerator. It is sending you snapchats of ugly faces because I know it makes you laugh. It is standing on my tip toes begging for a kiss. It is holding hands while we eat dinner. It is waking up at 3 am and looking at your face, so moved by your existence that I start to cry.

 Then there’s an apple green.

Riding carnival rides and screaming together. Carving pumpkins and one of us definitely cuts our finger. It is singing karaoke and neither of us knows the chorus. It is pulling your pants down as you cut an apple in the kitchen but as I run away, I run into the wall. It is buying dinosaur band aids because I know you will love them. It is rolling the windows down and driving far over the speed limit while we both scream into the inky night. It is driving at the dead of night; darkness surrounds me and your snoring is so loud I cannot hear the radio. It is being horribly drunk in public, and I warn you about getting sick, but you keep drinking and we end up in the bathroom, me holding your hair back while you spill your guts. It is loud electronic music in a club as we flail our bodies around. Your face looks so good in neon flashing lights. It is doing dishes together and accidently flicking soap on you. It is the time I dumped noodles in a soap covered drainer and you never let me live it down. It is being sprawled out on the couch while you play video games, I scream at the TV pointing out all of your enemies as they shoot you dead. It is being selfish and not pausing the show even though you fell asleep 20 minutes ago. It is your morning breath that I can taste but don’t care because I have to kiss you as soon as I wake up. It is when you force me to cut your hair and my hands shake terribly but I am so moved by your trust in me. It is when you make me try new food and I hate it so you eat it all. It is anger when you say you don’t want any fries and then proceed to eat all of mine, but I don’t say anything. It is playing hide and seek in the aisles like we are children, not held down my societal expectations. It is holding back all the “I told ya sos”. It’s the absolute chaos sharing your life with another person brings. But god I’d take all the chaos in the world as long as you’re by my side.

There’s a lilac color. Like lavender.

It is so similar to platonic love. Picking up after you, seeing things and thinking of you, trying my best to make you happy. But it is different. It is running my fingers through your hair absentmindedly. It is leaving lipstick kisses all over your face. It is doing your laundry because it saves time. It is telling you my fears and hopes for the future. It is kissing all the spots on your body that you aren’t ready to love. It’s holding your hand when you try new things. It is listening to your hopes and dreams. It is encouraging you to be who you are inside. It is picking up your habits and being amazed when I catch myself doing them. It’s slipping your name into conversation with other people. It is laying on freshly cleaned sheets and listening to your heartbeat. It is our fingers intertwined during a nap. It’s getting used to your little quirks. It is finishing each other’s sentences. It is knowing your standard Chinese food order. It is going to corporate Christmas parties and watching you interact with all your co-workers as I stand in the corner. It is running a thumb across your lips. It is familiarity and comfort.

Then there’s a deep red. Like dried blood flecks on my face.

It’s the screaming and crying and shaking because I need you to understand me, but you just can’t seem to. It’s the splitting my knuckles on the wall that I punch out of frustration, and you gently wash my hands and bandage them in silence. It is the awkward silence when I meet your family and they just don’t seem to like me. It’s the pain that shoots across your face when they ask me “So what are you?”. It’s being curled in a ball on our bed, desperately sniffing your shirts because I haven’t seen you in days. It’s the white-hot pain that shoots through my body when your fist connects with my jaw. It’s the absence of air in my lungs, and the audible struggling as your fingers squeeze the life from me. It’s wearing pants in the summer because I can’t let anyone see all the bruises you’ve left on my thighs. It’s the strands of your hair, ripped from your head and grasped tightly in my fingers as you leave bite marks all over my body. It’s the slightest hint of blood on your back as my nails dig into your skin. It’s the sound of flesh hitting flesh in my car parked in an abandoned lot. It’s my backseat being covered in white and red fluid, clashing against my tan carpet. It is the smell of sweat. It is stained sheets. It is screaming into the void with you by my side, but not being sure what we’re screaming about.

It can be confusing. When it’s crying your name out. When it’s begging you to hurt me. When it’s feeling empty when I’m not with you. When it’s chains and shackles. When it’s warm breath pleading “Take the pain for me”. When it’s being covered in bruises. When it’s shaking uncontrollably when I’m with you. When it’s flinching when you go to touch me. When it’s crying in my room because you aren’t there. When you are all I can think about. It is a slightly metallic smell. Slightly off-putting but also intoxicating too.

But I know for sure what it isn’t.

It’s not emptying my first aid kit every month because we just seem to run through bandages like it’s nothing. It’s not sweeping up broken glass from our living floor. It’s not sweeping up pieces of ceramic in the kitchen. It’s not the smell of bleach as I scrub the spots of blood from the bathroom floor. It’s not the heat radiating from my cheeks as you humiliate me in public, in front of your friends because I dared to suggest you needed assistance in any form. It’s not crying. So many tears. It’s not waking up at 2 am to an empty bed. It’s not doing our laundry alone because you have worked 10 days straight. It’s not looking in the mirror and not recognizing who is looking back. It’s not cursing and screaming and crying and pulling away. It’s not knocking glasses off of tables as I run from you. It’s not waking up at 12 am to greet you as you come home from your closing shift, but finding you on the couch, talking to someone else through your headset. It’s not unanswered text messages. It’s not boiling water washing over me as I sit curled into a ball in our shower. It’s not wearing headphones and blasting music for a single second of peace. It is not our apartment filled with the sounds of chewing because we have nothing to say over dinner. It is not constant pain. It is not constant fear. It is not fearing for my safety.

I live every day because I think I might get to see the soft hazy yellows, or the bright candy apple greens. But the fear of rusty reds keeps me alone. It drives me to pull back from every encounter. It plants seeds of doubt in me.

And so, I settle.

I dream of those colors, while isolating myself. I consume literature and media that paints with such pretty colors. But me? I can’t imagine ever picking up a paint brush again.

And so I long for something I will never pursue.

I live knowing love is possible but not willing to risk it all again. Only to be left bloody, bruised and alone.

I’ve got no problem with blood, or bruises. But being alone while someone out there knows every inch of me?

I’d rather not.

[elesianne]

Fëanorian week: Maedhros

A Silmarillion fanfic

Summary: Maedhros discovers that one never really forgets what one learns in youth when he comforts scared children with a song, near the beginning and near the end.

Length: ~2,200 words, Rating: General audiences

Tag-type thingies: characters: Maedhros, Maglor, Elrond & Elros; some keywords: children, family fluff, angst, emotional hurt/comfort

Fëanorian week prompts: Childhood and Adjusting/Coping, to some degree at least

A/N: I wrote this two-part fic as a way of figuring out how to reconcile the popular-within-fandom tropes of Maedhros as a) the eternal babysitter and b) the (at least initially) less enthusiastic 'foster dad' to Elrond and Elros.

The first, fluffy half takes place during the blissful years in Valinor when Maedhros and Maglor are still children. Note on Quenya names here. I use only Maglor's father-name here because I imagine that was the only name he had when this young. The second half takes place some time after the Third Kinslaying so of course there is angst.

AO3 link

*

Lullabies

He leaves his door open a crack and doesn't cover the lampstone, because he knows his brother will seek him out sooner or later and Maitimo doesn't want Canafinwë to trip over his feet in the dark.

Cáno is too old now to seek comfort from servants if he becomes scared of the night while their parents are gone, Maitimo believes, but he is not too old to come to his big brother, certainly not it that brother leaves his door open and light on invitingly.

Their parents rarely spend the night away from their children, preferring to take them along on most trips and to many events, but this time their duties meant they had to leave their sons at home with the servants while they stay at an important party until very late in order to be polite. And Athyallë the nursemaid has her hands full with the newest family addition, baby Turcafinwë, so Maitimo and Canafinwë have manage themselves for the most part.

('But you will be all right, won't you?' had their mother asked at the moment of departure, a flicker of worry in her eyes, looking like she was reconsidering her decision to attend the party.

'Of course they will', their father said, his look more confident if also affectionate.

'Of course we will', echoed Maitimo, his arm around Canafinwë's shoulders, and was rewarded with a smile from his mother and an approving nod from his father.)

It takes a little longer than Maitimo expected for his brother to appear, and he is getting sleepy himself by the time he hears the pitter-patter of small feet from the hallway. He sits up at once and rubs the sleepiness from his eyes.

Canafinwë, wearing a long nightgown and furry slippers that stick out from underneath the hem, peeks shyly into the room.

'Nelyo?'

'Yes, Cáno?'

The dark-haired toddler shuffles closer, a thoughtful look on his face. 'The baby is making noise.'

'He likes to do that', Maitimo nods. Their little brother is a noisy child, whether he is crying in distress or shrieking in delight.

'And his room is right next to mine.'

Maitimo scoots back on the bed to lean against the wall and pats the spot next to him. Cáno climbs on the bed, kicks off his slippers and looks at Maitimo with wide eyes.

'Turco might keep making noise until mother and father come home. I might not be able to sleep. And then I will be tired in the morning and can't go to my music lesson.'

Ah, the all-important music lessons, thinks Maitimo. He had been jealous of them at first. After being allowed to begin his music studies with a renowned tutor at an unusually young age, Cáno had been so excited that he hadn't talked about anything else for weeks.

But then Maitimo had realised that he was always the one Cáno ran to after coming home from his lessons, bursting with the need to share all he had learned with his brother, wanting to hear Maitimo's opinion when he practised and did his homework, and all had been well again.

'Well, that wouldn't do at all. So you can sleep here with me', Maitimo tells Cáno and sees the worry melt from his expressive features.

'Thank you.' Cáno hugs his brother, and then Maitimo jumps down from the bed and tiptoes across the floor to fetch a cushion from a chair. By the time he closes the door and gets back to the bed, Cáno has already taken hold of Maitimo's own pillow and laid down on the side of the bed next to the wall, covers drawn up to his nose.

'Can I cover the lampstone?' Maitimo asks him. 'Or do you mind the dark?'

'Not when you're here', Cáno says earnestly, and Maitimo knows that the worry for being too tired for his music lesson wasn't the only fear that drove Cáno here. He doesn't say anything though, just covers the blue light of his father's crystal lamp, finds his way to bed in the dark and slides under the blankets next to Cáno's small, warm form.

'Will you sing me a lullaby?'

Maitimo raises his brows, safe in the knowledge that Cáno can't see it. 'Didn't Athyallë already sing to you when she put you to bed?'

'She never sings all the verses. I had to sing the last three myself and it's not the same.'

'Very well', says Maitimo who still likes lullabies though he has been too old for them for a while now. 'Which song do you want?'

Cáno names his favourite, and Maitimo sings it to him in a quiet voice. Cáno hums along at first but soon gets drowsy and just listens, his breath tickling Maitimo's jaw as they lie facing each other.

'There. Are you ready to sleep now?' Maitimo asks when the song ends, stifling a yawn himself.

'Yes, thank you.'

From Cáno's tone Maitimo can tell that his little brother still has something he wants to say. 'What is it, Cáno?'

'I felt a little lonely in my room', Cáno admits after a moment. 'In the dark.'

'You know you could have left your lamp on, or your curtains open. Or just have come and slept here to begin with', Maitimo says, kindly if lecturingly.

'I know', says Cáno and burrows deeper into the pillow. 'But I wanted to try to be brave first.'

'You are brave', says Maitimo and settles the covers better over them both. 'But you are still only little. Goodnight, Cáno.'

The only answer is a sleepy sniffle, and then Maitimo's little brother stills.

Maitimo smiles in the dark and closes his eyes.

*

On a stormy night hundreds of years later and an ocean away, and much older and more bitter and broken, Maedhros remembers the nights in his youth when his brothers would seek solace with him when their parents were away, or when one of them had quarrelled with a parent and sought sympathy elsewhere.

Celegorm had usually come to Maedhros in those situations since he and Maglor never understood each other very well, but Carnistir had sometimes gone to Maglor, and the twins in their turn quite often confided in Carnistir who had tried with all his bullheadedness to be a good big brother to them. Curufin had rarely needed anyone aside from their father.

And now they are all gone except Maglor, and even he is away for this particular night, gone to order supplies from a nearby settlement. And the twins, the other twins, no, the third set of twins that Maedhros has had cause to worry over, are crying, probably scared as much by Maglor's absence as the storm raging in the night. They take no solace in Maedhros's presence a few rooms over, and he rather thinks they might become even more scared if he went to their room and tried to comfort them.

The sons of Elwing and Eärendil are no longer afraid of the sons of Fëanor and their folk but neither do they trust them, the only exception being Maglor whose calm manner and lovely songs have lately managed to coax smiles of the half-elf twins. Maedhros they still seem afraid of, and he must admit he has done little to win their trust, to make them less wary of his grim, scarred looks. He thinks Maglor unwise for taking them in and becoming attached.

Loving anything is folly for damned men such as we are, thinks Maedhros as he tries to ignore the quiet sounds of distressed children.

But the crying begins to get on his nerves, frayed as they are these days, though it is not a loud sound. Elrond and Elros are clearly trying to be quiet even in their unhappiness.

Maedhros tries not to care, but he cannot help contrasting these twins crying uncomforted in a lonely room in the abode of those who killed their kin with the days of his childhood when solace was never far away for an unhappy boy, whether from a brother or a parent or other caring grown-up.

It is becoming increasingly clear that he will not find sleep as long as the children continue crying, and as the storm keeps growing and Maglor will not return tonight, there is no reason why they would stop. Maedhros throws his covers aside and stares at the ceiling for a moment.

There is nothing for it but to get up and go to the children to quiet them down, either by scaring them silent or finding a way to comfort them.

The first option seems more likely to Maedhros when he sees the twins flinch as he steps into their room.

'What's wrong?' he barks, painfully aware of how different his voice is to Maglor's gentle tones. Yet he used to be so good at this, at dealing with children.

Children who are all gone now, a voice at the back of his head reminds him. Maedhros forces the bitter voice away and addresses Elrond and Elros again.

'What is the matter? Is it the storm?'

The dark-haired, wild-eyed children huddling together on the bed nod. Maedhros sighs and sits down at the foot of the bed. There is plenty of space between him and the twins, but they keep a wary eye on him nonetheless.

'This is not the first storm this winter, and like others before it, it will pass', Maedhros explains as gently as he can. It is not easy to be gentle now when he has been pushing that side of himself aside for years.

'Maglor was here before', says one of the boys, Maedhros doesn't know which. He hasn't bothered to learn to tell them apart.

'And what would Maglor do during a storm so that you… could fall asleep?' he asks.

These children are proud in spite of their young age and their circumstances, Maedhros has learned, so he will not mention their fear or crying. This much he remembers of dealing with distraught children. Celegorm would become ever more violently unhappy if anyone claimed he was afraid, he recalls.

'He sang to us', says the other twin, and then, before Maedhros has time to even groan and say Of course he did, the first twin asks if he will sing to them now.

Looking into the young grey eyes that gaze defiantly back at him from a face reddened and streaked with tears, Maedhros agrees to sing before he even thinks about it.

This is not a good idea. All the lullabies he knows are in Quenya, a language that must be hateful to these children if they even know it – Maedhros isn't sure they do – and the few songs he knows in Sindarin are songs of war or drinking, not suitable for scared children.

'I don't know many songs, and I am not the singer my brother is', he tries to stall, and occupies himself by going to throw more wood into the fading fire.

'Maglor told us you used to sing lullabies to him when he was little.'

'It was a very long time ago.'

'Do you still remember them?'

'I do.'

'Will you sing one of them to us?'

Maedhros sits down on the bed again, and this time the children don't shy away from him. 'Those lullabies are not in your language.'

Elrond and Elros look at each other. 'We don't care', says the one who always seems to speak first. 'Maglor sings in the old language sometimes too.'

Maedhros makes a noncommittal sound at that. 'Wait a moment,  I'm trying to remember the words.'

The words of Maglor's favourite lullaby arrive eventually, and with them the soft tone meant for soothing fretful elflings. Maedhros stares at the fire while he sings, and if he sees in the flames the faces of those long-ago children he has lost, it is surely just because the 'old language' reminds him of them and not because the burden of their deaths is heavier to bear each day.

Maedhros lets the last words of the song fade into silence before he turns to the half-elf twins.

'Thank you', says the first boy, no longer so defiant.

'You are welcome', Maedhros says, and after a brief battle with himself asks, 'Why did you even ask me? Why would you want to hear me sing? I haven't been especially kind to you.'

The second twin answers. 'You are Maglor's brother, and you are kind to him. And tonight you came for us, and you did not have a sword this time.'

Maedhros doesn't know if it is the partially human blood and nature of these children, or if all children who grow up in a world of war grow up so fast and so wise.

'Maglor will be back tomorrow, or when the storm passes', he promises, not certain whether he means to comfort himself or the twins. 'And I will stay here for the night.'

As Elrond and Elros blow their noses and crawl under covers, Maedhros settles into an armchair by the fire, the warmth of it easing the old ache in his right shoulder.

It sounds like the storm is passing already.

*

A/N: Oh, Maedhros. I do love your tarnished, defiant spirit so.

I posted this on AO3 as well and you are also very welcome to comment there! :)

[georgeinmalawi]

Adapting to Life

30 January 2017

I’m again on the bus to Lilongwe. I paid for the AXA Executive Coach, which is non-stop and has snacks and a bathroom. It is always totally full, crammed with people into tiny, distinctively not executive seats. I missed it, thinking it left at 7:30AM. It left at 7 so I’m on the local, which gets in an hour later but is only half full. I have the entire rear seat to myself; if I were tired, I could stretch out and snooze. I’m not, so I can spread out my stuff and write, knowing I am probably in the safest seat in the unlikely possibility of a crash. (That sounds a bit like the Carlsberg beer slogan, “Probably the best beer in the world.”  Not totally convincing.)  Unless the engine explodes underneath me, in which case I shall take the little red hammer from its hanger and exit a window promptly.  The very back of the bus exaggerates the bumps in the road, however, and I often type gibberish or grab my laptop before it sails off onto the floor

Yesterday we rented a car and drove to Mulanje. Linda’s very long-time friends, Pat and Stacy, are here from Santa Fe for 3 weeks. Pat’s a gastroenterologist and will teach at Queens; Stacy’s a retired attorney who will help with fundraising at Samaritans, the orphanage where I consult. We drove to the massif and partway around it on a dirt road, heading toward a forest lodge for lunch. On the way we passed through a small village and were approached by all manner of young men trying to sell us hiking sticks carved from Mulanje cedar, wanting to guard our car, and asking us to hire one of them as a guide to hike to the well-known nearby waterfall. I heard, “George” and looked up to see Lucius, who was a guard at a home on our street last Fall, fired for being drunk at work. (If I were a guard, making next to nothing to do next to nothing, I’m sre I’d drink, too.)  Needless to say, we bought the hiking sticks and hired both Lucius as guide and his friend, Alex, as guard. The hike to the waterfall was gradual, took about an hour, and the destination was very lovely, with a deep pool for swimming. We waded, not having bathing suits. On the path I spoke with Lucius about his life. He grew up in this tiny village at the foot of Mulanje. When he was in 10th grade, three years ago, both parents were travelling to Blantyre in a minibus that collided head-on with a truck. 15 dead, including his mother and father. He had to drop out of school to support the family. His two sisters are in school and he plans to return when they finish. There is a rueful sadness in his face as he tells me his story. It is like so many here, totally unfair and tragic. Only an extreme and heroic effort on his part, tempered with plenty of luck, will allow him to move beyond scratching for his subsistence for the remainder of his days, and he’s not yet 20yo.

I saw a 10 yo girl, Tokozina, as my last child patient for the day on Thursday. It was our second visit and promised to be lively. She’s had cerebral malaria and is the most hyperactive child I’ve ever seen. She is only moderately learning disabled, I think.  On the first visit she bounced all over the room, running like a flash, grabbing and tossing things, singing loudly while her mother ineffectually tried to contain her by reaching out as she flew by, etc. This mother is built like a tank and could give Mike Tyson a run for his money. On Thursday I told her they could only come into the room if she held her daughter on her lap. Well, that lasted about 15 seconds as the girl squirmed away and bounced all over doing her mischief. Seeing how ineffectual the mother was, I decided to model a safe, painless restraint. Needless to say, I ended up lying on the floor restraining her while she spit in my face and then urinated on me. I held fast and she calmed. Then I gave her to her mother who did the same and, after some tears, the girl accepted the inevitable and fell asleep in her mother’s arms. After wiping off the spit with my handkerchief and letting the pee dry on my soaking pants, I congratulated the mother on her success and impressed upon her the importance of training her daughter by performing a similar restraint whenever she was beyond the control of words. We’ll meet again in 2 weeks and assess the results. It felt like a very successful intervention. I, of course, will need to explore with the mother why she has held herself back so much. 

A 12 yo boy was brought in by his mother. He’d undergone a “personality change” since being attacked by a neighbor in their village. Andrew ate a peach from the man’s tree so he threw Andrew to the ground and stomped on him, fracturing his left tibia. Andrew, always a gentle boy, has become aggressive, beating up his friends. He was expelled from school for fighting, despite being very smart and an excellent student. Another boy, like Japheti, with a persistent and loving mother who is determined to help repair the damage to her son. He was seen in Peds Emergency and, since he had a personality change in this land of cerebral malaria, HIV encephalopathy, and various forms of meningitis, instead of taking a careful history he has had performed all variety of laboratory investigations, including a lumbar puncture. Again, some training is needed there, which we’ll do soon. His response to the beating includes “identification with the aggressor”, his adaptation to feeling helpless in the face of a threat. It is the particular form his PTSD has taken.  He and I had a good talk, he was very engaged, and he agreed to return to school and attempt to not fight when he was upset. We’ll see. He is very bright, speaks English well, and is an incredible artist. 

I’m going to Lilongwe in order to use the notary services at the American Embassy to finalize papers for the sale of 2840 Webster Street in Berkeley, our home for 25+ years. That should be the last formal exchange between my ex and myself, which will be a relief to us both, I suspect. I’ve felt I was in the grip of a python during the divorce---each time I exhaled (made a settlement offer leaning in her favor), the coils tightened. Rather than becoming more flexible and fair, she’d demand more. I’m certain she has her own version of the process.  So, as sad as it is to me to have not been able to grow in our love for each other as time passed, there is a time to hold ‘em and a time to fold ‘em. I only can hope that my children, each of whom I love dearly, can accept their disappointment at the end of the family as they knew it and wanted it to be and can view each of us as individuals with flaws and foibles but basically having given our best for them. I miss them both very much. 

These are the hungry months in Malawi, when the maize is growing tall but not ready for harvest and last year’s supply of corn meal is exhausted. Many of the 85% of the population that are small-hold farmers and their families are lucky to have a single, modest meal a day. It kills me to see the greed and waste in America and to hear the “America Firsters”. It is a sad fact that we, of all the animal species, appear to have an insatiable desire to buy and possess. It is powerfully fed by the advertising/marketing industry and the mythology of our lives -----that it is better, somehow, to have more and bigger and newer and more extravagant stuff. Rather than to have enough for reasonable comfort and to take pleasure in the greater good that everyone has the basics. It is so easy to see someone on Welfare as a “loafer” and “getting a free ride”----I think they are sad, have low self-esteem, and have lacked the good fortune, perhaps the gumption, and the skills to do work that will bring them satisfaction.  Let’s re-establish the WPA and employ the unemployed while they learn skills and repair our infrastructure. But then, I have never wanted to not work. 

I’ve had thoughts of spending the summers on the island in Maine and the rest of the year travelling, writing, and schmoozing with friends. I understand that most people haven’t had the good fortune to have trained for, sought, found, and performed work that they truly love and which remunerates them reasonably. This is often for lack of opportunity but may have multiple and converging reasons, including their drive, intelligence, health, capacity to persist, lack of skill, market forces, and so forth. So people cannot wait “to retire”, understandably. For me, I find learning and being inspired by people’s struggles irresistible, so it doesn’t feel like the time to fold up my tent. 

I find Mr. Trump’s lies and hatred---just look at the expression on his current wife’s face after he reads her out in the 8 second video on YouTube---frightening, since he sits now where he does. We’re not just in for a fire sale of America to the superrich. That has been going on for the past several decades. We are now rapidly heading toward a fascist state, seeking total control of media with an essentially slave underclass that will include most of us. It seems there may be a violent revolution, given how polarizing, aggressive, and dissimulating Mr.T. is. One can hope for a coronary event or a cerebrovascular event or perhaps a metastatic event (in response to his near-constant exposure to Agent Orange!). I’m not savvy enough about economics to fully understand how we’ve arrived here. Our industrial output is up but well-paying, secure jobs are down, partly due to outsourcing but hugely due to automation. Paradoxically, I suspect that many of the same people who have been left behind in our economy shop at Walmart, buying those inexpensive outsourced products made by people in China and Bangladesh who have taken their jobs, keeping those sweatshops going.  The latter have certainly been eased into slavery, out of personal desperation. Just read about their wages, their working and living conditions, their polluted air and water, and the fragmentation of their families and their society, if you doubt me. 

This post has gone on too long. I am passing through emerald hills, dotted with thatched mud-brick huts, all covered by the fluffiest, most towering cumulus clouds imaginable. Even all the plastic trash has vanished from the roadside, hidden by the tall grass. It is stunning. 

Early in the morning one day last week as I biked past the local open market on my way to Queens, I saw  the stall keepers arriving with their vegetables or used clothing as they do each day, often 7 days/week. I realized, at a new level, this is their life.   They may instead sit at a card table and sell lollipops or AirTel phone top-ups, but they have no hope of a better living or life than they have right now. No kids in college, no promotion in the works, no end-of-year bonus, no cashing in on the sale of a start-up, no job or food security, no minimum hourly wage, let alone no luxury items, no increased reimbursement from a health insurance company, and so forth. And this is largely because of the cards they were dealt. Most are smart but have little schooling. Yet they are cheerful, laugh, and are pleased when I say a phrase or two in Chichewa to them as I buy some bananas or a pineapple. Humans are amazingly adaptable. 

I hope our country doesn’t adapt to what our president offers to us, or tries for force upon us.

�� ���ƴ