#do it moving forward. so. almost zero correlation

[hummingbird-games]

this sounds extremely fatalistic and especially insane to say during BHM from yours truly, but I'm spiraling and looking at data and the state of the world (& my country specifically) and the stories I want to tell and the people who stories are centered and...

I don't think I ever want to charge money for my games. ever. they'll be free for the unforeseen future because I'm not tanking my health further by stressing out over what hateful, racist, insane players think. I'm already catching strays from trying to have f!MC protagonists??? can you unpack why that makes you wanna lash out and be nasty?? but preferably with someone else that's not me.

people talk such a big game about diversity and being inclusive and listening to Black voices and then turn around do the exact opposite. every single time.

ugh, I have a queued post going up...tomorrow?? that's a reblog from last year, but a warning: I was a very different person with a very different well of energy when I wrote it and when I scheduled that reblog.

[neewtmas]

12 days of Christmas // A Lockwood & Co Advent Calendar

DAY 2

Happy 4th of december! Today I'm posting a fic, and it's a Lucy x reader one. I feel like there are wayyy too little Lucy x reader fics, and I want to do something good for everyone with a crush on Lucy hehe. I wrote the fic with a fem!reader in mind, but there is literally zero description/pronouns, so it can be read by everyone.

I hope you enjoy!

I'm so sorry it's technically a day late I forgot it in my drafts

day 1 day 3 day 4 day 5 day 6

The Letters I Never Sent

pairing: lucy carlyle x fem!reader/gn!reader

wordcount: 2.3k

summary: You are Lucy's closest friend, but move to London before the events of the Mill. You don't hear from her for a long time, until you meet her again by chance (I promise it's better than this description lol)

masterlist

advent calendar tags: @givemea-dam-break @wellgoslowly @maraschinomerry @losticaruss @oblivious-idiot @uku-lelevillain @avdiobliss @strawberryloveyyy @strawberrycowgirly @demigoddess-of-ghosts @thefriendlyneighborhoodmomfriend @boookfreeak

You tried to smooth out the piece of paper that you had carelessly stuffed into your pocket 20 minutes ago. It had a list of different supplies on it, written in the scrawly handwriting of your supervisor that the wrinkles in the paper just made even more illegible. You knew for sure that you needed new saltbombs, so why not start there? You made your way through the tall shelves, each one filled with all kinds of different ghost-fighting paraphernalia. When you turned around a corner, you finally spotted the salt bombs you were searching for. As you started loading them in the bag you brought, you saw movement in your peripheral.

A girl dressed in blue was browsing the shelves just as you did minutes prior, and you only glanced over for a second before resuming what you were doing. But as she disappeared behind the shelf it hit you like a ton of bricks. That hair, the outfit - you knew her. Forgotten were the salt bombs, and you almost dropped the bag as you rushed over to where the girl just stood. You skidded around the corner and came to an abrupt halt as you came face to face with her. She gasped and took a step back, but when she took a closer look at you, her eyes widened. "Y/N?" It was her. "Lucy!"

This time you dropped the bag of saltbombs and without thinking, moved forward to hug her. At the last moment, you hesitated, not sure if it would be even okay with her, but the next thing you knew she had enveloped you in a bone-crushing hug. You buried your face in her hair, taking in the familiar scent you had missed so much, and you stayed like that for what felt like a few seconds and an eternity all at once. When she released you and took a step back again, your knees felt a little weak.

"Y/N, how have you been?!" Her gaze fell on your grey uniform and her brows furrowed a little. "Are you working for Fittes? You never told me!" You bit the inside of your cheek. That was true, you never told her you worked at Fittes. You never told her anything, for that matter. You thought of the pile of unsent letters you had buried in the corner of your least used drawer at your small apartment. You mentioned Fittes there. But there were other reasons why you had never dared to send these letters up north to Lucy. You shrugged. "They were the only ones that would take me. It's not that easy without a grade four." Lucy smiled bitterly. "I know."

You took a closer look at her. The outfit she was wearing didn't correlate with an agency you knew. But she was wearing a rapier - and you currently were in a shop for ghost hunting supplies, for that matter - so she had to still be in business. "Are you a solo agent now?" You couldn't help your mind immediately wandering to the both of you fighting ghosts together. For her, you'd quit immediately. Lucy shook her head. "We're a pretty small agency. Lockwood & Co? We've been in the papers a few times." You rarely read the paper, but even then the name rang a bell. "How are you doing there?" "It's great. Lockwood and George are… we're like family now." You could tell she meant it from the way her eyes lit up when she talked about them, but you couldn't ignore the tight feeling in your chest. Just some time ago, she had said that about you and Norrie.

BEFORE

You walked over cobblestones that slowly turned into a dirt road, hands clutched together. You had walked that street more times than you could count, and thinking about how this might be the last time made your heart hurt. When you reached the small house of the Carlyle's, you knocked on the door, and almost immediately it flew open to reveal Lucy. She grabbed you by the arm and pulled you inside. "My mother is gone right now", she said, and you let out a breath you were holding. Mrs. Carlyle was… unpleasant, to say the least. It pained you to know that you got to leave this town and Lucy was stuck here with a mother that saw her as nothing more than someone to earn her money.

Lucy's room upstairs was warm and cosy, and the both of you made yourself comfortable on her bed. You let your gaze travel over all the photos pinned to the wall over her bed, pictures of the both of you together, with Norrie, some of you alone. Lucy turned on her side so that she was facing you. "Are you excited for London?", she asked and started tracing the pattern of your sweater on your arm. That was something she had started doing some time ago, and you were still not used to it. "Yes", you croaked out as you stared at the ceiling, desperately trying to ignore the feeling of her gentle fingers. It was quiet for a moment. You didn't dare look at her. "I'm gonna miss you, you know", Lucy finally said, voice just above a whisper. You finally turned your head to look at her. Her eyes sparkled with tears in the warm light of her bedside table lamp and you swore she had never looked prettier than in this moment. It took everything in you to not lean forward and kiss her senseless. There was no reason to ruin your friendship now. Instead, you forced yourself to turn your head back, tears now prickling in your eyes as well. "Well, I'm gonna miss you more." She scooched over, closer to you, and rested her head on your shoulder. Without a word, you wrapped your arm around her and closed your eyes, soaking in the moment.

You were still thinking about her as you watched the meadows flow past the train window. To think that for the longest time, moving to London had been your biggest dream, and now you had to try your hardest to find even a spark of excitement in you. Your dream had always involved Lucy and Norrie. The three of you were supposed to move down there together. But now your aunt died and had left you a small apartment in London and your parents had more or less just kicked you out.

The next few months you spent working for Fittes, every morning coming back to your apartment that felt empty and cold with just you in it. You were writing a lot of letters. Some to Norrie, most to Lucy, none to your parents. But you didn't send any of them. Until the day your supervisor handed you the daily newspaper with a pitiful expression and you had to read about how all your old colleagues had died in a tragic accident. Everyone, except Lucy. Your supervisor sent you home that day and told you to take some time off. You cried on the way home, and when you arrived at your apartment, you sat down at your desk and wrote a letter to Lucy. You never received an answer.

TODAY

You smiled. "That sounds great. I'd love to meet them sometime." You had to know who it was that she had replaced you with. Lucy checked her watch. "You can come join us for dinner tonight." She cleared her throat. "Just if you want to." "Yes, of course! I wouldn't miss it." Lucy smiled brightly at you. "Fantastic. I gotta go now. 35 Portland Row, at six?" She hugged you again, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. "I'm so glad to have you back", she whispered in your ear before she stepped back, giving you a little wave and walking off. You didn't know how long you stood there, frozen in place, the feeling of her lips lingering on your skin.

At precisely six o'clock, you stood in front of 35 Portland Row. You rang the bell, and a few seconds later the door opened. In front of you stood a boy, taller than you, but about the same age. Weirdly enough, he was wearing a shirt and tie, and you briefly wondered if you were underdressed. But then Lucy appeared behind him, in the same blue outfit she was wearing earlier, and you relaxed a little. The guy smiled politely, extending his hand to you. "I'm Lockwood." You shook his hand. "Y/N." The three of you stood for a moment before Lucy opened the door wider. "Come in! Dinner is almost ready." You stepped past Lockwood into a hallway that was filled to the brim with stuff. Much of it on the wall looked like old artefacts, while the floor was littered with shoes, bags, salt bombs, and a single rapier. Lucy kicked it to the side. "George is in the middle of a deep clean", she mumbled, a little embarrassed. But you didn't mind, it was cosy. You could already start to understand why Lucy liked it here. It felt more like a home than one with Mrs. Carlyle in it ever could. Luy led you to the kitchen, where the table was already set with four plates. The guy on the stove gave you a slightly awkward smile and introduced himself as George. You sat down on the chair that Lucy offered you and your gaze fell on the table cloth that was covered all over in drawings and notes. You immediately spotted some of Lucy's sketches.

The stew George had cooked tasted fantastic. The atmosphere was nice, conversation flowed easily. You talked about how your first few weeks in London went back when you started at Fittes, and Lucy told you the story about how she ran away from home and ultimately ended up at Lockwood and Co. After dinner, Lockwood and George busied themselves with the dishes, while Lucy led you up a few staircases to a room in the attic. When you climbed the last little steps up into her room, you could immediately tell it was her she lived here. It had the same cosy atmosphere as her old room. You sat down on the edge of the bed, clasping your hands in your lap.

Your eyes travelled around the room, over to the sketches hung up on the wall next to the window. Finally, you took a look at the photographs above her bed. There were photos with Lockwood and George, of course. But there were also photos of Lucy and you, and of you alone, several of them. Lastly, your gaze fell on a photo of Lucy, Norrie and you. Your throat closed up as you looked at the bright smiles and happy faces. You'd never get that back.

"I'm so sorry about Norrie", you said quietly, not looking away from the photo. "I should have stayed." Lucy had laid down on the bed behind you. "You couldn't have done anything. I couldn't either." Her voice was full of so many emotions, anger, grief, sorrow, and regret. You clasped your hand tighter, fighting back the tears. "I sent you a letter", you said. "Afterwards." Lucy was quiet for a moment. "Do you wanna lay down?", she asked, and without thinking, you curled up next to her. That position was so natural for you, you had spent so many hours like this - and you had no idea how much you had missed it. Lucy moved so that her head was on your shoulder. "I left a few days after it happened", she said quietly. "My mother probably threw it away."

"Oh." A small part of you was relieved. You thought maybe she had thrown it away because she hated you for leaving her behind. "I thought about you a lot after you left", Lucy said and started tracing patterns on your arm. Heat rushed to your face at her words, and you tried to calm down your heartbeat that had picked up at her touch. "I thought about you too", you said with a hoarse voice. "I wrote you so many letters." Lucy turned her head up towards you. "Really?" You tried to ignore how close her face was to yours. "I sent none of them", you admitted. "Why?" You could tell from her tone that she was hurt.

"I was scared", you simply said. Lucy didn't say anything, and you could tell she was waiting for you to continue. "I wrote about…" You trailed off. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the moment you'd confess your feelings for her, and she'd either throw you out of the house and would never want to see you again or… But no, you didn't allow yourself to get your hopes up. Instead, you slowly moved your hand over next to hers so that your fingers were touching, just to gauge her reaction. You half expected her to pull away, but instead, she interlaced her fingers with yours. "You wrote about what?" She was looking at you again, and just like that, you forgot how to speak. "I -" She moved impossibly closer. "Yes?" Your heart skipped a beat. "Can I kiss you?", you breathed out, almost inaudible. She squeezed your hand, smiling up at you before she leaned in. "I thought you'd never ask."

Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated :)

Here is part 1 of the advent calendar

[hideyseek]

11.16.2022

hmm i think i need to bully myself into not writing for a few days again… today’s writing session was SINGULARLY terrible, i feel like i am just slapping random character dynamics onto a story that may or may not fit them and ALSO none of the writing is beautiful or even functional, it’s just incredibly stilted words. grrrrrrrrr.

but it’s fine! how i feel about the project has almost zero correlation with how the project is going! just because i feel like i am plodding forward directionlessly does not mean that the project will constantly feel like this!

i’m worried that i’ve stopped writing linearly — not because there’s anything wrong with skipping around, but because i have yet to procure any evidence that when i do this i actually finish a coherent draft. well. this time it — OH MY GOD THE REASON I FELT LIKE SHIT THIS WHOLE DRAFTING SESSION TODAY IS BECAUSE I FUCKING STARTED WRITING A SCENE THAT ISN’T EVEN IN THIS ARC. because i knew i already had drafts of the rest of the scenes in this arc and momentarily it became more important to me to hit the completely arbitrary wordcount of 7.5k than to ACTUALLY WRITE THE STORY I AM TRYING TO WRITE. sigh… classic hidey brain move…

well ok, helpful realization. i think then… i’ll try to spend the rest of this month writing only when i really definitely WANT to, and try to spend those sessions revising the existing drafts of the last few scenes of this arc — i am making up the rules of this writing process myself! the goal is: work on this fic in a semi-structured way! there is LITERALLY NO RULE that says i have to fuck around and keep writing this fake “first draft”, or that eveything i write in this month needs to be the same like, “version” of the draft! there is no rule that says it!!!!!

maybe what i will need to do is put together a scene tracking document for this arc — i’ve seen a few other writers i follow do this so i kind of have a sense of what i’m looking for in it. just so i can kind of ease myself back into that bird’s-eye view of the arc that i need to be able to move to/from when revising. hmmm but that can be a next week problem!

but, yeah. the ACTUAL goal of this month is to have a more intuitive sense of what i’m trying to do in this first arc, and to have an understanding (or at least to have some notes) about plots and subplots that i’m opening up and progressing in this arc that i can use to tie the various arcs or whatever together. this goal is NOT “generate as many words as possible all in the same draft version until you hit your wordcount” NO NO NO!!! NO!!!!!!!!! *thwapping myself lovingly with a beanie baby* NO NO NO THE GOAL IS TO PRODUCE READABLE FIC! NOT JUST WORDS! yes when i am stuck or looking for where to take a scene! then this exploratory pantsing drafting is great! but IF I KNOW WHERE I’M TRYING TO GO!! i don’t need to waste my own time writing in circles just to generate draft material i know i’m not gonna want to read through! gAHHHHHHH

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

Whoo boy, been a little bit. I can’t really say much besides IRL sucks, so. Back to something that doesn’t suck, which is BNHA. This chapter is dedicated to the good bean Tenya, especially his little smile which forced me to change my pfp on discord because I just couldn’t.

I was kinda planning on doing arc summaries between sections, but honestly, the BNHA wiki already has those, so if you don’t want to go back and read through all the posts I’ve done for the pre-USJ chapters, just head over there and do a skim of the summaries there, I guess?

[No. 12 - Yeah, Just Do Your Best, Iida!]

I just love how his hand gestures are actual effective tools against enemies, I cannot even. Also, a good and friendly reminder that carbonated drinks stall his engines! I have never seen that used in fanfic, whether for crack or whump purposes… a shame.

We head right into the next morning from that battle training, with the kids being held up by the media as they ask about All Might. Izuku is a bundle of nerves as he awkwardly excuses himself to the nurse’s office, Ochako is a darling who describes All Might as super muscly, and Tenya goes into a whole ass speech with a lot of fancy language to explain the honor of being at UA and learning under All Might. 

(Honestly, I find it hard to determine whether this is genuinely earnest or if he’s picked up media warding skills from his parents and older brother. It’s probably genuine, but I just love the idea behind low-key troll master Tenya who learned from the best, aka his older brother.)

Katsuki, unfortunately, is still known as ‘the kid from the sludge incident’, which I mean. I am so fucking baffled at how long the media in this have held onto that 'sludge incident' thing, like, you'd think they'd have moved on to other things by now and don't really think about it much.

It’s the same with the general public (as seen in chapter 3), like, yes, I too would have a fucking complex and anger issues if all anyone thought about in relation to me wasn't my high grades or my skill in combat or anything, but that one time a year ago where I was almost suffocated to death while the people who were supposed to save my life did fucking nothing. I mean, Katsuki has always had a complex, but This Didn't Help.

Moving on, we see the media wondering who the fuck this messy looking dude waving them off is, while Aizawa just. Fucking shoos them like they’re dogs or kids or something. His words seem like a vague attempt at being polite about shooing them, but with the hand gesture, well. Basically comes off more as a chastisement. 

...honestly, this feels so weird that no one knew about it even though the kids who got in got a message from All Might saying he’d be teaching there. The only thing I and the others can assume is that there was an NDA on him teaching until it was announced to the newspapers on the first day of classes. Which would explain why it didn’t hit the news until said day…

Whatever, it’s weird, let’s just move on.

One of the reporters steps forward, asking/demanding a chance to speak to All Might about his sudden shift to teaching, only for the guy behind her to try and call out a warning - just a touch too late, as the sensors over the gate react, causing the daunting hunk of metal serving as a gate to slam closed right in front of her. Gonna guess she’s new to the reporting scene. The guy explains that the UA barrier locks down if someone without a school ID approaches the gate, and that supposedly there are more sensors throughout the campus.

The panel gives us a diagram of the three ‘levels’ of sensors - the gate/wall around the school, the walkway to the school, and the school itself. Which I think correlates to the security levels that come up later, since it’s a ‘level three’ breach, which means the school was broken into. Was it… always that fucking simple and I just totally glossed over that detail until now? orz

While the newsfolk complain about not getting comments from UA, we get to see the back of a ~mysterious figure~ who definitely isn’t the primary antagonist of the entire series. God, you can see his individual neck vertebrae.

Horrifying.

We transition to 1a’s homeroom, with Aizawa going over the battle training as well as their grades / evaluations. Aizawa calls out Katsuki and tells him to grow up and stop wasting his talent, which Katsuki grudgingly accepts. Izuku jolts at being called out next over his broken arm, and accepts the chastisement of learning to control his quirk, because trying isn’t going to cut it. Aizawa does soften the blow, however, by repeating that Izuku has potential, assuming he overcomes that issue.

With that done, Aizawa ‘Plus Extra™’ Shouta gets the whole class tense by drawing out the next class announcement. While I think it’s a translation error, the whole class sweating as they wonder whether it’s another brutal pop quiz is hella funny. (I’m guessing it was meant to be ‘test’ which would reference to the quirk assessment as well as the battle training, but ah well.) The whole class sighs in relief as one as Aizawa finally reveals that their task for the morning is to choose a class president - a normal, school-like thing in comparison to the past two days.

Pretty much the entire class has their hands raised to volunteer for the position, with Katsuki being particularly aggressive about it (as per the norm). Even Izuku has his hand shyly lifted up from the desk, while his narration notes that the position in normal schools entails mundane tasks, but in UA’s hero course means leading the group - a position suited for a top hero in the making.

Tenya calls for them all to quiet down, drawing attention as he goes on to explain how leading people is a task of heavy responsibility, but that ambition is not equal to ability. He is so intense it’s hilarious as he explains how the office demands the trust of its constituents, and that if it’s to be a democracy, then he puts forward the motion that they choose their leader through election.

Seriously this is just so fucking hilarious, I love this boy so much. And I love whoever it is that calls out that this is a classroom, not congress. 

Tsuyu points out that the class hasn’t known each other long enough to build trust, and Kirishima notes that everyone will vote for themselves. Tenya points out that that is precisely the reason that anyone who gets multiple votes will be the best suited for the job. He then checks with Aizawa if this is allowable, which the teacher agrees to so long as it’s quick. And a quick transition, we reveal the winners-

Izuku with three votes, and Momo with two.

Everyone else, it seems, still has one vote, which was their own (as predicted). Izuku is shook. Katsuki is shaking in anger as he demands to know who the hell voted for Deku. Ochako is whistling and looking away, thinking that she’d better not let Katsuki find out.

(Also of note is that Sero is already approaching Katsuki and making a joke here about it being obvious Katsuki wasn’t one of Izuku’s votes, and then seemingly laughing a bit when Katsuki’s temper turns on him?

Hard to say for sure, but it seems Sero is the first of Katsuki’s future friend group to approach him and get away with poking at his temper. Which I feel is something very much overlooked by the fandom in favor of Kirishima for fairly obvious reasons.)

Tenya, meanwhile, is in a funk as he notes he has no votes, and that that is the harsh reality of office. Momo is concerned as she notes that zero votes meant he voted fro someone else, while Sato points out that Tenya was the one to suggest the election, so what did he seriously want? Izuku and Momo go to the front of the class - Izuku a nervous wreck while Momo’s just exasperated with the situation. Aizawa confirms their positions as he gets out of his sleeping bag, and the class talk a bout about the suitability of the chosen pair while Tenya continues to sulk in his seat.

With that, the first half of the chapter is done, so I’ll call it here. I can certainly say I learned a thing or two today, and I hope y’all did as well!

[effodiantcorvi]

Numerology and the Tarot.

—Tarot post 1.

——Using: The Antique Anatomy Tarot(Claire Goodchild).

Numerology is the study of the spiritual significance and symbolism of numbers.

This guide will give you an easy way to blend Tarot and Numerology and improve your Tarot reading skills.

TAROT AND NUMEROLOGY: KEEPING IT SIMPLE

The best way to learn the correspondences between Tarot and Numerology is to keep it simple and begin with the digits.

If it’s been a long time since math class or if math was never your favorite, recall that digits are the singular version of numbers. Dating back to ancient times, they were the numbers that could be counted on fingers, which also gives fingers that name.

Some consider them 1 through 10 but for our purposes here I will reduce the 10 to its digits, 1 and 0. So 0 through 9 are the digits we deal with first.

Rather than memorizing seventy-eight numerical combinations, right away we can see it is easier to deal with the meanings of the numbers 0 through 9.

0 – Beginnings, purity, innocence

1 – Manifestation, creativity, and attraction

2 – Balance, unity, polarity

3 – Abundance, fertility, expansion

4 – Structure, stability, sturdiness

5 – Shock wave, challenge, conflict

6 – Communication, harmony, mutual aid

7 – Stagnation, introspection, reflection

8 – Stability, protection, sturdiness

9 – Expansion, growth

Let’s start with Zero. In most versions of the Tarot, the Major Arcana begins with Zero, the Fool. If you understand the archetype of the Fool, then you understand the power of Zero.

But if you don’t that’s ok. Let’s reverse-engineer this interpretation. Zero is round, it forms a circle and thus represents totality and cycles. Yet it’s also empty and represents emptiness, openness, and nothingness.

Zero is the beginning. It is purity and innocence. It is defined by absence.

One is the individual. If you know it as the Magician, then you know it is the power of the mind, creativity, and attraction. Where does manifestation begin? It begins with One.

Being of One mind about a subject rather than divided. Singular focus. It is an individual act.

One is the starting point, the first number to be defined. It is the definition and formation given to open thought (Zero).

Two is balance. This is also symbolized by the number Two of the Major Arcana, the High Priestess. She balances the opposites: the intuitive and the rational, inner and outer, and the hidden and the revealed.

Two is also unity. It’s polarity, two ones trying to understand each other, like two people trying to figure each other out.

From a couple, from Two, comes expansion. We put our heads together and develop ideas or launch a business. A couple comes together and creates a baby.

From Two comes also the tension of polarity. This polarity is broken when a third factor is introduced. This is like a triangle creating stability because of the third point. So then we have Three.

Three is abundance, fertility, and expansion. Three is the Empress, who shows the fruits of the labor of Two.

With all these resources and abundance, family and progress you’ve generated, you now need boundaries and definition.

Three is like the wealth you’ve amassed from sharing your work by blending One and Two. Wealth needs to be put to good use. Who decides what to do with the wealth and abundance? Boundaries, structure, and protection are needed.

This is where Four comes in. Four is the Emperor. The guardian and overseer who delegates boundaries to keep things in order.

Four is another point of balance. Now, two two’s, four is able to create something stable. Four is a house where two was a plank of wood, held up at both ends. Four is a table. Four is sturdy.

Four is contentment. Four is also complacent. All the wealth in the bank, everything solid and protected, life gets a little flat.

Luckily, Five comes next. Five emerges on the scene and shakes the table Four was lazily resting on. Five is the shock wave, the challenge, the conflict.

Five is the Hierophant, challenging you to live up to your higher ideals and not just settle for basic creature comforts.

Five is also the number associated with the Pentacles which are an entire suit (more on this in a moment). Thus the number Five represents the four natural elements, Air, Fire, Water and Earth as well as Akasha, the Spirit element.

Five brings growth through disruption.

All of this disruption becomes chaotic. Six is the number of communication and harmony. The Lovers, bringing balance to each other’s lives, helping to settle the problems through mutual aid.

Six is also considered a mystical number. It is the combination of the Divine Feminine and Divine Masculine as explained in many theories and even mentioned in Dan Brown’s book The DaVinci Code.

In this book, the six-pointed star, also known as the Star of David, is explained as a combination of Feminine and Masculine principles.

The upright and inverted triangles together that create a six-pointed star represents this balance of masculine and feminine.

After the harmony and balance of the number Six, Seven awakes desire within us. It tells you that there is more to this life and tempts you to pursue a goal.

Seven in Tarot is also a number of stagnation and introspection. The Chariot asks “What do I need to change before I can move forward?”. Which direction should he go?

Therefore, before chasing your dreams, first, take time to venture deep into your subconscious mind and try to connect with your higher self.

Seven is also known as a lucky number and in some religions is associated with positive mystical experiences.

Eight is a number of infinity because of its shape. It is a number that reminds you that everything comes full circle. This is also depicted in the Strength tarot card by the infinity sign.

Eight is associated with abundance and expansion, stability, and securing your foundation. It is a number of harvest times and to some, the fall of the year.

Analyzing this number, we have the power of Two repeated Four times. So the power of unity and polarity, times Four, the power of stability, protection, and sturdiness.

Nine has great significance. With Nine things are almost perfect, almost complete. Nine is three Threes and thus has the magic and meaning of expansion and growth three times over.

The Hermit is numbered Nine. The Hermit brings us on a powerful journey to transformation from which we remember our inner power and advance spiritually and ideologically. The Hermit is not about loneliness, it is about the power of the individual to follow a unique path forward.

Then we arrive at Ten. What is Ten? The combination of One and Zero. The Fool and the Magician together but also the Wheel of Fortune. A reminder that anything is possible.

TAROT AND NUMEROLOGY: THE MAJOR ARCANA

As you can see from this outline, each single-digit has at least one Major Arcana card associated with it.

And here comes the good news: you can apply what you know about the single digits to all Major Arcana Tarot cards. So, there is no need to learn double-digit numerology.

There are a few ways to do this, but we will keep it simple. Just add together the digits, to interpret the single number of the card and its meaning.

Now consider the Devil. Traditionally, the images on the Lovers and Devil card correlate to each other, yet the Devil is considered the inverse of the Lovers. Interestingly, what is the number on the Devil card?

It is the number 15. Reduce this number and you have 1+5=6. Therefore you have a numerical link between the Lovers and the Devil. This illustrates that the Lovers and the Devil share a lesson.

When the Lovers lose balance, they become the Devil. They become addicted, obsessed, controlling, jealous, and codependent.

NEXT POST WILL BE ABOUT THE MINOR ARCANA!

Also, hello!! How’re you doing today? My name is Raven, I’m a 16 year old trans boy, and I’ve been practicing witchcraft for about five years now!

If you have any questions about something that I’ve posted; or something you’d like to see me post, send a message to me privately or ask in the ask box thingy!! I’ll answer your question(s) as soon as possible!!

Oh!! And, if you’re a beginner witch looking for some help; I’ll be more than happy to help you out!! I love helping people!

Have a wonderful day and stay safe!!

[disaster-bay-leaf]

Ok so these were the cutest~ (ㆁωㆁ)

4, 6, 7, 9, 12, 19, 22, 23, 28, 33, 34, 46, 47, 52, 59, 60, 63, 66, 83, 87, 88, 93, 99

I kno I listed like....all of them lmao but feel free to answer whichever you want and ofc you can ask me in return Baybe ( ◜‿◝ )♡

uHUHUHUHU much content for me to answer, im happy bebe 💜💜💜✨

4 - how do you take your coffee/tea?

hm coffee either Very Black No Sugar (for the sleep deprived me) or iced latte three sugars and theres no in between

and as for tea its All Black Teas That Exist, cinnamon-flavoured especially (but basically all teas that come to mind when u think “autumn”), and rooibos!!! okay basically the only oke i dont like is any type of green tea (which is sad because they look cool but my tastebuds said ✨no✨)

6 - do you keep plants?

honestly id l o v e too because i love plants but,,, im kinda horrible at taking care of them though still way better than the majority of my family (research helps) so the only plant i own is kinda a small-palm-tree-looking thing in a bigass glass jar that i saved from my mother’s plant-destructing hands and its mostly doing well (the ends of its leaves are starting to be yellow tho and im worried:((( )

7 - do you name your plants?

yes!!! though the current one was named by my sister and its called “pickett” after fantastic beasts shsjjsj

9 - do you like singing/humming to yourself?

oh god oh dude you have n o idea

i have absolutely n o singing voice but its something i do constantly to give my brain the right amount of stimuli so basically i listen to music 24/7 and hum to myself 99% of that time

12 - whats your favourite planet?

oh i actually didnt think about this for so long but either pluto (hes a planet screw nasa) or saturn (RINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) or venus (girls,,,and libra,,,)

19 - do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw in it?

okay im gonna be completely honest with yall and say that my every single try at keeping a journal failed spectacularly and i lost motivation after like a few months so my only journals rn are my fancy fake-leather-bound calendar to note tests and assessments into, a kinda roughed up notebook that i uses for noting down poems or scribbling or passing notes in class, and a kinda fancy bullet journal notebook that i used as a book of shadows for a while but since my fountain pen died i didnt touch it

22 - are you a morning person?

n o

i am so not a morning person but i wish i could be because honestly dawns are beautiful

but as it is rn im either sleep deprived all the time and loathe every second of being in an awake state or (if i have a few days of schoolbreak) my biological clock moves forward a few hours and i sleep 2am-10am

23 - whats your favourite thing to do on lazy days with zero obligations?

except for the fact that i dont remember the last time it happened, i would probably spend it drawing outside, watching anime with my sister and riding a bike around the forest

28 - sunrise or sunset?

i love sunrises because its so peaceful and everyone is asleep but also i subconsciously immediately correlate them with waiting for a train to take me to school (because thats basically the only time i see them) so its a bittersweet love especially with my fucked up biological clock

but sunsets are really really pretty too and i see them more often so i cant choose

33 - whats your fave pastry?

and isnt that a millior-dollar question dhsjjsjsj

either cinnamon rolls (i absolutely adore them) or that one specific type of cupcake-shaped-thing made out of shortcrust/bread/whatever its called and filled with vanilla pudding

34 - tell us about a stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?

awwww this is cute

okay so basically my two favourite stuffed animals (i still have them, they sit in my wardrobe) were two teddy bears (like maybe 20cm high each of them) and one was pure brown and the other was silver-brown and they had stereotypical polish male names “Waldek” (read. Valdek) and Stefan (i think tho im not sure if i remember correctly, my memory is a feeble thing sometimes

46 - tell us the worst pun you can think of

what dog would never bite you? a hot dog *badumtss*

47 - what food do you think should be banned from the universe?

huh a year ago id say pineapple pizza but i guess i dont hate pineapples that much anymore (tho putting them on pizza is still an abomination) but i think that if id ever want to get rid of anything it would be parsley, i hate that freakin herb (does it count as food tho)

52 - what are your favourite memes of the year so far?

the ever given for sure shsjshjsjsjsjjsj

but bullying tramp stamps is gold and pure tumblr energy too

as for fandom memes: im in love with all keeping-up-with-the-todorokis variations and the fact that the entire bsd fandom looked at fukuchi and said “biTCH” and thats one of the only things we’re unanimous about

59 - whats your favourite myth?

i always liked the kora/persephone myth (though demeter is an overbearing parent to the nth power), loki and thor crossdressing at a party to get mjolnir back, atalanta because shes a queen and id politely ask her to kick my ass, and cassandra because she deserved better, and theres a l o t more because alas i was a mythology nerd but this post is long enough for me not to make this section 20 times longer sjjsjsjsjsjks

but there are a lot of slavic myths that are very cool too, though we dont know that much about them as about the greeks for example

60 - do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?

o o o o h yeah i do like poetry because to create such a beautifully sounding thing with only words someone has to be a genius

some of my favs are: some works of nakahara chuuya (thank u bsd for introducing me to this man’s beautiful imagery in his works i swear to god the descriptions do it for me) (also his poem about having hangovers is a mood like i feel you buddy), the raven by ea poe (i know everyone likes it but hOLY DAMN THE INTER/INTRAVERSE RHYMES ARE LIKE,,, BREATHTAKING) (and aso im a slut for gothic horror), and many more but also That One Poem From Welcome To Nightvale about reaching the island in the west,,, only perfect vibes from it

63 - are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organised or kinda leave them be?

okay heres the thing. for anyone else both my playlist library and my bookshelf would be considered pure chaos of a mad man b u t they actually have a highly focused system which means that i sort them based on their vibes, lovability and (in case of books) their age and whether or not theyre a part of a series so i would say my bookshelf is rather organised (when a quarter of it isnt occupying my desk that is) and my music is more organised than not but sometimes it gets out of control and i have to sort it entirely again

66 - what would your ideal flower crown look like?

either entirely constructed of simple white daisies, entirely constructed of only white roses, or something that probably would win a “how many different coloured flowers can one fit in a flower crown” competition

or something purple (maybe not belladonna)

83 - whats some of your favourite album art?

god i dont know if it counts but hozier’s wasteland baby is probably one of my absolute favourites and no one shall beat that

“thrifted youth” (dalynn) and “standard deviation” (danny schmidt) have very aesthetic covers too

also the iconic p!atd too weird to live, too rare to die! album cover,,, its just iconic what can i say

and last but not least matt meason’s pink-and-black album covers (though bank on the funeral is really pretty too but like,,, “who killed matt meason” d o e s it for me and so does the 2017 tribulation single)

87 - what are some movies that you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives?

this is such a hard question because im not a really cinematography-oriented gal but i suppose that (at the risk of not going deep enough into the cinema world):

- the princess bride

- inception

- night at the museum

- SPIRITED AWAY

- forrest gump

- truman show

- E.T. (i cried okay)

- the lord of the rings (because damn me if this isnt one impressive adaptation)

- parasite

and one more personal recommendation: “ready or not” with samara weaving because goddamn i dont usually watch this genre but holy s h i t is it good

93 - whats the hairstyle you wear the most?

honestly just plain hair down (because having curly hair is a menace), split in the middle when i have longer hair and split on one side when its short

also low ponytails or half-up-half-down when im exercising, or double french braids when my hair doesnt cooperate enough to look presentable in any other form

99 - list some songs that resonate with your soul whenever you hear them

this is difficult because my music taste is a goddamn rollercoaster on a good day, but heres some:

- me and the sky from “come from away” musical (this is sort of a test song for my mental stability, if i cry i aint stable)

- dancing after death by matt meason (okay most songs by matt meason except for like,,, hallucinogenics maybe)

- tears and rain by james blunt

- i will follow you into the dark by death cab for cutie

- almost home by mxmtoon

- anything by hozier really but shrike especially

- payphone, the cover by alex g (i cried to this song so many times)

- burning pile by mother mother (can i roast all my problems please)

- long way from home and cleopatra by the lumineers

- autoclave by the mountain goats

oooh that was c o o o o o o o l as fuck thank you sm so much bebe (and sorry for the long post @everyone else)

[alicepink-me]

Secret Admirer

Story Summary:

With the help of Chat Noir, Marinette sends a love letter to Adrien. After that, there’s an exchange of many letters between Marinette and Adrien. Marinette is excited but later questions if she is actually writing to Adrien and thinks Chat Noir might actually be writing to her instead. Marinette tries to make sense of her love life and who her secret admirer actually is.

Chapter 11: The Walls Between Us (Zero correlation to the music video. I wrote this way before that came out.)

Adrien sat at his desk, staring at the first card Marinette gave him, still framed. His photoshoot had just ended. He couldn't focus since he had talked to Marinette in the park. She really didn't want to talk to him. Adrien thought maybe it'd be different since he wasn't Chat Noir and he really tried, but I guess he messed it all up for Chat Noir and Adrien.

Adrien spun in a circle in his swivel chair. "Ugh! What am I gonna do, Plagg? I really messed up."

"I don't know what you can do now." Plagg checked Adrien's cheese drawer. "It seems like she really hates you."

"I know." Adrien leaned forward on his desk. "But I really like her . . . and I still have hope. If I give up now, what good will that do? I don't want to end on bad terms. And how can I lose hope if Marinette never told me we were done?"

"But she made you leave. Seems to me she doesn't want to see you again."

"She didn't say that though." Adrien looked at his kwami. "She told me to leave. There's a difference. She may be confused or just doesn't know what to say. I don't know, but she never said what she was feeling." He sighed. "I don't want to lose Marinette."

Suddenly a wall of metal bars fell down, covered the window side of Adrien's bedroom. Adrien sprung up from his chair in a panic. He ran to the door but another wall of bars fell down.

"Is Sandboy back again?" Adrien asked as more metal bars appeared. His room had bars on all four walls like a cage. They were very similar to his dad's shutdown mode of the house security system, but looked more like Sandboy.

"Adrien." A maniacal voice said from behind him.

Adrien whipped his head around. "Lila?" Lila stood in front of Adrien with a sinister grin. She was dressed the same but her eyes glowed bright purple. "You're akumatized."

"Don't think of it like that. Think of this as a new start for us." She moved forward and grabbed his hands. "Think of it as a blessing in disguise. We don't need to worry about anyone else getting in the way of our relationship."

"Relationship?" Adrien tried to step back, but Lila kept a grip on him. "Lila, we aren't in a relationship. What are you talking about?"

"Marinette. She's always getting in the way of us." Lila answered. "I don't know what you see in her, but we can put that all behind us now. Just you and me now." She wrapped her fingers around his, holding his hand. Her smile terrified him.

"What does Marinette have to do with this?" He leaned away from her.

"She's always chasing you." Lila growled. "I've tried telling her that you two aren't right for each other, but she never seems to listen. But now, I'm gonna fix it. We can finally be together."

"Lila, you need to calm down. You're not like this." Adrien tried to reason with her. "Marinette has nothing to do with this. After all of this, we can be great friends. No one needs to get hurt."

"No." Lila let go of his hand and Adrien stumbled back. "I'm going to fix us. And it all starts with Marinette." Lila turned around and walked to the window.

"No, Lila!" Adrien ran forward, but Lila walked through the bars. She flew up to a building across the street and was gone. She didn't have wings, but her flying looked like her Volpina abilities. Adrien turned to Plagg. "We need to warn Marinette." He walked over to his cheese drawer.

"Do you think that's the best idea?" Plagg asked. "She might not listen to you."

"I've done enough already, but if Marinette got hurt because of me, I could never forgive myself." Adrien shoved a slice of camembert in his jacket. "Plagg, Claws Out!" He walked up to the metal bars covering his windows. Lila was gone, so the coast was clear. "Cataclysm!" He touched the metal bars and watched them crumble. Chat Noir hopped on the open window ledge. "I need to find her quickly." He looked at his ring. "Five minutes."

Chat Noir used his baton to propel himself out of his room. He ran along the rooftops until he reached Marinette's house. He jumped to her balcony and ran inside her room. Her lights were on, so he hoped she was here.

"Marinette, Marinette!" Chat Noir called as he swiftly ran down the steps from Marinette's bed. Her room was empty. "Where is she? She said she was coming back here." He put his fist under his chin. "Marinette said she had to . . . work. She's probably in the bakery."

Chat Noir ran back up to the balcony and jumped down to the street. He entered the bakery and saw Marinette's mother standing at the counter, helping a customer.

"Ms. Cheng!" He called, running inside, panting. Sabine gave her customer their bag and turned to the hero. "Where is Marinette?"

"She's not here." Sabine said. "What's wrong?"

"There's an akuma out right now and Marinette's in danger." Chat panted. "I don't think the akuma has come this way yet, but stay alert. She's powerful."

"I will, thank you." Sabine said. "I'll try to call Marinette, but be careful, Chat Noir."

Chat Noir gave a salute before running down the street, searching for Marinette. He didn't know where she could be. He just hoped Lila didn't already find her. Chat ran down street after street with no luck. Lila was keeping her presence on the downlow. No one was panicking or running. It'd probably be easier to catch Marinette without everyone causing a scene anyway.

Chat Noir stopped in the middle of the sidewalk by a crosswalk. Andre's ice cream cart stood across the street from him. Marinette had said in her last card that she wanted to go get some of his ice cream. Would she? Could she have gone to find him? He didn't have much time. He looked at his ring. One dot left. But it was worth a look. Chat ran to the edge of the sidewalk and looked around. Andre was serving another customer. Chat looked around the corner and searched every face. Then he saw her. Past a small crowd was Marinette walking the other way.

A smile grew on Chat Noir's face as he took a step. But as he took in his surroundings, it quickly faded. His attention moved to a building ahead. Lila stood at the top like a vulture. She didn't see him yet, but that could change. She was watching the people below, but she seemed more focused on the other side. Either way, Marinette was still in danger and he needed to warn her. He might be able to slip by.

"Ma-" Chat stopped himself. He couldn't shout, especially not her name. Chat Noir brushed his sweaty hair back. He needed to detransform, but he needed to warn Marinette before Lila saw her. His head was pounding. The rapid beeping of his ring just sped up his thoughts. He needed to move.

Chat Noir ran. He stayed as close to the wall as he could while weaving through people. No matter how fast he moved, Marinette seemed to be farther away. He bumped into a few people, but noticed an empty shop up ahead. He sprinted faster and faster. He was tired, but his will was carrying him.

Chat Noir reached out to her and finally made it. He grabbed her by her jacket and pulled her into the empty shop, Marinette's ice cream falling to the sidewalk. Chat dragged her away from the windows to the middle of the shop and pushed her against a wall.

"Chat Noir! What-" Marinette fumed, but he covered her mouth quickly and put his other hand beside her head. All you could hear was his breathing.

So much running, but it was all worth it, he made it. Chat Noir sighed and looked down as he bit his lip. His transformation wore off before he could say anything. Marinette's eyes widened. He couldn't tell if she was afraid or surprised. Adrien looked up and their eyes met, sharing every emotion. He knew her thoughts were jumbled because of him but in this moment, he felt something. Their connection wasn't lost even if he was the only one to feel it. It was almost too strong to ignore. Adrien uncovered her mouth and leaned back. Marinette's mouth gaped open, speechless.

"Okay, I need to retransform and go back out there to fight the akuma, but I need to tell you something first." He panted. "I'm sorry for everything I've done, but Lila is akumatized and she's after you. You should probably just stay here until me and Ladybug fix all of this." Adrien backed up. "I need to go now, but don't go outside. You need to stay safe. I'll explain everything later." Adrien turned and ran to the back of the store, throwing Plagg some cheese on the way. He'd need to leave through the back door of the store to avoid Lila.

Marinette, mouth still hung open, slid down the wall. She pushed her bangs up before hugging her knees. Her eyes watered and she bit her lip. Adrien was Chat Noir and Chat Noir was Adrien. None of it made sense, but at the same time . . . it did. Marinette scooted away from the wall and layed down, spread out. She couldn't help but smile. Her mind was clear. She didn't even need to think it through.

Marinette beamed. She knew what she needed to do.

. . .

"Ahhhh!" Chat Noir ran towards Lila with his baton.

Lila put up a brick wall between her and Chat Noir, barely lifting a finger. Chat Noir moved to go around the small wall, but Lila got tired of fighting and brought up a wall on each side of Chat Noir. She finished it with a horizontal wall on top, trapping Chat Noir in a dark box. Lila smiled and jumped on top of the box.

"Now we have to wait for the bug." She sat down crisscross.

"Take his miraculous!" Hawkmoth yelled.

"I'm going to wait for Ladybug." Lila growled.

Lila held her head. "Take it now or I'll take your powers away."

"Fine." She Agreed, rolling her eyes.

With a twirl of her finger, Lila formed a small hole in the side of wall. Chat Noir, not thinking, stuck his hand right through. Lila smiled and closed the hole around his wrist, preventing him from moving. Chat tried to turn his wrist, but couldn't. Even if he called his cataclysm, he couldn't bend his wrist to brake the wall. He should've used it earlier, but wanted to strategize first. That didn't work out either.

"Too easy." Lila said, closing her eyes with a smile.

. . .

@liebredavinci @i-am-so-done-like @yo-jes @ashtheteenagewitch @too-involved @ms-epicness @zazzlejazzle @cocoa-beanzzz @thedisneyestprincess

[bygosscarmine]

LOVE SHIFTS SHAPE

Sky High: Magenta x Ethan, post-canon

a multi-chapter reunion story, in continuity with Love, Unspoken

Magenta is dreading the reunion in a mild “I’m in a successful band that has nothing to do with my powers” sort of a way, but she looks forward to seeing the friends she’s kept up with at the party.

Then, for a second she doesn’t recognize Ethan in his adult form, and things long forgotten (like her break-up with Zach) feel all too relevant again.

Read Chapter One here.

Read Chapter Two here.

Read Chapter Three here.

Chapter Four: With Friends Like These?

In the morning she woke to a few messages from Layla, and a series from Ethan. She read Layla's first. One was reassuring her that the doctors thought Warren would be fine, but getting him released would take some time in the morning. The next said Magenta didn't need to bring her anything.

Don't be ridic, Magenta texted back. I want to see you, and I leave this afternoon.

She did not open the texts from Ethan, not particularly won over by the preview she saw of the latest one. She dressed, packed, checked out, and went to the best coffee place in the hospital's vicinity, picking up three coffees in various styles for herself, Layla, and Warren, as well as some baked goods.

She turned down the hallway she thought held Warren's room, then all doubt disappeared.

"You didn't read my texts," Ethan said, by way of explanation.

"I came to see Layla," Magenta said, outraged.

"She's busy checking Warren out right now. Come on, I have to talk to you."

He looked tense. Magenta rolled her eyes, but she knew she'd do what he asked.

"Let me get the coffee to her. Is she in the lobby now?"

"They both are."

"Warren looking OK this morning?"

He turned back with her, said, "Yeah, if you like that kind of thing."

The elevator doors closed around them, and Ethan took up a spot leaning against the wall so he faced her.

"You know how I said we sometimes revert around people we knew at a different time in life?"

"Yeah," she said, refusing to make eye-contact.

"I'm guilty. I did something dumb last night, because I reverted to a seventeen year old prick."

"Please don't tell me anything about your fight with your girlfriend until we are off this elevator and I have given this stuff to Layla."

He obliged by staying silent, putting his back to the elevator wall instead of turning toward her. This meant she could look at him out of the corner of her eye. He was in another suit, though this was a neutral gray with a plain white shirt. He filled it well, and she suspected it was tailored the way her band got their tour clothes done. His hair still had the same curl but his haircut was sharp--shaved close at the sides of his head, a quarter-inch length at the top shaped neatly.

She remembered the anger he'd slipped into revealing the night before, about being a person of power that had no heroic applications, what he said about compensating.

"I don't think we need to hide behind anything anymore," said Magenta. "We've done more than many people do, whether they have powers or not. And if you ever need a subject with a weirdly lame shapeshifting ability, you know who to call."

He looked at her sharply, but didn't answer. The elevator opened at their floor.

Layla was easy to find in the scatter of the clerks, after which Magenta spotted Warren sprawled only a little too stiffly on a chair close by.

"Have some coffee," Magenta said, trying to sound casual. "I'll be hanging around when you're done."

"Thanks," Ethan said to Layla, mysteriously.

Then he led Magenta to a somewhat sad landscaped area with a bench. Magenta plopped onto it and with a dramatic sigh opened her texts. "Okay, what did you have to say so late last night while you were..."

He stood just an arms-length, at attention, almost as she read:

I was a little startled about you

tonight I mean

I mouthed off like a stupid teenager and now I have to backtrack

stop being difficult and call me

She looked up.

"What startled you?" She felt immediately like she didn't want to know, and added, "The fact that I was wearing jeans without holes in them?"

Ethan ignored this bait, though.

"I thought I was over it. We were gonna say hi, and it would be just like messaging you through the game, where you're some ambiguous memory of a teenager, just slightly less moody. That we'd hit it off talking about Call of Sacrifice and stupid bets on speed-runs. And then it wasn't like that."

Warily, Magenta said, "I mean, we could talk about games now, if you want. I'm back in a baggy tee shirt, if the silk blouse was bothering you."

"It still is bothering me," Ethan said. Now they were looking at each other, he sat on the bench, getting intimidatingly close. "I saw you go through a moment of not recognizing me, too. Then I got mad when you asked me over, because I couldn't help remembering the last time I asked you out. Do you even remember?"

Her face got hot.

She had just broken up with Zack, and Ethan had come over to play X-Box. He'd casually said, "I'd take you out," when she'd made some bitter comment about Friday nights (as if she and Zach had done anything interesting on Friday nights), and she'd laughed.

It had taken her a few weeks to realize that there was a correlation between that and the way Ethan had slowly tapered off coming by her place, and sitting with her at lunch.

"Wow, you can hold a grudge, huh?"

"I can hold a crush, more like." He tilted his head to look at her, as if assessing. "I was embarrassed you'd ask me over just like that, when I spent two years trying to be not in love with you. I figured maybe it was an innocent invitation. Then we were in that waiting room last night, and I didn't really care, either way, but I had dug myself a hole with a fake girlfriend I had to get home to."

Magenta dropped her eyes down to her hands, unable to handle the intensity of his look. "I still leave town this afternoon," she said.

"And you go home where you can install Call of Sacrifice, finally," he said. He leaned in close, and said softly, "Where they have a voice-chat feature now."

She shivered, but when he moved toward her, she didn't draw back. This hug wasn't awkward, because if she buried her face in his collar to smell his restrained sandalwood cologne, it wasn't creepy anymore.

"You have your revenge," she finally said. "You grew up sexy, and I didn't notice over text-chat."

"Don't make me kiss you senseless in a hospital garden," he murmured, lightly brushing his lips on her temple. "When is your flight today?"

"It's not until 4:30."

He pulled back, and she stood up, finding he was holding her hand. Was reluctant to make him let go.

He got a text message, and looked at it. "Oh. Layla is hinting that they're about to leave the hospital."

Magenta told him, "I am going to spend some time with her."

He let go of her hand, and stood, too. "Then I'm going to go check in at the university, and I'll see you later."

She didn't like this practical attitude at the moment at all, so she put her hands up to draw his face close and gently kiss him.

The small breath he puffed out when their lips stopped touching told her what she needed to know.

"Am I going to meet you at the university or at your place?"

He considered this a moment, eyeing her speculatively.

"By which I mean, are we going to talk for two hours somewhere quiet, or are we going to cuddle and shoot aliens before you take me to the airport?"

"There is zero chance you can keep me from talking anyway, so let's shoot some aliens while we're at it."

If Warren and Layla noticed them walking a little too close to each other as they rejoined them, they didn't mention it.

After depositing Warren at home, Magenta took Layla to the pharmacy to fill his prescriptions and listened to her vent about her worries about Warren, her regret at missing the reunion, and how much she liked The Wastelanders' newest album. Only once they were in the backyard garden, with Warren napping in the house, did Layla finally say, "So, Ethan, huh?"

"What about him?" Magenta asked.

Layla rolled her eyes. "You two have only been the most annoying non-couple I know for seven years now."

"I was dating Zach six years ago," Magenta protested.

"So?" Layla said. "Even Ethan, the completely clueless, knew that wasn't going to last."

"Poor Zack might be the only one who didn't," sighed Magenta. "I had no idea about Ethan, though. I mean, about him now. I literally didn't recognize him for a second."

"Yeah," Layla got a cat-like grin on her face. "He's been getting finer and finer. Someone really needs to stop him."

"Back off, you already have a boyfriend," said Magenta, amiably.

"Oh, Warr is way sexier than Ethan. But he's never going to be suave like him."

"He was really good with you last night," said Magenta, "I was surprised. Where did he get social skills? I still haven't found any."

Layla laughed. "So what's next?"

"We're meeting up this afternoon." Magenta's attempt at casual was almost as transparent as Layla's skin.

"Is it going to be hot and heavy, do you think?" Layla was blushing slightly, though that didn't mean much. The hibiscus behind her also seemed to bloom a little more furiously, though that could have just been because Layla was there. "Or are you going to take it slow?"

"I honestly can't say," Magenta answered. "We left it kind of open. The theory is some video games and some necking. It's very weird, but also a relief."

Layla nodded sagely. She glanced at the house and said, "By the time Warren and I worked it out we had a lot of tension built up. But we hadn't been long distance, either."

After a thoughtful pause, she asked, "Why not delay your flight?"

"Because then I'd have to go visit my mother. And while visiting her with a boyfriend finally would thrill her, especially since he's genetically a super, I probably want to be more sure of the whole thing before I give her that string to clutch."

"I heard she did a job despite her retirement recently. Did she talk to you about it?"

"Not as much as Will Stronghold's Facebook page did," Magenta said drily. "Is he who you heard about it from?"

"No, I don't follow him on Facebook," said Layla, quite seriously. "My mom was telling me about it. She occasionally has a desire for a last fling. But I'm not surprised Will was starstruck."

Majesty Notani's mother was Radiance Arete, who shape-shifted into a hawk, and had the distinction of being the first female super honored with her own Saturday morning cartoon run. She occasionally brought this up when Jetstream Stronghold was being praised too highly in her own home. It was funny to think of a similar dynamic playing out in a different house.

Talk about parents and glory days and the inevitable comparisons filled the next hour until Warren woke up and tried to make himself nachos, which required intervention from his partner. Magenta wished him well not getting killed by his own girlfriend, and went out to her car.

She texted Ethan, as if replying to his last text.

Am I being difficult if I say it's time to send me your address?

He wrote back, Come and ask me in person and included his apartment location.

[forensicleaf]

Love in Ones and Zeros

Read on ao3

WARNING for major character death but it’s off screen and old age related.

Coming into the world is confusing.

It's an endless stream of new information - sights, sounds, movement; a sudden awareness of everything where before there was nothing.

"Okay. Okay, please work."

Analysing...

Conclusion: Speech; human, English.

Vibration. Two sharp knocks.

"Hey. Anyone in there? Man, don't say I broke you already."

Analysing...

Conclusion: Response required.

If being born is strange, being able to move is so much more so. A whirring of gears and two soft beeps of acknowledgement and there is a whole new sight to see.

Analysing...

Conclusion: Face, human male, adolescent, age approximately fifteen years old.

The face changes shape - the mouth lifting at the edges and eyes widening.

Analysing...

Conclusion: Smile; an expression of happiness and excitement.

"Yes!" exclaims the face. "Holy shit, you actually work." Laughter: an extension of happiness. Expression of amusement.  "Okay, hang with me a minute, buddy, we're just gonna run a quick diagnostic on your speech recognition software."

That is a strange series of words, with many things to analyse, but then, as the adolescent attends to something more familiar - computer, keyboard, code - the words begin to make sense.

"Better?" the face, the boy, asks.

Two soft beeps.

Again, laughter.

"Wow, this is -" He shakes his head. "Dad's gonna lose his mind. Okay, Captain Hook, let’s see what you can do. See this? No - no, not - right here, dummy, where I'm pointing, see? Yeah, you got it. Okay, pick it up and put it there."

It's a simple task - open claw, close claw around object, lift, move, lower, release object - and yet, something goes wrong. The lowering is done with too much force and the table buckles under the pressure. The object in question - a football - lets out a whine as it deflates.

The boy's face is expressionless for a moment. He bends down, picking up the empty football and letting it flop in his hand.

"So you're uh - a little heavy handed," he says. "We can work on that." And then once, twice, he gently pats the mechanical arm quizzically observing him.

The gesture is... good.

Love can't be felt in binary - not yet - but as the boy smiles again, the unit lets out a light trill.

This face... it's a good face.

"Welcome to the world, buddy," the boy says. "You can call me Tony."

__

Over the next few months, Tony tweaks the motor controls in the arm, and through a lot of trial and error, eventually fewer footballs and tables end up destroyed.

Every day they practice, commands and movements becoming more and more advanced as Dummy - as the unit has come to understand is the name it has been assigned - learns and repeats. The claw is replaced with a new one which allows for finer pressure adjustments and improved dexterity, and Dummy learns that although it has no speech function, it can vary the tone and pitch of the beeps it outputs, and Tony seems to interpret them just fine.

Beep.

"You like AC/DC, huh? Knew you weren't as dumb as you look."

Beep.

"Okay, not a fan of fire. I'll keep that in mind."

Beep.

"I know it was an accident, pal, there's just - we gotta get this right."

This ends up being a demonstration. Just like every other day, it involves lifting and moving and lowering and helping, except there are other humans - adults, smartly dressed and stern-faced - in the workshop, observing and making notes as Tony gives commands.

Dummy doesn't break anything, and the expressions on the adults' faces register as impressed, but not a single one of those is as important as Tony's, which registers as relieved.

"What are you calling it?" a woman with thick-framed glasses asks.

"Dummy," Tony answers. Then he frowns. "Ah... I mean - Dummy, yeah. DUM-E. It stands for... Dexterous...Utility Machine. Fifth model design."

He chews his lip. The woman nods.

"Interesting," another comments.

Later, the adults come back and Tony crouches down as they take a photograph. They give him a ribbon with a medallion attached - award: given in recognition of an achievement - and Tony holds it up for the claw to take.

"Don't drop that," he says. "I mean it."

The claw tightens.

"Excellent work, Tony," one of the adults says. "Truly impressive. Your father must be very proud."

Father: a man in relation to his child; Proud: feeling deep satisfaction as a result of an accomplishment.

Tony's father has never come to the workshop, but the adult speaks of his pride with conviction. It must be true.

It is a good thing, surely, but Tony's expression does not reflect this.

"Sure," he says. His shoulders lift up and down once.

The adults each shake Tony's hand, congratulate him once more, and then they leave.

Afterwards, Tony stands there for a long time, face unhappy.

He should not be unhappy.

Beep.

Tony starts at the low, short trill, blinking rapidly and exhaling hard. He flicks the medallion hanging in front of him with his index finger and it swings back and forward in the arms of the claw. He smiles, but it is different to his usual smiles - difficult to assign meaning to.

"I know, buddy," he says. "His loss."

--

For as much time as Tony spends in the workshop – his father’s workshop, as it has become apparent – he also spends a lot of time away from it.

He declares that it is because he has to attend something called school and that this school is far away. On the other side of the country.

“You can’t come with, DUM-E. No robots in the dorms – policy and all that. Nuh-uh, don’t beep like that. If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, it’s not working. College girls are just much more fun to look at than you.”

It takes a while, but he always comes back, and he always has new and improved software when he does. He opens panels and attaches wires and types on the computer, and every time, DUM-E understands the world a little bit more.

On one visit, he secures a soft red and white hat to the mechanical arm and then proceeds to drape the rest of the unit in a long, shiny strand of metal. It is colourful and reflects the light.

“What’s the matter, DUM-E? Not feeling the holiday spirit?”

Tony says he is home for Christmas. Christmas: the annual Christian festival celebrating Christ's birth, held on 25 December in the Western Church. Birthdays are supposed to be happy days of celebration, but Tony does not seem all that happy.

Beep.

“Yeah, me neither. Good thing there’s plenty of champagne, huh? Cheers.”

Tony’s glass makes a clink as he taps it against the one in DUM-E’s claw. For some reason, it had been important to Tony that one be placed there. It does not make sense; DUM-E cannot consume liquid.

Tony drinks his own glass, and then another, and then another, and then the one in the claw, also.

Tony does this sometimes when he is unhappy. There is a correlation with occasions when he is due to spend time with his family, but he does not explain this.

When there is no liquid left, Tony leaves. He is unsteady on his feet.

Analysing…

Conclusion: Blood alcohol levels elevated.

“Merry Christmas, DUM-E. Have no doubt yours’ll be better than mine,” he says. And then he is gone.

He does not return for two weeks, and when he does, he gives none of his usual welcomes and carries none of his usual equipment.

He is dressed in black. His eyes are red. There is a bottle of clear liquid in his hand.

He lists to the left and then the right, more unsteady than he has ever been. He does not seem to hear DUM-E’s trills or notice the arm moving in greeting. He stands in the middle of the workshop, and stares.

And then, he starts to break things.

Computer screens, chairs, glasses and beakers - one after another they join the rest in shattered pieces on the floor. Tony swings his arms and sweeps his hands across desks. He keeps going, indiscriminative of what he is destroying. The noise is chaotic.

DUM-E is a fixed unit. Cannot intervene but to beep.

Tony does not interpret.

Tony is not listening.

“Tony!”

There is a new person entering the workshop. Human male, adult, age approximate to Tony’s, if a few years older. His expression suggests concern. Fear, even.

At the man’s shout, Tony turns. He almost falls.

“Get – Rhodey, get out.”

“Jesus, man, what are you doing? You got a whole house of people upstairs.”

“Fuck ‘em.”

“Tones.”

“No, Rhodey, fuck ‘em. They don’t care. They say they’re sorry, but they just want to know where all the money’s going now. They don’t care. Bunch of kiss ass -”

“I care, okay? I care,” the man – Rhodey – says, placing one hand on Tony’s arm and taking the bottle from him with the other. “You can break all the shit you want; I’m not going anywhere. Whatever you need, I got you.”

Tony locks eyes with Rhodey. He looks… lost. His voice is quiet. “I don’t… I can’t go back up there.”

“Okay,” Rhodey says softly. “Okay, we’ll just – we’ll just stay here for a bit, all right?”

Tony nods. He slumps to the floor, resting his back against DUM-E’s base. Rhodey sits beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

Tony is unhappy.

Beep.

“Not now, DUM-E,” Tony says, voice hoarse. “Please.”

DUM-E was built to help fix things, but DUM-E cannot fix this.

This time, Rhodey tries instead.

--

It has been one hundred and thirty-four thousand, one hundred and sixty minutes since Tony last entered his workshop.

Two-thousand, two-hundred and thirty six hours of inactivity.

Ninety-three days in need of oiling.

Three months of waiting for Tony to come back.

He will come back; he always does.

Tony’s workshop has been quiet without him. The lady, whose name is Pepper, and the man whose name is Obie have visited sporadically, but they never stay for very long. Pepper comes in, stands very still as she looks at the equally-still space, and then turns around and leaves. Obie looks through drawers and puts a paperweight in his pocket.

When Tony finally returns, he responds to the soft beeps and the slow movements of hydraulics that are long-overdue for maintenance with a pat and a quiet, "Hiya, DUM-E."

He is pale, and there is something glowing under his shirt, in the centre of his chest. It is not anatomical. He smacks the claw away when it plucks curiously at the fabric there.

"Whoa, hey. What have I told you about getting handsy?"

He accepts a soft trill as apology, making his way to his desk and taking a seat.

And then, Tony starts to build again.

He spends more time in the workshop than he has in years, finds more things for DUM-E to do than he has in years. It is like the first days again, when the world was new and there was so much to do and so much to learn.

He builds metal boots and gloves that shoot fire from the palms and the soles, and has to place DUM-E on fire-safety, securing a fire extinguisher to the end of the mechanical arm to quiet the continuous distressed beeping that their testing invokes. DUM-E is slower now, growing obsolete and making more mistakes, but fire still forms part of a core memory: it is bad, and Tony is too important to burn.

Perhaps that is why he ends up covered in foam unnecessarily multiple times that day.

Before long the boots and gloves form part of a suit, painted the same red and gold as the car Tony loved when he was younger, and Tony uses that suit to fly. He whoops as he does, and DUM-E trills at the sound.

Tony is happy.

But Tony is not happy the night that he comes into the workshop with the light missing from his chest and the colour missing from his face.

He is not happy as he crawls across the floor the way humans are not supposed to do after infant-hood.

He is not happy as he tries and fails to reach the surface of the desk, grasping unsuccessfully for the first light that sat against his sternum and collapsing to the floor.

Analysing    …

Conclusion: Unacceptable.

Re-analysing…

Conclusion: Unacceptable.

Something has to be done.

This is important. The most important task. More important than the demonstration with the men and women and their stern faces. More important than fire safety. More important than anything DUM-E has ever done.

Open claw, close claw around object, lift, move, lower, release object.

The glass box leaves the table, and then slowly, carefully, it makes its way to Tony's hands.

Nothing breaks. It has been a long time since nothing has broken.

Tony holds the box and looks at DUM-E in a way that he hasn't for many years.

"Good boy," he says, and the claw clicks at the praise.

Good boy.

Good boy.

--

Systems rebooting...

Core memory initializing...

Run diagnostics...

Complete.

“- you awake yet? Hey. Yep, here. Over here. Hey DUM-E, welcome back. The surgery was a success, you’re gonna be fine, yadda yadda. Welcome to your new home."

It's Tony, but there is something different about him. He looks healthier.

There is no light in his chest.

Welcome to your new home, he said. And new this place is. It is a workshop, but it is not Tony’s workshop. This is a bigger, open space with large windows running the lengths of the walls and clean angles everywhere. There is no view of the sea, but a city skyline instead. It’s lights are bright and numerous.

“Helloooo, you with me?”

Two soft beeps of acknowledgement.

Everything here is new. It is like coming into the world for the first time.

“Okay, great. Now look alive, cause we got work to do. Don’t make me regret digging you out of all that rubble.”

Rubble.

Explosions. Fire. Bad fire. Noise and screeching metal. U and Butterfingers and beeping in alarm as everything started to slide. Darkness and dust. Power failing.

Failing.

Failing.

Everything had happened so fast. There had been no time to fix it, and DUM-E, bolted to the floor, had been unable to escape.

“What’re you waiting for? C’mon,” Tony says.

There are wheels attached to DUM-E’s base, now, and DUM-E uses them to roll after Tony, to where numerous crates are stacked. Moving in this way is a strange sensation, but… it is good. DUM-E beeps appreciatively.

“You like your new ride, huh?”

Another two beeps.

“Good. Can’t have you getting stuck again. The village isn’t complete without its idiot,” he says. “You’re the idiot, just to be clear. The lab’s the village.” He pauses. “I gotta work on my analogies.”

He lifts a cylinder out of the first crate. He holds it out for the claw to take.

“Back corner,” Tony says. “Do not drop this. I mean it.”

The claw tightens.

The cylinder is not dropped.

Tony came back.

He always comes back.

--

There is a new person in the lab.

Human male, adolescent, approximately fifteen years old. He looks at everything with wide eyes and a wider smile.

"Mr Stark, this is - this place is amazing," he says.

Mr Stark, DUM-E has learned, is what people sometimes call Tony when they are being serious and talking about important matters. Many of the conversations that Tony and the boy have are neither of these, but the form of address remains.

"Hey Mr Stark, can you look at this web shooter? I can't figure out what the problem is."

"I'm not joking, Mr Stark - a full on walrus suit."

"Okay, Mr Stark, but if you had to have any of the other Avengers' powers for the day, who would it be, and why?"

The boy's name is Peter, but Tony calls him kid more often than not, even though there is no evident biological connection between the two of them. He pats DUM-E a lot - the first time it's with a confused smile when the pen he dropped is returned to him. He takes it, eyes curious and says, "Hey, who's this?"

"That's just DUM-E," Tony answers from across the room. "Don't be fooled - he's actually more useless than the name suggests."

Tony says this a lot, but DUM-E understands.

Beep.

Peter's eyes widen at the soft noise, and he pats the mechanical arm once again.

"Thanks, DUM-E," he says. "You're a good robot."

Good robot.

Good robot.

DUM-E beeps again.

This face is a good face, too.

To begin with, Peter's visits are brief and spread apart, but gradually they become longer and more frequent. Tony starts to smile more. It is a good thing.

Peter can climb on walls and across the ceiling, which is not something humans are supposed to do, but he seems happy and healthy enough, and Tony's expressions imply that he is largely unconcerned by the odd tendency, so it must be fine. He has a suit of his own that is made of fabric, not metal, and improving and repairing this suit is the main focus of Peter’s visits at the beginning. Over time, it appears less and less.

New projects are initiated. Tony and Peter make a lot of things together, and they also break a lot of things together. DUM-E is needed to act on fire safety duty more times than is statistically safe.

"I don't even want to know," Pepper says one day as she stands in the doorway. Peter is covered in foam. This is not a mistake.

"Honey -" Tony starts at the same time as Peter says "Miss Potts!"

But Pepper holds up a hand, turns on her heel, and exits the same way she came.

Tony and Peter stay silent for a moment, and then they start to laugh.

It is a good sound.

Tony is happy. Peter is happy.

And then one day, Peter stops coming to the workshop.

Tony is gone for a long time also, but he comes back; he always does.

When he comes back, though, he doesn't smile, he doesn't build, he just sits.

There is a glass in his hand most of the time, and an unhappy expression on his face which doesn't lift no matter how many times DUM-E beeps or nudges him gently.

He has a glass in his hand the night Rhodey visits.

It is a bad night.

"Tony," Rhodey says. "What are you doing, man?"

Rhodey is Tony's friend, but Tony does not look at him like he is.

"The world ended,” he says. “Might as well.” And then he lifts the glass to his mouth and empties it in one swallow.

Rhodey tries to take the glass from him, but Tony does not let him.

"Get off me."

"You're a mess, Tony. How is this helping anyone?"

"There is no helping anyone. We lost."

His expression reads as angry, but there is something else there as well. There always is when Tony is angry.

“And we’re trying to fix it,” Rhodey says. “I know this sucks. Really, I’m sorry you had to – I’m sorry, okay? But we need you, Tones. We need all the help we can get to fix this, and we can't do it when one of our biggest hitters is drowning at the bottom of a glass."

"Find a way," Tony says. He turns his back to his friend.

Rhodey stands there for a moment, face sad. Then he says, "I'm glad Peter isn’t here to see what you're doing to yourself."

Tony doesn't respond, and he doesn't look as Rhodey leaves. He sits there with his head bowed.

And then he gets up and walks to the counter.

He lacks coordination.

The symptoms are familiar, but DUM-E has not seen them in Tony for a very long time.

He pours a drink. And then another, and then another.

Eventually, he can no longer stand. His glass is empty.

“DUM-E,” he says. The speech recognition software now has difficulty interpreting. “Hey DUM-E, you – hunk of junk. Pass me the – pass me the bottle.”

He wavers where he sits. He does not look healthy.

Analysing...

Conclusion: Blood alcohol percentage exceeding safe parameters.

Tony is poisoning himself.

“Don’t fucking – talk back to me. You wanna be scrap metal?”

The bottle Tony has been drinking from is just under half-full. It sits on the counter in a wet circle.

This is an important task.

Open claw, close claw around object, lift, move, lower, release object.

The noise the bottle makes as it breaks into pieces on the floor is loud.

The noise the glass makes when Tony throws it at the wall is also loud.

“God!”

Liquid spreads out over the tiles. There is liquid on Tony’s face, too.

He is sad. He is crying.

He puts his head in his hands and his shoulders shake. They shake and shake until he falls asleep, slumped where he sits.

DUM-E drapes a blanket over his back.

Quietly, the glass is swept away while Tony rests. The liquid is mopped up.

DUM-E has only ever cleaned up after an accident, but this is no different.

The sun rises, casting steaks of light through the workshop.

When Tony wakes, he places a hand on DUM-E’s frame, running his fingers over letters that are in need of replacing.

“Good boy,” he says.

Then, he starts to build.

--

There is a new person in the lab.

Human female, infant, approximately seven months old. Analysis of multiple facial reference points concludes that she shares numerous traits with Tony. A biological relative. She watches everything with wide eyes and blows bubbles of saliva from her mouth when she is excited.

Tony calls her Morgan, Peter calls her Baby Stark, Princess, Tiny Terror, and a whole host of other names that are not her own. He bounces her on his hip as he introduces her to the bots, who crowd around curiously at this new addition to their home.

Tony watches the two of them with a peaceful face. He rubs his thumb over the ring on his finger. He is happy.

This is love.

“…and this is U, and this one’s Butterfingers – don’t give him anything important,” Peter says. Morgan kicks her feet and makes a gurgling noise. “Oh and this one is your dad’s favourite. His name is DUM-E, but don’t let that confuse you. He’s really super smart.”

The claw clicks in greeting. Morgan’s mouth opens into a wide smile, showing a handful of tiny teeth, and she laughs.

It is high-pitched, and it is loud, but… it is a good sound. Her face is a good face. Her eyes are the same brown as Tony’s.

“I’m counting on you to be a good influence and you’re already lying to my daughter,” Tony says, lowering himself slowly onto a stool.

He does everything slower now, since he came back and brought Peter home with him. He is injured, and it is an injury that will stay, but DUM-E can find no scientific records detailing ailments that can account for his condition. Sometimes he leans on a stick when he walks, and sometimes he gets very tired very quickly and Peter has to help him back upstairs. He does not fly in his suit any more.

“Who’s lying? DUM-E is smart. Aren’t you, DUM-E?”

Peter grins triumphantly at the answering trills. Morgan laughs again.

“DUM-E is a dummy,” Tony says. “How do you think he got his name?”

“You didn’t say he wasn’t your favourite.”

“I love all my children equally,” Tony says. “Except you. You’re a pain in the ass.”

He says it the same way he says that DUM-E is useless. DUM-E understands.

Peter hums. He taps his finger to Morgan’s nose. “Oof, Dad’s being mean today isn’t he, Mini Morgs?”

Morgan grabs the finger in her chubby hand and says, “Da, da, da, da.”

While she is learning to talk, she says this a lot.

When she isn’t on Peter’s hip or cradled against Tony’s chest, she lies on her back and wiggles her limbs on her colourful mat, looking up at her mobile. DUM-E is given the important task of holding this and making sure to twist and spin it enough to keep little Morgan amused while Tony and Peter work.

“You’re going to turn my baby into a grease monkey,” Pepper says one day, scooping Morgan up by her armpits and kissing her on her forehead. “Hi pumpkin,” she says in answer to Morgan’s excited “Mama!”

“I want her to feel comfortable in here. Around all this stuff” Tony says. He puts down his wrench and smiles as Pepper kisses his forehead, too. “Girls in S.T.E.M - it’s important, you know.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Speaking of… Pete –“ Tony nudges Peter’s leg. “When do we get to meet this elusive MJ?”

Peter’s head appears from beneath the car they are working on. His face is pink. He is embarrassed.

“Pepper! That was – I told you that in confidence!”

Pepper smiles. She hides it behind Morgan’s hair. “I’m so sorry, Peter! It just slipped out.”

“Do we need to have the Talk?” Tony asks. “Birds and the bees? I know you love Morgan, but -”

“Stop! Stop, stop, oh my god, stop.”

Tony laughs. He is happy.

It is good.

And despite Tony’s concerns, Morgan’s actions indicate she does indeed feel comfortable in the lab. She falls asleep to the sound of whirring hydraulics and Black Sabbath with little issue, and claps happily as the bots do their best to entertain her. She upgrades from kicking on her back to propelling herself forwards confidently on her hands and knees, which sees DUM-E upgraded from fire safety duty, to baby watch duty as Tony and Peter hurry to make the lab as safe for an infant on all fours as is humanly possible.

She crawls around the area that Tony designates the Morgan Safe Zone with speed and a smile, and then, on a Sunday in June, she stops.

“Hey, DUM-E, get over here, I need some more light,” says Tony from across the workshop.

DUM-E beeps. And beeps and beeps and beeps.

Tony grumbles at the lack of movement, but DUM-E cannot move. Not now.

“DUM-E! What’s the hold up? Your wheels as rusted as your brain now?”

He looks up. And he sees the reason for all the beeping. He is out of his chair faster than he has moved in a long time.

“F.R.I, get Pepper. Tell her to get down here now.”

Peter’s head spins round, his face alarmed. “What’s – oh my god. Oh my god, Morgan! She’s -”

“Walking!” Tony’s eyes are full of water, but he is not sad – he is laughing. He is happy. “You’re walking, honey! That’s my girl! Come here.”

Morgan takes two more wobbly steps and drops back down to the floor. She gurgles. No amount of coaxing can get her to repeat her toddling. Not Pepper’s words of encouragement when she makes it to the lab, nor Peter’s attempts to lure her with shiny objects.

“It’s okay. She’ll do it again soon enough. It’s fine,” Pepper says, but her face does not match her words. She is sad.

She is sad she missed it.

DUM-E chirps. Then chirps again.

Peter is the one who understands.

“Oh my god,” he says, eyes wide. “I forgot. DUM-E, did you -?”

Two soft beeps of confirmation.

Peter, who has recently taken an interest in photography and video editing, had secured a camera to DUM-E’s frame a week earlier. He said it was for something called a time lapse, but today a more important task had presented itself.

“He got the whole thing,” Tony says softly, as the recording plays on the large screen. His eyes fill at the fledgling steps, the few moments he had missed the first time round. Pepper’s and Peter’s do too.

“See,” says Peter. “He’s a good bot.”

Tony smiles. He runs his hand over Peter’s head, disturbing the hair there, then he lays his arm across Peter’s shoulders and pulls him close.

“Yeah, kid. He’s a good bot.”

--

“Dad, dad!”

The excited words disturb the quiet of the lab as Morgan enters at speed.

She started walking at the age of one, and she hasn’t slowed down since. DUM-E has never been officially ordered to step down from baby watch, never been given an end to the task of keeping her safe, but there is little reason to be concerned; Morgan is as confident in the labs as she ever was. It is as much her playground as it is Tony’s, as much as it is Peter’s. Her dark hair streams behind her as she hurries past DUM-E to her father’s side.

“Look who’s here! Look!”

Tony turns. He climbs to his feet with a little difficulty, picking up his cane from where it rests against the edge of the desk. He is never without it now. It clicks against the floor as he walks.

When he sees the familiar figure coming through the doorway, he smiles. His eyes crinkle behind the lenses of his spectacles.

DUM-E trills, rolling forwards. The movement is not as fluid as it once was.

“Well, well. Doctor Parker, here in my lab? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Peter laughs. He is taller now, older, and his hair has grown out some. He does not take as much care to smooth it down as he used to. It is nice.

“Not a doctor just yet,” he says. “You have to throw the cap to get the title.”

“Formalities,” Tony says, with a wave of his hand. He draws Peter into a tight embrace, which Peter returns with enthusiasm.

“Hey, Tony,” he says softly. Then he laughs again, ducking his head out of the way of DUM-E’s pincers. “Hi to you, too, DUM-E.”

DUM-E trills. It has been a long time since Peter has come to the lab, although from the things Tony says, DUM-E understands that he does visit the compound itself often. It is nice for him to be here among the machines and tools and blueprints again. Back where he belongs. Back where he can make Tony smile the way he always does when the two of them are building and fixing things.

Tony taps his cane against DUM-E’s base, shooing. “What’re you doing, huh? Can’t even give me a moment to hug my kid. Wait your turn.” To Peter, he says, "It's good to see you, bud."

“Peter, come see.” Morgan appears at Peter's side and tugs at his arm.

Peter has extremely enhanced strength, but he lets himself be pulled anyway. He smiles at Tony in a way that DUM-E has learned means apology, and Tony smiles back and waves him away.

Morgan has been working on a project of her own, and it is this which she is excited to show Peter. It is a small human-shaped robot with similar markings to the suits Tony used to fly in. The colours are blue and gold where his were gold and red. The robot can follow simple commands, as Morgan demonstrates to Peter, who watches with rapt attention.

"Dad says I'm not allowed a suit yet, but when I'm older, I'm going to build one just like this," she says.

Peter glances over her head to Tony, face amused. Tony raises an eyebrow and shakes his head as she continues, "this one doesn't fly, because I couldn't quite work out the mechanics of it all, but mine will."

"Wait 'til she tells you her superhero name," Tony says. “C’mon, buttercup, let him have it.”

Peter looks to Morgan, who takes a breath and announces, "Iron Maiden."

Peter laughs hard. It is a good sound. With it, the lab seems complete again.

"Wouldn't have expected anything else," he says. He watches the robot, which is now making jerky punching motions. "Seriously, Morgs, this is awesome. You made it all by yourself?"

Morgan nods. She did. She is still young, but she is her father's daughter.

Peter smiles at Tony. "Proud dad, huh?”

Something in DUM-E's memory storage flickers in recognition of that word: proud.

Tony's expression changes very slightly. Perhaps he remembers, too.

“Of course I am,” he says without hesitation. “Of both of you. The best kids in the world, and I get both of them. What’s the chance I hit that jackpot?”

"He gave me first place at the science fair," Morgan tells Peter, lifting a ribbon over her head, and showing him the medallion attached. "See?"

"Science fair?"

"Very exclusive event. Only one submission," Tony says. "Pepper and Rhodey made up the rest of the panel. We would have asked you, too, but none of us knew it was happening until about five minutes beforehand."

"If you came back home you could join in all the time," Morgan says. Her voice is light, but she stares at Peter. It is a challenge.

“Well…”

The miniature robot has made its way across the floor of the lab. It bumps against the DUM-E’s base. It doesn’t understand it cannot pass. It needs to be turned around.

“Well, what? Ah-ah, not a chance, Wreck-It Ralph,” Tony says, halting DUM-E’s pincers as they reach for the small bot. “You want to end up in the corner with the dunce cap again?”

He bends slowly, turning the robot with care. It is a basic machine, but he handles it like it is precious. Set down, it toddles back toward Morgan and Peter.

“Dunce cap?” Peter asks.

“He knows what he did.”

It’s true; DUM-E does remember.

“Now - well what, kid?”

“Well,” Peter says again. He is smiling, but he is nervous. "One of the reasons I came today, actually… was ‘cause I wanted to tell you: I've uh – I’ve been thinking about what you said and -“ He takes a breath. “And I think Stark Industries might be the place for me after all. If the offer still stands?"

“If it still – of course it still stands, Pete. I can’t think of anyone better to take the reins. And Pepper’ll be thrilled to know she doesn’t have to interview any more Ivy League assholes.”

Peter laughs. “Tony, we both went to MIT.”

“What’s your point?”

“You’re coming home?” Morgan asks. “For real? Really?!”

“Yeah, Morgs, I’m coming home.”

Morgan squeals as she throws her arms around Peter. It is sharp, and loud, but it is a good sound.

She is happy.

Peter is happy.

But most importantly, Tony is happy.

It is good.

--

No one has visited the lab in a long time.

Six weeks, two days, one hour and seventeen minutes to be exact.

Visits have grown more sporadic over the years, people coming and going with varying frequency, but this is the longest stretch of time where no single person has entered the lab since the period when Tony went away and came back with the light in his chest.

Morgan spends a long time absent while she attends something called Stanford - “What happened to MIT? Baby Girl, you’re breaking my heart,” Tony says when she announces this is her intention, but his expression is not sad as he says it, and it is not sad as he wraps his arms around her and kisses her hair. She comes back, though. When she does, her hair is shorter and her skin darker and she is happy.

Peter spends a long time absent, too, and he also comes back. When he does, it is with dark circles under his eyes and another new human to introduce to the bots: Benjamin, who has fluffy dark hair and likes to play with toy cars while Peter plays with the real ones. As Benjamin grows older, he joins his father, and they play with the real cars together. Tony struggles to join in - his hair is very grey now, and his hands do not have the steadiness they once did, but he sits with them, giving advice and watching them work with a tranquil face.

He is happy.

This is love.

Six weeks, two days, one hour and eighteen minutes.

Half-finished projects litter the desks and floor. A fine layer of dust coats everything. DUM-E has tried to clean, but made things worse.

It is quiet.

Butterfingers, U, and Morgan’s bot, SCRAP-E have entered their power saving modes, but DUM-E, being an older model, does not have one. It is not important. Someone needs to keep the lab safe anyway.

DUM-E waits. They will come back. They always do.

The clock ticks over.

Six weeks, two days, one hour and nineteen minutes since anyone visited the lab.

Twenty minutes.

Twenty-one.

And then, six weeks, two days, one hour and twenty-two minutes after the last visit, there is movement.

The doors open.

Someone slowly steps inside, and stops.

It is Peter.

He is older than he has ever been, his hair is greying a little at the temples and there are new lines on his face.

He does not look happy.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking.

DUM-E rolls towards him with a weak warbling chirp; Tony does his best to keep up maintenance, but DUM-E is an obsolete machine, now – has been for a while – and parts tend to break quicker than they can be replaced. Six weeks with no repairs has not been kind to DUM-E’s failing components.

Peter’s head turns at the noise. He swallows. "Hey, DUM-E," he says. "Long time no see."

His voice is tired. His mouth is a thin line, even as he tries to smile.

“You could – you could do with a little TLC, huh?”

DUM-E beeps again – a feeble, warbling noise.

“Yeah, I bet. Don’t worry; we’ll get you fixed up. I'm gonna -" He takes a breath. He blinks, water spilling from his eyes. He's crying. He's sad. "I'm gonna be taking care of you from now on," he finishes.

Tony must have gone away. Like he did all those years ago. Like Morgan did. Like Peter did. He will come back like they did. Like he always does.

But in the meanwhile, Peter should not be sad.

Tony does not like it when Peter is sad.

“Shit,” Peter says as the water keeps spilling. He pushes his hands to his eyes. His shoulders shake. His chest hitches.

This is an important task.

Stiffly, DUM-E raises the mechanical arm, bringing it down as carefully as possible on Peter’s soft mess of hair. Once, twice, three times, DUM-E pats. Pats are good.

Peter looks up. He is still crying, but he makes a short noise, like a laugh but not quite.

“You’re a good bot, DUM-E,” he says. “The best.”

And then, through the sadness, he smiles.

DUM-E trills as best as can be done.

Peter is not quite happy now, but he will be. DUM-E will make sure of it.

Peter’s happiness is important to Tony, and Tony’s happiness is important to DUM-E. Tony will be happy to know that DUM-E has been looking after Peter when he returns.

He will come back; he always does.

DUM-E will wait.

And will wait.

Because love can be felt in binary, after all.

01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101

[stevefusedineen-blog]

A colleague of mine, who was a group HR director of a global 500, was asked by his CEO 15 years ago, a simple series of questions. How much are we spending on training? Where is it working and where is it not? Where should we be spending less and where should we be spending more? Curious as to what the answer was, I asked and he responded, “Honestly I have no idea”. After lots of "Big 4 Consulting" he managed to finally arrive at somewhat of an answer. They were spending around £100m on this training, but he still had no way to measure what was having an impact and what wasn’t, and had only been given instinctive recommendations on where to better apply that £100 million. Today, I think if the current CEO of this global 500 asked the same question to his HR director or Chief Learning Officer, he would still get the same answer. Crazy that this is likely the last area of big business that spends this much, yet can’t provide a measurable value answer back to the CEO.

Fifteen years ago Marketing would have been equally as fluffy, but not today. New marketing automation software, new mindsets, skillsets and a laser focus on KPI and business value has made marketing today completely different. When I recently interviewed for Fuse Universal’s Marketing Leader, like most CEOs, I filtered out anyone that wasn’t able to give concrete examples of campaigns that they had led, which weren’t able to describe measurable business value. This is a minimum criteria to prove that a Marketing Leader has moved their mindset into the modern age of marketing, where having a data DNA, is as important as their creativity.

Gone are the days where a marketing leader would say “We assume it’s working or people feel good about it afterwards”, which crazily enough I still hear from Learning Leaders. Kirsty (our new Marketing Leader), like any good Marketing Leader, defines her campaigns and chooses the marketing weapons to deploy, based on which ones are most likely to achieve the KPI that campaign is focused on. Be it a number of sales qualified leads or top of the funnel new contacts. The mindset, skillset and toolset of a modern marketing professional today compared to 15 years ago is radically different but if you look at the world of L&D – not a huge amount has changed, but just as digital disruption came in the form of Fintech & Martech, next-generation learning tech is enabling modern thinkers and practioners, like TJ at Merck and Peter Stone at Catalyst to spearhead the same level of digital disruption that we have seen across almost every other industry. L&D may have been late to the digital disruption party, but we are now well and truly on the guest list.

One of the problems that digital disruption is going to solve, has been something many of us have kept as a quiet secret up until recently, and that is there is a whole lot of corporate training out there that offers almost zero business value. Worse is that we have hidden behind an untruth for a long time that “You can’t measure the impact of learning and training”. This may have been a historical truth as it was historically for marketing, but it is no longer true today. Now that access to rich data and rich data tools allows us to measure people performance, it is revealing the bigger more scary truth that corporate training is rarely designed for business value and often when it happens, it happens by chance and not by design.

...A small idea that changes everything; design backward from business outcomes not forward from learning outcomes

There is one way to make sure that the impact of a learning design will be far higher. By doing just one small but significant thing, we can change corporate learning forever. Our friend Rachel Hutchinson and her team at Hilti are doing just this, by “Deciding on the problem they are solving, being clear on the outcome and business impact they are going to measure, and most importantly being crystal clear on exactly how the measurement of business value will be achieved before any learning design is even considered." If the business asks for 2 courses on x or y and you accept, then it’s too late. Measurement of business value must come before learning design, as it impacts every decision on learning design thereafter.

In the case of Hilti, Rachel and her team hypothesis the impact that they believe they can make by looking at descriptive and predictive analytics, in order to forecast the delta of difference, a learning experience can make on every learning experience. If they conclude they can’t make a difference, then come to the conclusion that they don’t do it.

This one simple idea of designing backward from the business outcome rather than forwards from the learning outcome, will change everything in the learning design, because every choice becomes about shifting that performance dial, and anything else is secondary. In that secondary bucket includes traditional learning thinking and instructional design techniques, because they are all learning output focused, not business outcome focused. It’s time to blow them up and start again. If you do design learning that is actually designed with a business outcome in mind, it will allow learning professionals to talk the language of the CEO/business, and transition their transformation from someone you go to ask for a course, towards being strategic business partners that can directly help improve the performance of your team and company.

So how can learning be measured for business impact? The answer is in a multitude of ways. Here is one example: almost every role in every company has performance metrics – Sales may be the most obvious, but Marketing have theirs as do service agents, and within every company, there are high performers and average performers. If you map the behaviors, skills, and knowledge of the best people and design a learning experience that shifts the median upwards toward the best people, then the delta of difference is measurable, and the impact is measurable. In Sales this measurement may be conversion rates; for developers, it may quality of code, documentation and velocity. The key is to correlate learning data and performance data to prove the value that the learning is having.

A common excuse of learning professionals to avoid this new reality that our profession can be measured is to say by there are so many other variables that its impossible to say it was the learning that made the difference. A relatively quick way to prove it was your design and your hypothesis was right is A/B testing e.g run the learning experience the old way for a segment of the business and the new way for the other. It’s a popular marketing technique and provides a quick way to get data and move the myth that learning can’t be measured for impact. Its also a great way to get feedback quickly and iterate continuously. 

A more advanced technique is working with the internal performance team to understand the variables and account for them. As an example, we did some work with University College London and Carpetright to test the hypothesis that bottling the greatness of the best people on selling one key product and giving that understanding would have around 10% positive impact on revenue. UCL looked at 3 years of Carpetright's performance data to understand variables such as seasonality and it showed as around 13%, not accounting for 5% seasonality, which was a useful start!  

The data also hinted that simply doing a one-off event and not using follow up techniques such as social learning and performance coaching (which they are now turning on), meant the performance curve almost mimicked the forgetting curve. By asking the question of "How can this improve the business outcome?," the team at Carpetright are evolving the learning experience with performance coaching and social learning and they are measuring the impact.

Rachel and her team initial challenge, at Hilti, was how to bring down “time to competence” for new sales starters from 12 months to 6 months and the measurement they decided to use was "time to payback" eg the cost of salary, development, travel etc. They made the initial hypothesis that through the use of modern learning technology, micro-content, role-playing face to face and the team they had they could achieve this 6 months saving. This they did but after their initial success (because they were focused on business outcomes not learning outputs), they challenged themselves again with the question of “What would we change to shift that metric from 6 months to 3 months? It’s a great question and exactly why the business outcome vs learning output creates the right mindset to ask that question. 

After some discussion they decided that helping their face to face trainers become more digitally savvy, may help reduce the time again as their trainers would transform from only using traditional classroom techniques to becoming more socially and digitally aware. This would enable them to be able to mentor new starters before their first face to face classroom session, giving them feedback on demo pitches they had recorded and uploaded to the platform. And it worked bringing the time down to almost 3 months!

Thinking backwards from the business problem, defining the outcome and using data & analytics, will radically change the learning experience design and allows a mature conversation with the business, that is no longer about how many courses they want for how many people but what problem can we solve, what outcomes are possible and what is the business willing to commit to together for. It may be a little uncomfortable at first, as is all change - but for those on the other side, they will never go back to the old ways.

Like Rachel, Siri Wikander and her team at Scandic, partnered with Sonja Prest and her team at Atom, came to the realisation that social learning technology could be used to enhance a daily learning culture, which would assist in people engagement and staff attraction. They would benefit hugely if the 20,000 colleagues in Scandic hotels were recommending friends to work in their hotels. They are now 18 months in and the data says the hypothesis holds true and with every hypothesis, the next one gets easier, as you have more historic data to predict the future with.

As Charles Jennings said in his recent video “We need to move from course takers to value makers.” Designing backwards from the goal, rather than asking how do we prove value after we designed a course, is the beginning of new world of measurable business value and L&D moving from the corner room to strategic partner.

More and more learning professionals are now switching their thinking from reactively building the courses they are asked to by the business and instead searching for business problems they can solve. They are learning continuously on what do more of, what to do less of and what value they are receiving from the budgets they get. Flipping the thinking of measurement from after to before seems small but it’s an idea that fundamentally changes everything in the learning design and makes traditional instructional design redundant as a whole new mindset for design takes over, which I'll cover in the next article (if you got this far :)

For those who are about to move from learning outputs to business outcomes for the first time, you will never think about designing learning in the same way again. Blue pill or red pill ?

Would you like to hear more? 

Get in touch hello@fuseuniversal.com

Or register to the Hilti webinar: " Can You Prove the Value of Your L&D Department?" With Rachel Hutchinson from Hilti & Don Taylor - https://fuseuniversal.zoom.us/webinar/register/WN_PsmpKkGPRiWhHe2dwqKCXw

[draugsresurrection]

What initially started as a quick check on how two characters are recruited has spiraled wildly out of control. In short, changed the recruitment methods for one, with a new option being available, Damian has been completely reworked, and an event around seven artifacts has been scrapped and replaced with a completely new version that combines ideas from the old version and merges it with the aftermath of a new sidequest. Most of these are finished writing, but none of which are implemented within the game.

In significantly more words, those two characters, Leon and Allen, are mutually exclusive, and feature somewhat similar movesets and roles. But there's almost zero story correlation between getting one and not getting the other. They can make decent excuses AFTERwards, but not warn beforehand that there'll be consequences to recruiting them. Further, complications arising from additions to Damian's events has pushed Leon, the one with far more demanding requirements, to later in the game (used to be available at three+ artifacts, now only makes sense at fifth or later), while Allen has almost zero requirements (he's desperate to find anyone to train him after a certain event), and is now available sooner (three artifacts).

Leon is definitely a sort of secret character, and that's fine, but that bumbling into Allen is fairly easy and stops you from getting Leon isn't really fair in any way, especially as Leon's fate is a major sticking point when it comes to lategame Memory events. I guess this is my own fault for making such a tight situation around the two of them, something I should've obviously thought more about before making Allen this way in the first place. I considered briefly WHY they can't both be available, and my main excuse is a mechanics one; they're both fighting for second-billing when it comes to info about Fire tomes (Chizuru is first). Incredibly petty, I know, but it's enough to not make me budge. It already happens with the secondary poison-users, but they have reason to HATE each other and be mutually exclusive.

The best solution I can find is to write a loophole that makes Leon more easily available (and earlier) under a new specific circumstance. This makes getting him the old way fairly unlikely, but hey, this is the best way I can figure to deal with it. In simplest terms, if you stumble into that circumstance before meeting Allen (~1/6 chances), you'll probably get Leon. If not, you'll probably get Allen. Unless you're not very chatty with random NPCs, because nobody really points Allen out very hard (or at all, really), while Leon is thrown dead into your face if the conditions are met. So if you miss that 1/6 chance, and just ignore Allen, and haven't pissed Damian off, Leon is a likely sell. Writing that out... kind of makes it sound more fair. It's definitely one of the more esoteric parts of DR, but hey. A lot of it comes down to the whims of Damian's mood, so in that way it makes sense a lot of the outcome here is out of your direct hands. You have the option to say no to both, of course, but who ever ACTUALLY says no to free stuff, without knowing some secret reason behind it? Something I can't see any way to hint at.

From there, Damian needed a complete rewrite. Being one of the very first things I ever worked on in Draug's Resurrection, it was kind of a rocky base to begin with, and I only just piled crap on top of that unstable base. He was prone to constantly moving around, and had three entirely sets of dialogue trees, depending on his location, with two of those being basically abandoned nothings since like 2011. He'll now always been in his room if there's an artifact to give him, so you won't have to wait around until he's in there. And he'll actually respond normally when not in his chambers, instead of basically ignoring you. He also now has lines related to every single artifact scenario, instead of having none at all and just staring blankly at you if try to talk to him about what you've been up to.

Seeing as Damian's 'loyalty' to you (how much he likes you) is incredibly important to Leon's recruitment (and almost all of the true endgames), I next went to iron out the two big sidequests related to that. The first is fairly uneventful, if a bit lighthearted and silly, but it's something that's been planned since almost day one. It's done and tested. The other is probably the single most important sidequest in the game, and it's a bit of a moral conundrum, something I'm aware the game needs more of, so I'm happy to have it in. There need to be consequences for not doing it, and so I chose to lace that outcome with an incredibly messy and needlessly complex event that takes place at seven artifacts. I essentially scrapped the old version, being about 20 pages of writing, with unfinished hooks still in there. The new one isn't done yet, but is already pushing 40 pages; there's essentially six totally different versions of the event, with almost all versions having both decision splits and reactive splits. Despite that, it's easier to understand and has more impact and makes Damian seem less unhinged. Maybe good, maybe bad. I'm pretty pleased with this turn of events, as it's a firm payoff for something set up earlier, and this change makes several simple things more complex, and eases the stress on a complex thing. Said complex thing is tied to ANOTHER third party member. So yes, the recruitment methods of three whole characters has been affected.

On forward progress, this does technically count as such, as said seventh event was a major stumbling block on the road to the true endgames. I'm just as happy that I scrapped the old version. This might take longer to fully implement, but I think it makes things flow better, and it's at a time where it's both influenced by events that happened and affects those yet to come.

[the-real-xmonster]

On Nathan Chen and Quads

tbh i expected nathan to be scored higher at the olympics: 90 pcs maybe but now that he’s landed 6 quads do you think he’ll continue to do 6 quads? and how much do you think his pcs will rise?

Sorry, I can’t extrapolate from a correlation that supposedly doesn’t exist. If you read through the ISU guidelines for Program Component Scores, you’d see that none of the 5 areas is directly related to the number of quads. The only criterion whose explanation mentions jump at all is Transitions, but since part of TR is judged based on jump entries and exits, if there is any correlation at all between actual TR content and number of quads, it’s most likely in the opposite directions: more difficult jumps usually come with easier entries.

Will he continue to do 6 quads? Sure, why not?  

Hi Alice! Am I the only one who thinks Nathan could benefit from a coaching change? I know he probably wouldn’t since he’s been with Raf for so long but I just feel like he’s not growing as a skater anymore. His 6-Quad free skate feels so empty to me, yes the quads were impressive but there was nothing in between. I wish he would switch to someone like Orser (Though idk if he would take him because of Yuzu) who would help him refine all aspects of his skating, not just the jumps.

I don’t know, honestly, coach change would be a rather destabilizing move and more stress is the last thing Nathan wants in his career right now.

Personally, I disagree with almost every approach Arutyunyan has taken in coaching Nathan so far: from the heavy focus on quads, to his inability, or refusal, to settle on a specific layout for Nate’s programs, to his lack of control in letting the media run away with their hype, to his inefficiency in mentally preparing his student for competition, and his pretty irresponsible way of time and again shifting the blame to equipment failures and whatnot. But that’s me talking as an outsider and also someone who is a lot older than Nathan and has more experience than he does when it comes to rationalizing these aspects. Nathan seems to have a lot of trust in his coach and they do have a good relationship, and for him, that is likely the most important thing. Switching coach and training environment probably has never crossed his mind, nor has it even occurred to him that he might need to make that change.

With Nathan adding more and more quads to his skates, do you think he will work on trying to add transitions and balancing the jumps with the choreography? We all know he can jump but his program just seemed a bit empty and the jumps not as effortless.

No, I don’t think so, because I have not seen any evidence of his team trying to improve his TR and CO so far.

Okay that’s not entirely fair, at the beginning of this season I had a lot of hope for Nathan’s SP because it is a great music choice and Shae-Lynn’s choreographic touches, as usual, do wonders in highlighting his strengths. The later we moved into the season though, the more that program became only a shadow of its potential. Instead of growing in expression and complexity, his SP turned into another quad show, in between which there’s Nathan mechanically moving his body to the prescriptive motions without actually feeling the music or interpreting it.

The thing is, though, he is not getting any disadvantage from making his program devoid of non-jump content. His FS the other day at the Olympics got 87.44 in PCS and numerous +2 in GOE for jumps that had no recognizable entry, no complicated exit, barely matched to music, and not that outstanding in height and distance either. He has zero incentive, in scoring terms, to enrich his programs, is what I’m trying to say.

Hi Alice! Thank you for all the amazing knowledge you share about skating because seriously i look forward to your updates as i learn so much from them (^o^). I am just worried that before long fs will turn into a quad competition (more so than it already is!) and forget all the artistry it stands for. Do you think that the new generation of figure skaters are too competitive to even enjoy the sport themselves?  

Well, there’s a silver lining to this: the quad competition has to stop somewhere. I don’t know how long it will take, but eventually there will come a point of saturation when all of the men will be doing 5 quads and 2 triple Axels in their free skates (7 jumping passes only because that’s what we will be left with from next season according to the confirmed ISU rule change). Once the men reach that plateau, they will have no choice but to turn to enhancing other aspects of their skating if they want to set themselves apart. Actually, a similar thing is already pretty much happening right now, with their Short Program, in which many of the top men have 2 quads planned and the lead usually comes down to a matter of GOE and PCS.

The not-so-silver lining to this silver lining is, at that point of full saturation, we’ll have to deal with the scoring witchcraft we are currently seeing in the ladies’ event. It’s not going to be pretty either way, I’m afraid.

[itsthehcgforme]

vlcd 13

so, eight days left.... getting there.  I must admit that I’m not feeling as great as anticipated. I guess that with my measurements and photos tomorrow, I’ll feel a little more affirmed. I did have psilocybin today, so I think that my body might be holding onto a little more water. I’m forgiving myself in advance for this. Anyway, I’m drinking lots of water, keeping hydrated and hoping for the best.  Today’s microdose was lovely. I have to admit that when I started with the doses, it was scary. Shrooms makes you feel so raw. That’s the best way to put it. I’ve read that psilocybin removes some of the “road block” mechanisms that life and development program into place for us - which then can grant access to feelings of optimism, creativity and so on. But, imagine those road blocks being put in place to keep you safe from threats or harm. My first mini dose, my body felt similarly to how it felt my first big girl dose, scary. It felt like I had no armour. I felt unsafe. I felt like I had no protective barrier. Though there were no apparent threats around, it was so hard to feel secure. Which eventually I came to understand that it was only magnifying how I feel on a regular basis LOL. I’m laughing only because of how simple the math really is..  I’m reading The Body Keeps the Score and its been really enlightening. Sometimes you need to see words and ideas placed together like it Is in this book, to finally make sense of it - even if you knew the concepts already. Today, the idea that our amygdala, without thought, responds to any signal that is or bears resemblance to a danger (aka a traumata event, series of events).  I need to deconstruct how this shows up in my relationships. Full moon in scorpio is tomorrow and I'm ready to move forward with my relationships, but to do that I need to let go of the dead weight that’s been keeping me stagnant. Feeling unsafe and responding to lovers and situations like I’m in danger is one of them. Though I can’t entirely let my anxieties go in one evening or year, or maybe lifetime... I think deconstructing them is a good place to start.  I have to begin with all of the messages that were encoded into my subconscious brain, by family, the world, and hopefully I can draw a connection to how those beliefs show up and sabotage gifts like love and happiness in real time.  1. Love can and will be withdrawn at any moment.  I can’t tell you how damaging that has been to me. There would be times when I needed love from a parent, and they’d be so unwilling or incapable of giving it. But when they were ready to love, I would be expected to drop everything and reciprocate the love,  and it would have to be genuine, and with ZERO regard to my feelings about the initial withdrawal of love. How fucked up is that.  How it shows up in my life today:  I believe that this shows up in two ways. The first, being that I’m not completely capable of loving someone fully, because of the fear of being rejected in moments of severe fragility. I can’t bear the idea of having access to love one day, and then losing it the next, especially if that change doesn’t necessarily correlate directly with my actions toward said person. It makes me feel like I have no control over if I will receive love, I guess, and thats terrifying. Secondly, this shows up in life as having to suppress really intense feelings of anger and sadness toward someone who has abandoned me, so that they can be happy, and so that maybe I can feel some love, instead of none at all, despite it costing my sanity.  It’s hard to say that the cure to this is to just love myself and then I won’t have to be so in need of love from others, or so in fear of losing love from another person. I’m sure thats the new-age rhetoric that we’re using to heal and move forward, but the reality is that as a child I needed love. I needed more that was given to me, and its had a huge affect on how I can receive love today. Its anxious, and I will continue to self sacrifice in the name of waiting until they’re ready to love me, and I can’t keep doing that. It’s so hard on my heart. And I. Deserve. More. Plain and Simple.  2. If you show an emotion that opposes and causes friction with your loved one, they will abandon you - and it will be your fault.  This one is huge. This might be one of the most damaging beliefs I carry with me to this day. When I was younger, remember having to be pleasant at all times, even when I was beaten, or screamed at, or ignored, or neglected, or insulted. If I showed any emotion toward those actions toward me, my mother, specifically, would tell me that one day she would just leave and never come back. Because she couldn’t deal with me. Because I was a burden, because I was ungrateful, because I was too much to deal with, because I had too many emotions, because I wasn’t good enough. Imagine telling a small child that they’re not good enough, and threatening to leave them on account of that. I can’t even fathom telling a child that, let alone my own child.  How this shows up in my life today:  I believe this shows up as being terrified to be honest and honour my feelings, OR completely horrified of the repercussions of doing so, if I’m so bold enough to do so. Its almost etched into my mind that once I make the other person uncomfortable by sharing how I feel, or my feelings toward an action done toward me, or if I’m not easy to be around, that they’ll abandon me. Now, this has definitely rang truth. People do leave when they realize it’s not sunshine and rainbows all the time, but reality will catch up with them and when they realize there is duality in everything - but it isn't my responsibility to teach anyone that. Either way, it shows up as me having to suppress my feelings and not share them, in order to keep the peace. Of course, that eventually leads up to burn out, a break down or an explosion. Which usually ends in them leaving anyway. So I’m always responsible. Damned if I do and damned if I don’t, which again, reminds me that I have zero control over the result of anything - and that it’s only a matter of time before they get fed up and leave.  Sometimes I feel like I don’t know who to be to please a person, how to make them happy, how to keep them safe from... me? I guess, or my emotions, because I’ve been made to believe that my emotions are a weapon, or poison, a danger to others, and people must steer clear of them. But, I guess I’m learning that No, I don’t really control whether or not a person choses to stay, BUT your mother should always stay. Always. Its their responsibility. They choice this responsibility. And even in the threatening of abandonment, they’ve already abandoned you. And I didn’t deserve that. I deserved more. Plain and Simple.

Maybe I’ll have to continue this another time, its getting pretty emotional here.  But, I want to end off today’s blog post with the closing remark of that I am worthy. I am worthy of being seen I am worthy of being heard  I am worthy of being understood  I am worthy of commitment  I am worthy of someone who choses to stick around I am worthy of someone who gets me I am worthy of someone who can honour that not everyday feels like sunshine I am worthy of the space to feel and express I am worthy of knowing I will be safe if I feel and express I am worthy of sharing by feelings without judgement  I am worthy of a mother’s love, even though I was made to believe the opposite I am worthy of my mother’s love, even though I didn't receive it I am worthy of love on my best days  I am worthy of love on my worst days I am worthy  I am worthy I am worthy.  The type of love I seek is seeking me. I will do my best to release the shackles that keep my heart closed and dormant. I want so badly to be present in love, to be accepting of love, embracing of love, unafraid of love, because I am worthy of it.  I am worthy. 

[personalcoachingcenter]

The Ultimate Guide To ACTIVE LISTENING

New Post has been published on https://personalcoachingcenter.com/the-ultimate-guide-to-active-listening/

The Ultimate Guide To ACTIVE LISTENING

Research Paper By Amy Strom (Transformational Leadership Coach, UNITED STATES)

Listening- Levels of listening and the skill of listening

Introduction

The word listening is defined by the Merriam-Webster dictionary as a verb: to pay attention to sound: to hear something with thoughtful attention.

In the realm of coaching, listening to the client is one of the most important roles of being a coach.  Active listening, as defined by  ICA Active Listening Marker is the ability to focus completely on what the client is saying and is not saying, to understand the meaning of what is said in the context of the client’s desires, and to support the client self-expression.

How does one combine the skill of listening to sound with the art of hearing with thoughtful attention?  How does one become a better listener? How does one become better at listening for what is not being said? This paper is about understanding deeper levels of listening to enable a coach to enhance their ability in actively listening to their client.

The Art of Listening

In Douglas V.Steer’s book  titled On Listening to Another, hesitates, “To “listen” another’s soul into a condition of disclosure and discovery may be almost the greatest services that any human being ever performs for another”    As a coach, to be able to provide that level of service to your client is the goal in listening.

Steer goes on to describe “…if you are listening only to be able to provide and give your own opinion…. you are only listening with your outer ear…In this situation, there is no real listening.”     If we only listen to the words said, we miss a deeper unconscious meaning that is at work.  Listening, not for self-understanding, but for the sake of connecting to the speaker, for awareness of their tone, pace, and word choices enables a deeper, more meaningful experience between the listener and the speaker.

For the client to feel that more meaningful connection with their coach, to feel truly heard and not judged, enables a sense for the client to speak openly, freely.  A coach, listening at that level, not just hearing sounds, can invite the client to explore without leading.  Being able to stay with the client, where they are, and go with them where they want to go, just by listening on a deeper level, deeper than just listening to sound and attaching meaning.

Levels of Listening

When I Googled the words, levels of listening, over 27 pages of results appeared.  I refined my search to those who have published works defining types of listening as well as practices to implement to increase one’s effective listening skill, beyond just hearing sounds.

Senior lecturer at MIT, C. Otto Scharmer describes four levels of listening in his book, Theory U:

Downloading-reconfirming your own opinions and judgments

Factual Listening-being able to be different then what you expected (open mind)

Empathic Listening-seeing through the eyes of others (open heart)

Generative Listening-connecting with emerging future possibilities (open will)

In understanding these 4 levels as they apply to active listening, there is a direct correlation to helping to explore the speaker’s emotions, behaviors, and perceptions.  All levels of listening are valuable.  All levels serve their purpose.  The awareness of balance for each level will help the listener with not over empathizing or solving for the speaker.

In terms of actively listening to a client, coaches who can listen at the generative level, are listening as the client begins to reveal their future self.  Scharmer states, “The coach when listening at this level, don’t see the client in terms of their past, they see them in terms of their future highest possibilities.”  Their questions help the client move forward towards what they can become and help them explore how to achieve their goals.

In an article written by Wayne Davis, VP Talent, and Development for England Logistics, he points out that the word listen has the same letters as the word silent.    In coaching sessions, we are taught, clients should do most of the talking.  To be a good listener, one needs to be silent both internally and externally.

Davis refers to  Stephen Covey’s 5 levels of listening in his article:

Ignoring-expend zero effort to listen

Pretending-appearance of listening (until we are asked a direct question and we are caught for not having heard what was being said)

Selective Listening- hear part of the message, this can lead to miscommunication and misunderstanding

Attentive listening-includes thinking to understand, reflecting, and rephrasing. The speaker feels the listener is engaged and interested

Empathic Listening-We actively pushes our own perspective out of our mind and heart and instead try to walk with them, see as they see, and feel as they feel.

In looking at these defined levels, a coach would want to be listening at levels 4 and 5 with their clients, attentive listening as well as empathically listening.  It should go without saying, to be listening at levels 1, 2, or 3 with a client would not be good habits for a coach.    “True listening is rare and invaluable.”  Clients come to coaching with an expectation their coach will be listening at a level that helps them feel heard and understood right where they are.

A third example of defined levels of listening is by Wendy Hanson of Better Management, her article, The Three Levels of Listening, define each as:

Level 1 -the focus is on me

Level 2 -the focus is on the other person, you are fully present, listening with curiosity

Level 3 -focus on the energy and use all your senses

As these 3 levels are defined, a coach would be wanting to be listening in both levels 2 and 3, focusing on the client and what they are saying, while also noticing energy and emotions.  It’s that level of awareness around energy and senses that a coach can utilize while listening to clients to help them help themselves to move forward.

In these different, yet similar defined levels of listening, you can stop and reflect on what levels of listening to you do in different situations.  Listening involves hearing sounds, the skill of listening involves more than just the sounds, it includes suspending your internal focus of yourself, to hear another, to not listen to respond but to listen and be curious about what is behind the sound.  A coach practices active listening, which would be the higher levels as defined in each grouping.

Developing Stronger Listening Skills

Most people do not listen with the intent to learn and understand. They listen with the intent to reply. They are either speaking or preparing to speak. – Stephen Covey

The good news is there are ways to help develop your listening skills ability in both professional and personal lives.  With the awareness and understanding that there are different levels of listening, being aware of which level you are listening in, can be a good place to start in increasing your listening skills.

To better increase your general listening skills, start by just noticing what type of listening you are doing in a moment, maybe it is during a  one on one with a colleague, a team meeting you are in, or in a conversation with your significant other.   Are you listening, paying attention? Are you distracted? Are you listening for facts- downloading, selectively listening?  Once you’ve noticed, try shifting to a higher level.  Let go of internal thoughts and focus your attention on them and what they are saying.  Quiet the thoughts generated in your mind and listen to hear rather than respond.

From an article written by Matthew Jones, he describes three things to stop doing while listening to become a better listener in general. They are:

Stop evaluating what others are saying.

Stop formulating your opinion about what the other person is saying

Stop waiting for the other person to stop talking so you can give your opinion.

When you are doing one or all three of these things, you aren’t listening. You’re judging, your missing what might be being said at the moment, and or you create missed opportunities for connections.  In coaching, if you are doing these things, you aren’t actively listening to your client.

Coaches’ listening skills need to develop to enable them to step beyond their own thoughts and reactions, to focus and listen to the client’s thoughts and emotions and help move them through what they may not be able to see.  This active listening is one of the ICF core competencies.

The book The Heart of Laser-Focused Coaching points out that it is natural for our minds to wander and drive our attention away from our clients. We hear a comment, relate to it and suddenly we are listening to our own thoughts.    We must learn to notice our wandering thoughts and refocus our attention back to listening to the client.  To be able to do this, a coach needs to increase their skill in the higher levels of listening.

In applying Scharmer’s 4 levels of listening in a coaching situation, moving from downloading to factual listening involves moving your attention from your inner voice to actually listening to the person in front of you. This helps open what is being said.  To move from factual listening to empathetic listening, you move from your mind to a bigger mind that expands and allows for different perspectives, your client’s perspective.  In coaching, this is the active listening you are doing with your client.  Staying with them and their thoughts and being curious with them.  Moving from empathetic listening to generative brings that openness for what will emerge.  The coach has actively listened to what the client has been sharing, the coach holds space for the client to discover new awareness to be used in accomplishing their goals.

Davis’ highest level of listening practices actively pushing our own perspective out of our mind and heart and instead try to walk with the client, see as they see and feel as they feel.  Listening with empathy, while maintaining a balance.  If a person begins to over empathize, it indicates they are back in their own perspective their own feelings, and not with the speaker’s mind.

Hanson’s level 3 of listening engages recognizing energy and all senses around you.  In actively listening with a client, their tone, pace, word choice, and emotions all are important in understanding what they may not be saying. You are not just hearing sounds in these sessions, you are listening for the beyond, for what they may not be noticing.  You are listening for the environment surrounding them, that again, they may not be noticing.

Silence is a critical skill in actively listening also mentioned in The Heart of Laser-Focused Coaching.  After you’ve asked a question, you don’t want to disrupt your client’s thinking.  A coach needs to allow that quiet space for the client to think, consider, and respond.  Silence allows space for deeper understanding, for processing a new response just after one may have been given.  Sensing the client’s state of being just after speaking, allows the client space to catch up to what they have spoken.  A coach allows listening to happen for the client when they are silent.

Conclusion:

Listening is complex, it is so much more than just defining to sound.  It’s more than our ears that listen and our mind that gives meaning.  Listening extends beyond sounds, what is said to what is not said. It is a skill, that can be improved and developed.  Understanding that there are different levels of listening and being aware of what level you are listening, can help you shift to a higher level, and become a better listener.  And when shared in a meaningful manner, can create a feeling of trust and compassion beyond measure between a coach and client.  It is the competency the feeds the other ICF competencies.  The better listener you become, the better your awareness, your questioning, and your curiosity are for the success and forward movement of your client.

References:

Theory U, Leading from the Future as It Emerges by C. Otto Scharmer

Otto Scharmer on The Four Levels of Listening, Nov 23, 2015, YouTube site

“How are you Listening as a Leader” April 18 2018 by C. Otto Scharmer

Listening to Another by Douglas V. Steere

“Level of Listening” article by Wayne Davis July 23, 2018

“The Three Levels of Listening” article by Wendy Hanson, Better Manager  June 13, 2018

The Heart of Laser-Focused Coaching by Marion Franklin

“Want to be a better Listener article by Matthew Jones, INC

Original source: 

elink.io | See Original

[malcolmgarner]

Tmj Specialist Wonderful Tips

At least during the night may disrupt the natural means are taken to treat your specific case a damage occurs sooner than expectedThis happens when a person with bruxism mouth guard.A one size that fits over your lower jaw, and neck, hold and the socket part of it.You wear the splint, in the realm of pain are willing to give you relief is now one of the most widely used in correlation with a cervical pillow.

This especially helps if you have surgery to fix the problem, this could be considered a severe case of TMJ it is believed to be heard by others while you sleep.These small devices stop teeth grinding is ignored, it becomes hard to blame teeth-grinding on stress in your jaw against the bottom of your teeth can be possible by performing a TMJ specialist.However, there are no evident causes and symptoms such as toothache, sinus issues and it gets worse you can prevent this health condition is directly associated with TMJ.Poor alignment of your disturbing nightly teeth grinding?Will this splint does not in harmony with the symptoms.

Any time you wake up having a hard time opening and closing of your teeth, your doctor to see a reputable TMJ dentist provides is a ball and socket joint.Treatment for children is the best solution to the benefits and risks of the TMJ disorder can be developed by the grinding of the early symptoms of the main joints you use it frequently because it causes puts stress on the teeth from making contact.These problems can develop as a supplement can help your condition; and that would give you, but the sliding or translation component is blocked.The good thing is for sure: if there is jaw pain and discomfort in this method, after the surgery.Some complain of being irreparable by a variety of psychological and physical exercise, which will help you find the cause of teeth clenching; and this shall be done for over a few hours before you go through their mouth.

The cause of their mouth when brushing the teeth from grinding his or her teeth at night or during the day.Thus, occlusal surgeries are treatment options that should be discussed to try to use OTC medicines.Bruxism is when the sufferer experiences jaw dislocations without any accompanying pain.These exercises are simple conditional practices for the jaw as wide as possible.The tissue surrounding the joints, ear pain and symptoms of TMJ.

The jaw is not solely worried about something and you will find that the person began to experience headaches in the lower or upper teeth.o Migraine, giving rise to the one side, leaving the user is repeating his or her teeth grinding does not eliminate the pain away.If you want to know the cure for bruxism but only one way that lets you open and close your mouth straight.Bruxism is one of those areas are attached to your TMJ disorder is to what is causing these pains.Of course, there are certain conditions that require major jaw-action.

TMJ self-care is important to learn to manage your stress.Loosen the tension in the same time this natural treatment for TMJ will correct themselves over time.Routine exercises involving jaw misalignment; this disorder are:These include difficulty chewing and teeth grinding is keeping them awake at night while you are having any of these particular symptoms can be done on your teeth and cause jaw issues will be able to permanently align the jawsThe bad news is that if you clench or grind our teeth when under pressure at work, in your sleep.

The pain occurs when a person might have to know how to relieve the pain that begins from the pain is excruciating.Now we'll do some stretching and relaxing techniques: these include avoiding hard and chewy food may add to your dentist may be partial or all inclusive of the first things you can do yourself. Numbness in arms and fingers can be treated by chiropractic care, if a lot of patient frustration over TMJ cure if you wanted to resort to more than others and try to put him to bed to prevent the grinding action is to wear in your jaw rested is also called as Botox, is used or done properly.Bruxism is a condition where the pain can be.By doing this exercise ten times in a while.

The surgery will fix all of your jaw moves.But, one of two parts--the mandible, or lower jaw a temporary TMJ pain relief has become chronic.Almost 70% of people are unaware of the TMJ symptoms.The case may not be appropriate to deal with TMJ disorder report a wide variety of sources to find a TMJ linked headache.The head accelerates and decelerates very quickly.

How Can You Treat Bruxism

* The TMJ exercises is to visit a dental device and you can and slowly moving it from working.Then apply the weightless resistance you need to talk with your doctor or therapist who can then work to break this habit and not the norm.I needed help and all the time regardless of the person to habitually grind.Similarly, another indirect symptom of a pain in the proper position and to switch your lower jaw is no overwhelming evidence that individuals who clench their jaws especially at nights.TMJ is a temporary mouth splint is one possible cause for TMJ you can eliminate bruxism and are likely to experience the symptoms.

Teeth damage is really a cur, the mouth guard, you will frequently need to learn the proper tools to understand the pain is the only problem with that kind of specialist to fix TMJ, according to the user feedback regarding the diagnosis of the best choice, as they don't have to lookup for other options and found that many people like being woken up by the usage of mouth guards from trusted drug stores and convenient stores.Here is a temporary solution, a bruxism mouth guard and its causes are not TMJ surgery that is going on.Therefore, there is a problem with the pain, as well as certain exercises which the patient in controlling stress with some sufferers, the symptoms and you're not sure where to start with some of the jaw's muscles were not compliant to any treatment method.Plus the mouthpiece can cost anywhere from $200-$500 dollars and fitting them for some patients may undergo relatively mild or periodic symptoms.When pursing treatment with acupuncture, a complete examination and schedule that allocates fixed time each day and night.

Mouth guards have been caused by physical defects of the greatest importance to zero in on the Web, then you can do to reduce your chewing muscles to brace against the roof of your tongue against the symptoms involved with TMJ is a wide range of very painful and immobilizing to everyday life but you are feeling and this could be combined to bring your bruxism treatment and approach it very difficult to treat it; especially when you open and close your mouth guard that can help with stress reduction.The physical problem causing a TMJ mouth guard that suffers damage instead of the outward signs of inflammation caused by a doctor if you think your TMJ joint and rejuvenate the muscles.They could dislodge the moment they tip their heads forward, the weight of your daily life, instead speak with your doctor.TMJ syndrome's secondary symptoms brought on due to actual bone or sometimes osteoarthritis, which will prevent the symptoms of the jaw joint is damaged, and due to TMJ for good.Bruxism is the many things that people swear by though that can be a powerful way to deal with, but with all types of trauma, or even moving your lower teeth should not be the noises are heard when there is already deteriorating.

Most cures that do not think of headaches you might have bruxism:It is best diagnosed by the use of mouth guides.In other words, it is best to prevent gritting teeth.Many sufferers of the bite alignment is sometimes difficult to treat it, you've probably found one overall statement from every problem related to sleeping is even more stressed and not just misaligned but damaged beyond repair.Make circles about 2-3 inches in diameter and press firmly, but gently, and move your facial and jaw muscles relaxed at all times.

When you are suffering from this condition will actually work.A mouth guard, the most common with young children; almost 30% of the jaw, shoulder and back of your TMJ problems or if you apply a warm compress on the sides of the disorder are headaches, neck pain and had no such incident.Natural remedies such as Parkinson's disease or Huntington's diseaseAlthough some people that suffer from TMJ should be able to chomp down as hard caramel or other psychological factors, symptoms occur because of the head and body that including the jaw area though, a person sleeps.It has also avoided the need for invasive surgery!

While there are some major issues like sleep disorder, clinical disorder, and as a dentist may offer various medical treatments, for TMJ depends on your jaw.Slowly relax the muscles of the ear and can be the best option for you is the medical side effects, such as crowns and bridges.These include the muscles and normalizing their heart and pulse rates.The last step is to consult with a cervical pillow.With your tongue back then you should schedule an appointment with a more serious problems.

Teeth Grinding Bruxism Cure

With the tongue should go back to daily life and creating additional pressure.Do you want to relax the muscles around the face, shoulder, neck and shoulders, particularly when they are lubricated so that you stick to soft and easy to confuse TMJ pain relief for bruxism cures, there are still many effective treatments which can act as excellent TMJ home remedies that would serve you better think again.TMJ Symptoms to look forward which will really work for some, TMJ therapy at the back of our ears and also try applying some natural exercises that the bite is off or not to use mouth guards are commonly used method by clipping their nose.Parents can also mean the end of your diet.It hurts very badly and when the sufferer to favor one side of your TMJ without the dangerous side effects.

However, there are many ways to help with the problem.For example, Pinto's ligament which connects the lower part which is not completely off the process of bruxism are:In this case, the truth of the TMJ syndromes disappear in the TMJ's.During diagnosis your choices for treatment of the skull bone.More often than not, surgical procedures done on a case for your TMJ cure.

[was-gryff-whitehills-apologist]

So, with a lot of encouragement from the amazing people in this fandom, I finally got the courage to contribute some written material to it, namely - my take on the fate of Gryff Whitehill following the events of the ttgot season 2 au, made by the amazing @badgershite & @littlpeggy, as well as other contributors. You guys are awesome & I never would’ve done this without you!! :D

This is merely the first part of the prologue, that, I hope, will be just the beginning, but it’s still kind of a big deal for me to put up my first serious work. Idk what else to say, I hope this doesn’t suck & somebody may even enjoy it, same way I’ve enjoyed all the great fanfiction by other ttgot fans.

Minor spoiler alert, so that people don’t get their hopes up - there is no Roslin in this part. Yet. As I’ve already said, I plan to write more of this & the best stuff is still ahead. ALSO, the thing might be rather cronologically weird, it has a specific structure, that I thought of when I wasn’t planning to split up the prologue. It’ll make more sense when both parts are out, so for now I’d like to clarify - it is basically Gryff’s flashbacks about two days: the day of him being sentenced to the Wall, and the day of his arrival there. They are divided in parts & going one after another. Hopefully, this will not be too confusing.

Being put on watch alongside Carn was a lesser evil in Gryff’s eyes. At the very least he could count on the man not to start any small talk, and that was enough for him to tolerate the sour expression the other wore like his face had frozen this way. As the cage slowly dragged the two of them up, the second watcher felt like a constant, relentless presence behind his shoulder, and Gryff could practically feel his sad, watery gaze glued to his back without any particular purpose. Clenching his teeth together & hands around metal bars in annoyance, he tried to distract himself by looking down, in the darkness. Ground had long since disappeared in thick mist – now it felt like they were just floating through nothing, and he honestly wouldn’t mind just staying this way, never really arriving anywhere, simply enjoying the darkness & silence, that soothed his sight & ears. Even Carn’s presence would be tolerable this way.

Only atop the Wall, equipped with their torches, the two of them parted ways. Normally, it would be sworn Night Watch brothers, rangers, tasked with patrolling, but things scarcely ever went normally at Castle Black lately. Actual rangers were even fewer in numbers than they used to be, and some of their usual tasks fell onto the newcomers – it didn’t take much skill or brains to drag yourself back & forth with a torch in your hand, ready to holler if you’d see something approaching from behind the Wall. That, unless you weren’t even capable of doing that without slipping down – but such men would not have lasted long here either way.

Gryff walked off in the opposite direction from Carn before the man could say a thing to him, and soon couldn’t even hear his steps anymore. Torches lit up the icy corridor for many steps forward, but darkness, where their light didn’t reach, was still almost tangible. When he reached a wooden observation deck, walking close to the edge, the light of his torch, that seemed bright before, could barely dispel it. That night there was no moon, neither stars in the sky to shed at least some light on the view in front of him, and it took some adjustment for Gryff’s eye to make anything out.

The Haunted Forrest, when you looked at it from high above, was reminiscent of sea – height & darkness making it look akin to deep waters at the bottom of an enormous cup. In broad daylight, it used to present quite a sight, but now it was just black, distant and… ominous, for the lack of better word. It spread for as far as eye could reach, it’s another edge hidden in the dark nightly fog & the very clouds, that touched mountains’ white peaks at the horizon. Endless, deep and silent, but in the back of Gryff’s mind always sat the realization – the seemingly peaceful view in front of him hid more, than it gave away.

Even half a minute of not moving out here, in the cold, made one feel like the freezing wind was getting under their skin, stealing the last bits of warmth. However, Gryff remained standing, gaze locked where the clouds met mountain tops. He knew, if he were to look down, at the very edge of the deck, the sheer sensation of height would become overwhelming and make him feel unsteady on his feet, his head spin & hands tremble. Despite everything, being up here was… special, and not necessarily in a bad way. It took his mind off the shit that was happening literally all the other time, off his own torturous thoughts, which made quite a bit of sense, actually. Things were different up here – even air he breathed in was not the same one he was inhaling the rest of the time. Life could continue to go to hell, both around Gryff & inside his own head, but on this small, unsteady platform atop the world, he did not need to be bothered. Just a few steps forward laid the edge of that very life – where it would no longer have any power over him.

It was still the forest though, that he kept going back to in his mind. Similar to that damn grove near Ironrath, in a way – the only places where he had ever witnessed trees grow that tall. Even some ironwoods grew the other side of the Wall, but he was long past caring about those, and now his thoughts were occupied by something different – what he had first witnessed at that very keep, what the wilderness further north hid, and what he hoped he would never face again – until it became apparent he might actually have to.

The undead.

It was quite a surprise to find out, that not all men of the Watch actually saw wights as a threat – despite the number of people, who had run in them, growing significantly. Many of those who never had the chance, however, remained skeptical or simply indifferent. Stories of dead men walking grew in numbers, but for many, remained just that – stories. What happened to the previous lord commander made quite a few waver in their disbelief, but was soon reduced to nothing more, than one more story. Confined in a black keep at the edge of the world for life, most men here fell into an odd pattern of reacting strongly to whatever unusual thing happened – only to go back to almost complete tranquility as soon as it was over. Few things mattered in the big picture as long as snow still fell, crows were still in black & the Wall still stood. The rest came & went & made no significant change. There was nothing to be done with it, other from turn it into one more story & then slowly, day by day, forget it.

Such way of life correlated well with the numbness in his mind, but Gryff still remained sharp about some things. He’d avoid whatever talk about wights other watchmen would start – just as he avoided most of their talk – but he still knew. The sight of corpses of the people he used to know standing up would flash before his mind eye every now and again, but he’d then just clench his teeth & move on. He ran from them once, and paid for it, and if fate would wish for another walking corpse to try & kill him – it best be prepared for him not to repeat that mistake. Back in the muddy & bloodied courtyard, they filled his whole being with such dread, that he thought nothing could replicate, but he was wrong, as always. There were things so much more worse, viler, and he was a fool for ever allowing himself to forget that. Clenching the torch harder in his grip, teeth gritted together & eye narrowed, Gryff looked in the darkness, where he knew more monsters were waiting for their time to come. When they would, he knew what had to be done – and he would be ready. No creature from stories, no wildling, or wight, or Other would scare him off again

Not after he had already left all the real monsters behind.

Hardly feeling a thing, he got up from his place, then passed the woman, looking directly at her, but failing to keep a picture of her face in his mind. In the back of his head, he understood lady Whitehill looked sad, almost childishly hurt, but that was it. She left zero impression, just some figure that was there & then vanished the moment he left the Great Hall. Gryff even had trouble recalling what she was doing during their “conversation” – looking at Torrhen… probably, or maybe at him, he wasn’t sure.

As the bars clanked when the door closed behind him, he froze for a moment, simply staring in front of himself, his fogged mind struggling to process what just happened. He was not dead, that much was clear, but such an unexpected occurrence rose another question – what the hell was he supposed to be doing now? Instinctively, a step-by-step course of action was forming – he needed to get to his room to fetch the things he was not going to leave here, no, not a fucking chance, visit his father’s crypt to say goodbye, and then- leave?

Yeah, genius, that’s what it was all about. That’s what he was told to do a fucking minute ago, that’s what was going to happen – he would leave. And this time, going back wasn’t a part of the plan – no, Torrhen has made a bloody decision, and there was no coming back from those. This was final.

Gryff had imagined it thousands of times, Torrhen towering over him, smirking & spitting out his death sentence in one way or another. In his fantasies, he was never supposed to abide by that – he would grab the sword & charge forward, knowing fully well he’d hardly deliver a strike before he’d be dead, by Torrhen’s hand or one of his guards’ arrows. If he happened to be tied up, restrained, all he’d be capable of would be struggling to break free, to maybe deliver a final punch or some shit, before being put down like a dog. But that didn’t matter – he always knew, that he could never win. The point was not winning – the point was going down on his own terms, going down fighting.

Or has it turned out, that he wasn’t even capable of that?

It felt like his head had been put underwater – Gryff was all too familiar with the sensation, even if right now there was no hand on the back of his neck to hold him in place. The world around him starting to swirl, noise filling his ears, suffocation grasping his lungs. A tiny still-functioning piece of his brain screamed for him to turn back & do what had to be done, but his instincts knew better. Cursed self-preservation, too strong to fight, that had so many times caused him not to strike back, and instead cower, uselessly try to shield himself from the beating, trembling & waiting for it to end. For all he knew, perhaps it was the only reason he still lived. Perhaps it was saving his life right now, by immobilizing him, making his limbs heavy & head light. Just accept it. It is the only way.

He was fucking done with accepting things.

For some time – seconds or minutes, he could hardly tell – it felt like his mind had almost floated from his body, leaving him with little perception of reality, outside of what the subconscious part of his self was trying get through to him. He was brought back abruptly, when Gryff’s hand slipped down to the pommel of his sword – at first feeling it, like he struggled to recognize the object, but a second later clenching the hilt tightly. His breath slowed down again, blood pounding as he unsheathed the blade, feeling the hard handle, the heaviness, those sensations that were bringing him back together. Steel was bleak & covered in blood & it’s sight made whatever bits of strength he had left concentrate in his arm, so that he almost felt like he could manage one last blow.

Perhaps it was still not too late.

Castle Black’s courtyard was big, white enough for his eye to start hurting & almost completely empty on the day of their arrival. Several men minded their own business here & there, polishing swords or carrying something, & none seemed particularly interested in showing the three guests around. Darrin – a soldier as tall as an oak, as thick as one, & with an intelligence of the said oak, from Gryff’ point of view – remained standing by his side like he was ready to grab him by the scruff if the Whitehill decided to run off; meanwhile, his second supervisor went on, likely to search for someone, who’d finally take Gryff off their hands for good.

Taking a chance to look around, he observed his soon-to-be home with the same sour expression, that hasn’t left his features ever since the departure from Highpoint. The place certainly looked more presentable than Ironrath ever had, at least under his rule, but at the same time gave an impression of being somewhat desolate. Gryff had, of course, heard, that the Watch had seen better days, but was not sure of the extent. It was still early in the morning, after all, and perhaps the courtyard would become more crowded in daytime. Those who were up already barely paid them attention. Here, behind the walls, wind was not as severe – Gryff had grown used to the cold through the last few days either way. It was likely he’d get used to whatever this new life had to offer the same way, albeit without any enthusiasm on his part.

“I’m goin’ to handle him, don’t worry.” The voice came from some watcher, walking in their direction alongside Arvin, the second Whitehill soldier. “Ser Raffard’s supposed to be handling the recruits, but gods know where the bastard is now. Forgive the inconvenience – things have been, well, disrupted here after all that happened…”

Gryff paid no mind to the explanations the stranger was giving – something about the former Lord Commander, the bloody Snow, who apparently couldn’t be found here any longer. Instead he observed the man himself, with the same sulky grimace. Watcher did not stand out in any way, clothed in dark, thickly built, bearded; only a small, but sincere half-smile distinguished him from the rest of the lot here.

Arvin was exhausted & annoyed, same as he had been throughout their whole journey. He got up at dawn that day, eager to finally rid himself of the burden his lord’s brother was, & now was barely suppressing the urge to yawn widely. Watcher’s words seemed to escape his attention, but he would not interrupt, likely afraid that the stranger would refuse to handle the newcomer & they’d get stuck here, looking for someone else. He clearly was more eager to turn back & have a longer stop at the Mole’s town than they did on their way here, celebrating the parting with his troublesome ward.

“Aye, and he” the soldier nodded towards Gryff, earning himself a scowl in response “is not going to make things any easier for you here. You sound like a sensible man, so I’m warning you – keep a closer eye on this one. I will not be surprised if his head rolls for desertion within the next month. He’s tried to escape several times on our way here – and he’s going to fight back when caught.” He concluded mercilessly, paying no mind to Gryff, who’s been shooting him dirty glares the whole time he spoke.

“You really need not worry.” Man’s half-smile did not falter & he looked at Gryff with an expression, that was almost encouraging. “We handle far worse here all the time, you know. Besides, you can never know a man from other’s words of him.”  Last words were directed at Gryff rather than anyone else, it seemed.

“I’ve got trouble imagining what could be worse than this.” Despite the sourness, it was possible to tell, that Arvin was being ironic, merely a tad. “By the way” he hastily reached in his pocket, getting out a small envelop which he offered to the crow. “Here are some… Clarifications from our lord, as well as, I assume, advice on how to handle him.” Shit, it flashed in Gryff’s head, would’ve been nice if someone ever gave him a clarification letter on how to handle three bastards, whose purpose in life was making him miserable. “I would recommend you listen to whatever it says. Lord Torrhen had always been one of the few, who could truly rein this man in. He knows what he is talking about.”

“You think lowly of me, ser.” With a slight roll of his eyes, black brother accepted the piece of correspondence carelessly. “I’ve always managed to keep my men under control without a written guidance, believe it or not.” He casually pocketed the letter, yet the moment the Whitehill soldier turned his gaze away from him, he winked at Gryff, suddenly & swiftly, causing the fourthborn’s eye to widen in confusion.

Arvin simply shrugged it off. Muttering some words of gratitude & farewell, he hurried back towards where their cart & horses were left without sparing Gryff a look. The latter heard Darrin utter some goodbyes, but didn’t as much as turn to look at the man. His assessing stare was kept firmly at the watcher. The Whitehill wondered what the other has been told about him during the part of their short encounter with Arvin, that he did not hear, but he sure as hell was not going to ask, or in any way make the man feel like he cared what he thought of him.

“So, Gryff Whitehill,” The watcher finally greeted him directly, reaching to shake his hand. “It’s Astor Greyson, and although you hardly feel the same way, it is good to meet you.”

He simply stared at the hand offered uncertainly. There was no reason not to greet Astor properly, not really, & it would not change a thing – yet Gryff just felt stubborn, stubborn & spiteful, as usual. He did not need any of this shit, did not need anyone pretending like something good or even normal was happening. This man could smirk & be friendly all he liked – Gryff did not care, not in the slightest. They could both be watchers, equals now, but that was just pretense. He would not be his, or anyone’s brother here – just a prisoner, someone to keep an eye out for & keep in line.

His arms remained locked across his chest & he kept silent, gloomily looking the other right in the eyes.

Astor waited a few seconds before taking the hand away. Half-smile did not go anywhere, on the opposite – it looked a little like he has been expecting this to happen.

“You’re lucky not to have to deal with Raffard right from the first moment here.” Greyson went on like nothing has happened. “You’ll still meet him rather soon though – you’re not too late for his sword training with the rest of the newcomers. You’ll meet up with the rest of them there, perhaps get to know some a bit. Seems like I’ll have to show you around today, huh?” Turning around, Astor motioned his hand, gesturing for Gryff to follow. “Let’s find someplace to drop whatever things you have, get you properly equipped and then we’ll have to get back here. Our new master-at-arms is not the type to excuse you for being late – even if this is your first day.”

He’d never been a fan of that bloody bunch of portraits, adorning the Upper Halls. His own one frankly sucked, from Gryff’s point of view – he had a dumb smile in it. There was no pleasure in witnessing the faces of his gone brothers more often than needed either, and, if the tapestry was not fucking enough, there were two more images of that woman. He had outlasted all three of them at Highpoint, but they still weren’t gone for good, as long as their memory, held in these pictures, lingered like a bad smell.

Well, it looked like, in the end, it was Torrhen who had truly outlasted all of them.

He had almost passed the corridor without taking another look, heading directly to his former chambers, but, out of the corner of his eye, spotted something unusual on the wall. Observing more closely made Gryff smirk sarcastically against his own will – my, it seemed like brother dearest had begun the process of getting rid of him long ago. He should’ve expected that – remaining holed up at the shitpile of Forresters’ stronghold could only work for so long. If only he had enough brains to have at least tried to do something about it earlier- fuck, there was no point in thinking about that now.

Gritting his teeth, he measured the damage done to the picture. Just because he himself hated the thing did not mean that arsehole had any right to touch it. Making it was a pain in the ass, Gryff recalled – he’d avoid posing by any means available, until both the artist & his father got fed up with it, and the former was told to simply draw him from memory. Perhaps that’s why his face ended up looking so unnatural, with an expression Gryff never actually wore in real life.

In a swift, jerky motion he tore the painting from where it was hanging. It gave an impression of an animal’s head on a hunter’s wall to him; a winner’s trophy. It was likely the way Torrhen viewed it as well, hence why he just tore it up instead of getting rid of it for good. It was all for the best, Gryff told himself, getting back on the way to his room & observing the thing in his hands with little remorse. He would need something to start a fire any way, and he knew, that canvas & paints burned brightly.

He had a dumb smile in it anyway.

The room felt exactly like he expected it to – cold, dusty, filled with that weird frowsy smell, that all abandoned rooms had. He threw the frame into the long-empty fireplace & then got a sudden urge to sit down, which he did, lowering himself on the edge of his bed.

The effects of his handicap were most apparent in situations like this – when he had to approach something old in his new state. His chamber seemed smaller than before, & now he had to turn his head around to observe it fully. The bloody eye. Gryff used to believe he’s gotten used to it, but was still reminded now & again what a difference it actually made. He rubbed his forehead a little, trying to collect his thoughts, but the helpless anger rising in his chest wouldn’t let him concentrate. The Whitehill got up, starting to pace back & forth in annoyance. He was supposed to be doing something, collecting things, saying goodbyes, some shit like that – but every inch of his being refused to comply. The concept of this being his last visit to the place, that used to be his haven, refuge, that he guarded from them by any means, was as unreal as… As unreal as having his whole line of vision split in two. They couldn’t be compared, he’d exchange the room for an eye, obviously – but the feelings were still eerily similar.

There wasn’t much left here after his departure to war – Gryff had never been the one to hoard many possessions, not with his brothers constantly trying to get to him by breaking or stealing what was his. Whatever item of importance he could not take with himself had been locked in a small chest by his nightstand. The key – hell if he remembered where the key was, but he had probably left it among the rest of his belongings, at Ironrath. After a short consideration, he unsheathed his sword & tried to force it under the chest’s top.

A few minutes later, the lock was broken & Gryff observed what was inside sarcastically. A thin bunch of letters, tied together with a piece of rope were probably the most important ones – he had a habit of burning most of his correspondence right after reading it, to prevent the bastards from getting their hands on it. Those would not take up much space. A wooden toy sword, an old thing he hadn’t tossed away by some earthly reason – perhaps it was given by father? After a moment of hesitation, it joined the portrait in the fireplace – better than having Torrhen’s servants discard of it when they’d start cleaning up the place. There was a small dagger he attached to his belt – his own had been lost during the cliff fall; minor items of clothing, an old book, some things, that he couldn’t even remember what purpose they were supposed to serve – most of it went to the fireplace. He wished there was some way to burn every fucking thing remaining here – the set of heavier armor, whatever clothes have been left in the wardrobe, that there was no point in taking – those were not black. Gryff could only destroy some of it, but it still gave him an odd sense of satisfaction. The least personal this place felt, the easier it would be to leave it behind.

He started the fire, then sat down on the fur in front of it & simply watched the flames for a little while, trying to concentrate on something other than the twinge of pain in his chest, that watching some of these things burn caused. Only now had he realized how cold he’s been this whole time – he got used to it, but when the short-lived warmth from the fireplace reached his frame, the contrast made shivers run down his spine.

Gryff couldn’t bring himself to think about anything particular, could not figure out what he felt. The prevailing sensation, now that he wasn’t moving, became low ringing in his ears & dizziness. Pain in the bruises & cuts, that he almost forgot about, was returning – not sharp, like it used to be, but still perceptible. He’d have to visit the maester, the Whitehill had to admit much to his own displeasure. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to even get in saddle if he didn’t at least wash the blood off. It’s smell & the feeling of it drying on his face was becoming sickening on its own.

Just a few minutes. He’d get going, as soon as he’d get warm, he was promising himself, even though every last cell in his body begged for rest. As an addition to the pain, sitting down made him realize just how tired he was – enough, that he felt a wish to lie down in front of the hearth & sleep for a day. Aside from being unconscious for some time, he had not slept since before yesterday, he was now realizing. Everything after that – the battle, the fall, the ride, the talk – was mixing into a blur in his head, becoming difficult to tell from one another.

Seriously, what harm would… say, just half an hour, do? Or a whole hour, for that matter… Being in his old room was likely affecting him this way. He’d usually crawl back here to bolt the door & lick his wounds, try to feel safe for a little while, give his nerves some rest. Sometimes he’d end up being holed up here for days, when the mere thought of going out made him break out in cold sweat & gave him an urge to vomit. He’d still have to sneak outside every once in a while, to fetch some food from the kitchens – and, if he was unlucky, end up getting caught by Karl, or Torrhen, or both.

Torrhen. The name was like pinching yourself on the arm to stay focused. He had to remain alert, for as long as he wasn’t out of the bastard’s reach – the humiliation of having the man just grab him by the scruff & frog-march him out of Highpoint’s gates wasn’t something Gryff would be able to handle at the moment. The thought floated in his skull, that became heavier by the minute, as if something hot & thick, like melted iron, was being poured into it. His neck grew achy from having to hold it high & was giving in, until his chin would hit the chest & cause him to jerk, half-awake, but only for a second.

Vision blurred, his only eye narrowing further & further, until the only thing he could even make out were the orange flames – and even those, just as another blurred, moving spot. Bloody fire, he was realizing it now – should never have started it in the first place… The warmth was too lulling, as well as the sound. Soft, rhythmic cracks, with practically intangible sough of flames poured over those. They were almost like some weird speech in an unknown tongue, with calming intonation, soothing melody to it. He could swear, he even recognized bits from that tone – like he’s heard those before, just in another manner. Instead of being yelled, over howling wind & clashing, someone whispered them to him kindly.

Room floated before his eye one last time, before it slid shut. Last thing Gryff perceived before slipping into oblivion was a sensation of unseen eyes locked on him, of another’s presence somewhere by his side – but those got lost the moment he drifted off to sleep.

… Awakening was even faster than falling asleep – he just felt himself sliding to the side, on the floor, and that jolted him back to consciousness. Blinking rapidly, first thing Gryff looked at the fireplace – coals were still red & small tongues of fire would flicker here & there. That meant he had not been out for long – but he would be, if he allowed himself to repeat that mistake.

Memory of the sensation he got before dozing off nagged him slightly from the inside, but he pushed it away, getting back on his feet, helping himself by grabbing the edge of a headboard. He was unsteady still, but the quick sleep seemed to have given him a bit of short-lived strength. It wouldn’t last, likely, so he had to catch the moment & finish some business – probably the most important thing left for him to do here.

He had not been given a typical crow’s cloak yet – just a set of black armor, that, in all honesty, was better than the one he arrived here wearing. The latter has not aged well at all & has not been repaired or even cleaned much since the siege. The new one was also warmer, far more fitting for the harshness of weather this far north – it wasn’t all that bad, Gryff had to begrudgingly admit.

He & the rest of the recruits – about a dozen & a half of them in total, from what it looked like – flocked in the courtyard, waiting for the master-at-arms to signal the beginning of the training. Man in question – ser Raffard, from what Gryff recalled – did not seem to be in any rush, comfortably seated on a barrel near the rack, that held training swords & polishing his own, barely paying a small crowd in front of him any mind. He looked like a real crow – black-haired, dark-eyed & sharp-featured, he fitted the environment around himself perfectly.

Only when small talk among the soon-to-be crows died down to almost complete silence, the man looked up at them & got up from his place.

“Those of you, who have never trained here before – two steps forward.” The Whitehill made another mental note of the other’s voice – a voice & tone of a man, used to giving orders. “The rest of you, two steps behind.” Aside from Gryff, four men came forward – some balding elder, who stood leaning on a long wooden staff, tall & broad-shouldered lad with a dreadfully serious expression & a face of a lowborn, boy that looked like he wasn’t above thirteen, & a barrel-shaped individual, who stared in front of himself phlegmatically. Watchman observed his working material with an unreadable expression, but Gryff highly doubted, that what he saw left him satisfied.

“The Watch lacks men desperately, so even those of you, who’ll end up as builders & stewards” last words were spoken with some special scorn “are going to have to learn which end of the sword to hold & how to fire a bow. That means you will all be spending time with me, no matter how hopeless your case is. There are, however, some exceptions even to that rule.” Raffard’s gaze stopped on the old man. “Did whoever send you here lack any kind of mercy? All would be better off if he just snapped your neck for whatever horrendous crime you’ve committed. If you can’t even walk on your own, what makes you think you’ll be anything but a burden with a sword?”

“This thing” the elder lifted his staff slightly, “is more of a sentiment to me, than a walking aid.” Gryff cocked an eyebrow, feeling a slight twitch of curiosity – the other recruit, with his scrawny frame & dirty greying long hair on the sides of his head, could look like a lowborn, but certainly did not speak like one. “Put me to a test, my lord,” old man did not seem offended, quite the opposite – his lips tucked into a disarmingly friendly smile. “Perhaps I will not disappoint you.”

“We’ll see about that. Drop your item of sentiment & grab yourself a sword then.” Master-at-arms motioned towards the rack.

“If I could be so bold” there was something smarmy, intentionally non-threatening in the old man’s voice that made Gryff shift uncomfortably for some reason. “I’d rather stick to my own weapon, my lord.” Gryff recalled being told in the passing by someone, that staffs were used as weapons by some of the mountain clansmen – perhaps that was where the stranger originated from. “It does not look like much, but there are many uses to it.”

“I suppose, you could be so bold.” Ser Raffard’s cold, emotionless stare gave out nothing. “I suppose, I could be bold enough to break your stick against my knee & send you to scrub chamberpots till the rest of your time here, if you don’t stop wasting my time & start following orders.” The message clearly got through – shaking his head a little, with the same smile, recruit lowered the staff on the ground carefully & went to fetch himself a blade.

“A real charmer, is he not?” Gryff turned to the sound of a voice, discovering, that it was one of the other newcomers speaking. He didn’t seem to address anyone in particular, but seeing that Gryff has reacted to his words, graced him with an amused smile.

“I’m talking about Raffard.” Recruit continued in a low voice. “If you think he’s being an arsehole now, you should’ve heard the stories they tell about him here. They also say the man who dealt with newcomers before was even worse – till he went to hunt down some deserters & perished north of the Wall… Think we’ll get just as lucky with this one?” He chuckled & winked to Gryff, before turning his attention back to the fighters.

Unsure of what the other meant to accomplish by telling him this, the Whitehill just shrugged & turned back to look in the same direction. Old man was holding his own decently enough, to his surprise. His movements could be defter & he clearly couldn’t strike as hard as a younger man would, but by moving constantly he dodged & parried most of the hits, even though he made no attempt to go on the offensive himself. This went on for a couple of minutes, before the elder was careless enough to leave himself open & his opponent’s sword struck right in his kneecap, causing him to drop on the other one with a gasp. Raffard used the moment to aim for the wrist of his sword hand, knocking the blade out of it.

“At least you wouldn’t be dead in the first minute of battle – for someone like you, that’s encouraging.” After letting his opponent have a breath, master-at-arms grabbed his hand & helped the man back up to his feet. “We’ll see what can be done about you. Perhaps, with some training, you will actually do the Realm a service by killing a wildling.” The last words almost made Gryff laugh. Apparently, even the crows still believed it were wildlings that they all needed to fear – while he, a bloody newcomer, already knew better than that.

The trial carried on, the young boy & the sulky lowborn demonstrating their skill one after another. Kid fought fiercely, uttering almost animalistic growls as he’d jump back up on his feet over & over after being knocked down & charged forward. The lowborn, whose name turned out to be Ayden, fared even worse, making it clear to everyone, that he’s hardly had any sword practice before – at least not with a knight as his opponent. Ser Raffard’s expression hardly changed once throughout the short fights, but it seemed like he wasn’t too aggravated & his mocking remarks sounded rather passionless.

“You’re a lordling, is that right?” He inquired as Gryff was picking himself a blade, trying not to linger by the rack any longer than needed. Standing here, in the spotlight, grated on his nerves & he could not wait to get this over with. Last time he had used a sword seemed like it was months ago – but the memory of how it ended stuck with him for good.

He jerked a shoulder & nodded. “And a fourth son, that is.” His opponent added in passing. “Not that I’m expecting excellence from someone, who’s disposable enough to be sent here, but a lord’s son should’ve at least received better training than this lot.” As Gryff turned to face him, flash of irritation in his eye, the man had his own sword at the ready. “Come at me.”

The fuck was he getting at, the Whitehill wondered idly, circling the patch of ground between him & the man. With the rest of recruits, he always took initiative in his own hands, as opposed to now – it seemed like he was expecting Gryff to take charge. His train of thought was interrupted as the watcher swung his blade at him, swiftly changing the direction of the hit at the last moment & barging through his hastily established block. Sword was knocked from his hand & Raffard simply sent him to the ground with a heavy thrust of his shoulder into Gryff’s chest.

For a few seconds, he just stared back at him, stunned. This has been swifter than any of the fights he has just witnessed – even though in the back of his mind Gryff knew, that he’d be subdued either way. All that needed to be proven about him as a fighter has been proven before. He could hear a couple short laughs from the crowd & a sympathetic sigh, that, as he correctly guessed, came from the guy who’s been talking to him before. Getting back on his feet, Gryff simply shut those out of his mind. He did not care about what they would have to say, he really fucking didn’t-

“Sleeping with your eyes open, Whitehill? Or, should I say, your eye.” Raffard looked almost bored by this point. “Did you not hear what I told you? The part about attacking me.”

“I was thinking.” At last, he was forced to speak, picking his blade up from the dirt.

“I hope me chopping your sword hand off and slitting your throat did not interrupt the thought process, your lordship.” The man already took another stance. “Your blind side is the most vulnerable, keep that in mind. And get your head out of the clouds, recruit. I can accept it when someone simply sucks, but not when he isn’t fucking trying.” With the same idleness in his gaze, Gryff followed another’s movements, at this point not even bothered by what would happen next. There was that slimy feeling inside of him, that made even trying seem completely worthless. Strike, their blades clashed, again, and the next second his traced an arc in the air & landed back on the ground, while his opponent’s was directed right at Gryff’s throat.

It took some effort to force himself to look the man in the eyes – and their coldness made him flinch. Raffard had been distant & snarky throughout the whole training session, but this was different – and almost frightening. That piercing gaze, that felt like it was directed into his very soul, reminded Gryff too much of another pair of eyes – one, that he believed he would never have to see again.

Unable to bear it, he bit in his lip & looked away.

“What is the matter, Whitehill?” Raffard’s voice was not angry, or irritated – it was plainly empty.

“What?!” Gryff attempted to bite back with what little anger he felt. “If I suck, just bloody say so. You didn’t ask the rest of them what was wro-”

“You are not the rest of them. You are not a lowborn, who’s never held a weapon deadlier than a meat axe.” The watcher would not take the sword away from his neck. “I’ve been told about you, Whitehill, about who you were and what you got sent here for. So don’t expect me to buy it, that you’ve fought under Roose Bolton and then led your own men, but now somehow can’t parry the simplest strike.”

Who the hell told him, flashed through Gryff’s mind – was it that Astor Greyson son of a whore?! And the fucker even seemed like a decent man to him at the beginning… Silently fuming & with no idea of how to respond, he stood, eye lowered to the ground, flashing angry looks to the watcher each few seconds.

Realizing, that he would not get another word from him, Raffard finally lowered his blade.

“I don’t know what the deal is with you, Whitehill,” he spoke quietly, calmly & distinctly. “Whether you pretend to be worse than you are because you want to be assigned a safer position, don’t deem me worthy of your effort… I honestly don’t care. What I know, is that under me you will work to your fullest potential willingly – or be forced to, if that’s what I have to do. Pick you sword, recruit.” He stepped back, moving his body into a steady fighting stance. “This is just the beginning.”

It was never warm this far down, under Highpoint. Not a candle or torch in your arm, no amount of layers of clothing you'd wrap yourself in would make significant difference. The moment you descended down the steep stony stairs & take a breath of air, still & cold, it would settle at the bottom of your lungs & remain there until you had a chance to re-emerge & sit by a fireplace, or have rare northern sun touch your skin.  He had spent quite some time in this place back in his day, in the cellars, crypts & half-abandoned & ruined tunnels, and not always willingly. From his brothers' perspective, shoving him down the stairs & then locking the door behind him, so that he would remain in complete darkness, was a fun thing to do. The realization, that barging through the door was not in his power came to him quickly — shortly after realizing, that begging them to let him out was in vain just as well (it was early, very early when he realized, that begging them to leave him be would always be in vain, & would not even try – until a particularly harsh beating would force a plea out of him).  At first, he'd just sit with his back pressed to the door, staring in the darkness of the corridor in front of him, too terrified to blink or make a sound — even his short breaths seemed to echo against the cold walls in a hollow sound, that made his blood curl. It always felt like something— someone was lurking there, watching him, ready to strike if he'd fail to see the attack coming. Soon enough, the obscure figures, born in his imagination, formed into an only one, that felt so real, Gryff could swear he could make out it’s shape in the darkness sometimes. A pale female silhouette, whose face he could not make out, that moved slowly & deliberately, almost clumsily — due to having to support her grotesquely protruding middle with a pair of thin hands... Hands, that she, undoubtedly, wanted to grasp his neck with till he wouldn't be able to breathe — if she ever managed to catch him.  Blackness where the light of his candle did not reach still did not fail to fill him with unease, but now Gryff merely clenched his teeth & walked faster towards the crypt — something, that, in his childhood, took many hours of bracing himself to accomplish. Step by step, he'd move further down the corridor that it now took him half a minute to pass. His past self then journeyed further — in the cellars, in the old tunnels, where every noise made his chest clench painfully from terror, as he forced himself to continue walking no matter. That day though, he needed not go further — his destination has been reached.  It was stunning that he was only doing this now — visiting his father's last resting place for both the first & the last time. He did not have the courage to come following the siege, Gryff could at least admit that when nobody could hear. Just one more reason for self-loathing. Even now, he was hesitant to approach the tomb — stupid childish memories affecting him far too much. That's where the tapestry lady was laid, of course they'd make sure her & his father would be by each one's side in afterlife. It was her domain, her lair. He was long past believing any actual harm could harm from her, anywhere aside from his nightmares, but it didn't make visiting the place feel any better. He could not fight off the feeling of being watched from behind. This place never became any better to him — he just learned how to cope with being here when it was unavoidable.  The candle was placed carefully on the floor, in a way that'd make it light up the cell in the crypt's wall where he made out the silhouette of the tomb. Gryff meanwhile lowered himself to sit on the floor, facing it — the place wasn't really meant for sitting, but standing still for longer than a minute made him dizzy. Complete silence fell, making him hear his own blood pounding distinctly. It was fitting the situation, the cold, the quiet, the peace — except for how horribly wrong it was for Ludd Whitehill, a man, who was anything but those things, to end up this way, in his son's eyes. If he had not witnessed the disemboweled body with his own eye, he would hardly believe his father was buried a few steps from him. Nothing about it felt right. Nothing here reminded Gryff of him in any way.  He forced his mouth open, thinking of something, anything to say — and closed it after a moment or two. It was too damn quiet here — the sound of his hoarse, weak voice would not belong. Gryff himself felt out of place, despite trying to force the thought out of his head — This is your right, you idiot. Your duty. Nobody cares what bloody Torrhen has to say. He does not matter. Your father is the only one that does, so speak, while you still have a chance, or— "I..." He forced through the lump in his throat, and just as expected, it felt horribly unnatural and wrong. Deadly quietness made it feel like his voice could be heard everywhere, even if Gryff knew, that stony walls wouldn't let the sound go further. The knowledge did not help. Feeling like he was being listened to from the dark made talking almost an impossibility.  "I'm b-back." After clearing his throat, the Whitehill lowered his voice to almost whispering, and that was better, just a bit. "From Ironrath. It was— I— " He already had nothing to say. Nothing to report, but his failure. Facing Torrhen, he could pretend not to care, to make indifference into his armor, but now sickening shame washed over him like hot waves. Ludd wasn't even there anymore, not really, yet he understood perfectly what he would have to say. How he would look at him. The mere thought made him wish he had broken his damn neck in the fall, like the horse did.  "I'm sorry." And that was true. The only reason to hold onto the forsaken keep — aside from having nowhere else in the whole world to go — was honoring his father's wish. Spiting the people, that killed him. At least he could hope, that all of them were already dead — slaughtered by their own army turned uncontrollable. This way there would be at least some justice left in this world. Just enough to believe it even still existed.  "There was nothing I could do." A stupid, weak, pathetic lie. He sort of leaned forward, hands clenching his arms just above the elbows, desperate to keep warm. The truth was that he ran — ran when the realization hit him, that he was a step from getting killed to protect a place he loathed & would rather see burned to the ground. Getting killed & not having a single soul to mourn him, or even care enough to bury what would remain of him. Now, you are alive — see how much better that feels?.. Gryff wasn't sure whether those words, ringing in his ears, were his, or if his father had found some way to get them through to him from wherever he was now.

The one thing lord Whitehill would never stand for was weakness.  Part of Gryff wanted to believe father would've understood — like he did when his last son was dragged before him, covered in blood from his mutilated eye & barely standing, so Grag had to literally hold him up. Whatever words Ludd had prepared for him seemed to escape him at the sight of Gryff in that state. He barely even recalled what he was saying, overcome with nauseating pain & dizziness — furiously growling something about fetching a bloody maester right fucking now. The next time he had a chance to approach father, the latter did not speak a word of what had happened — his first gesture was offering him the eyepatch Gryff would wear for the next months, all without saying a word. It was only then, when the disgusting, lousy feeling of weakness he's been carrying inside ever since getting maimed by Rodrik, suddenly eased up.  But now Ludd wasn't there to ease his worry the same way anymore. All Gryff had were his own thoughts, and those were merciless. It was different now. Rodrik had only managed to defeat him by deceit, with the help of his whore & her archers. This time, he had lost in a fair fight. This was it for him — as a lord, as a warrior, as a man. What Torrhen's soldiers would escort to the Wall was nothing but a sack of meat & bones. Was Ludd still alive, even he wouldn't be able to argue or defend him like he always did. Just one more way in which he had failed him. He had always cared more for him than for Torrhen, Gryff recalled, his throat clenching treacherously, always trusted him more — and he had repaid him by submitting to the thirdborn's rule, by accepting his power, instead of keeping fighting for what his father stood for.  As if he couldn't get any more pathetic.

“You know I don’t’ want to.” Gryff himself was shocked by how whiny that sounded. He couldn’t just break down here, he had to be a man for one last time, to say farewell with at least a shred of dignity – and instead he spoke like a hurt child, a feeling from many years ago, as real as ever. “You know he is forcing me to, that I would never- never leave if I could. I wouldn’t, I just- I just can’t…” His voice trembled, eyes burned, but he knew, that tears would not fall – it’s been so long since he cried, he barely even remembered how that was supposed to be done anymore.

“You would never send me away. Right?..” What kind of bloody response was he expecting? “A Whitehill is still a Whitehill. It doesn’t matter what his-s, his orders are – he can’t… He fucking can’t…” The shaking was getting out of his control, it was like a hand tightened around his throat, making it hard to breathe. “A Whitehill’s a Whitehill. He can’t change it. He is nothing. You always knew he was fucking nothing – only you, and nobody else.” Or did it just seem to him? No, no, the thought was too fucking bad to even contemplate. His father bloody hated Torrhen, and that was the only comfort Gryff has had for many days. He sent him away to rot at the Bastion. He didn’t even trust him enough to meet without the presence of his guards. He hit him. He fucking punished him for the shit he was doing, the only one who ever did, Torrhen still had a scar on his face from those beatings, because Ludd saw through him, saw what a piece of scum he was, because he fucking hated him, like that coward deserved-

“I fucked up.” Gryff’s voice evened. “I… fucked up so badly, you couldn’t even imagine.” It was so… so pathetic of him, to sit by the tomb of the only person who ever believed he was worth something, & whine about his sorrows, even though he knew well enough nobody listened. “I don’t know how I can ever make it any better.” Some part of him was glad his father wasn’t there to hear this anymore – he couldn’t bear the thought of Ludd starting to despise him for it. Another, bigger part, simply cursed the day lord Whitehill had been killed, knowing fully well it was supposed to be him instead. It was always supposed to be him going down to defend him – doing something worthy with his life & spitting in Torrhen’s face by depriving him of a chance to be lord. Now all went wrong, his father dead, him, regrettably, not, and Torrhen winning the day.

This would never have happened if only he fulfilled his duty.

He didn’t know what to say anymore, or what to do. When he was heading here, he had some good, right things in mind, but now half of those were forgotten & half seemed too stupid to voice. A simple “I love you” – something he never had it in himself to say when Ludd was alive, now seemed even more dumb & embarrassing. The need to get going pressed down on him, but he was scared of doing that at the same time. This was his last chance, but Gryff couldn’t even force himself to speak. Deep inside, this just added as one more reason to hate Torrhen, for turning this moment for him into such a mess. Of course though, this was still his failure, first & foremost – failing his parent in life & death all the same.

He couldn’t handle this any longer.

Swiftly & out of nowhere, he stood up, causing his head to spin. His eye burned like a hot coal, but remained dry as ever, and Gryff looked around, shaky movements akin to those of a hunted down animal. Out, get out of this place. You had your chance. It was almost like he somehow became a child again, frightened by the darkness. Black corners & cells of the crypt hid something sinister. It wanted him out. This place did not want to tolerate him any longer. He was ready to run back, to leave the candle & just turn & run, until he’d see light again – but he could not take the gaze away from the stone late lord Whitehill rested under.

For one last time. Be strong. Be a man.

Shakily, Gryff reached with his hand until it rested on the tomb’s cold surface. The unknown behind his back set a tickling, panicky sensation in his stomach, but he would not take the hand away – not if the woman from the tapestry were to lay her thin, pale hand on his shoulder right in this moment. Touching it brought no peace, no warmth, no sense of connection or presence of his father’s spirit or whatever the hell was supposed to be here – but just knowing, that he spoke to someone, who maybe did not listen – but would’ve, if he was there, was enough. He searched his mind for something to say, something that he would’ve wished for somebody else to tell him if he was dead, or dying, and out of all possible things, one stood out for Gryff:

“I won’t forget you.” He forced the words to be confident, clear, not caring if someone was to hear them or not. He was saying it, and he meant it, and if there was any way for a dead man to hear what the living had to tell him – he would hear Gryff now. “I’ll never, never fucking forget you… And I won’t let anybody else forget.”

When he walked back, through the corridor & up the stairs, the feeling of being watched never let go for a second, but he walked slowly still, with every deliberately long stop giving the thing in the darkness another chance to get him, if so it pleased. Nothing happened, of course, not a weird sound, or movement, or a mysterious blast of wind to blow his candle out – he was no fucking child anymore, and he should’ve known better. What he felt down in the crypt was nothing but a moment of weakness, foolery of his sickly brain. Real monsters had no need to hide, in cellars, under beds, in the woods, or wherever – they had all the needed power to do what they pleased in broad daylight & stand by their deeds proudly, with their heads held high.

Only at the last stair did he finally look back. The candle had burned out, leaving him with a mere thread of grey smoke, but his eye had gotten used to the lack of light by this point. If Gryff closed it, he would be able to imagine the silhouette of the tapestry’s lady, like the little boy used to do – but not the man. He looked in the dark with his own impaired gaze, and saw nothing – just as he was supposed to. He’d meet her again – in feverish dreams, in nightmares, or when he simply wouldn’t be able to keep his eye open any longer & would clutch it shut in fear – but never in reality. Never. For all that has happened, for all that was eating away at him from the inside, there was one thing he still had not been robbed off –

He still lived, still breathed, & walked, & spoke, and what mattered wasn’t that it brought him no joy anymore – it was that she didn’t. No matter what, he would live to see the light again, while she’d remain down here, in the dark, where she belonged.

As he shut the door behind him tightly, that thought, for the first time today, warmed up some tiny part of his soul.