#through her empathy with his loneliness. he realized he needed to go home

[bestworstcase]

oh. hm. i wonder if dark made grimm by himself because light refused to participate in creating anything destructive again after the jabberwalker—certainly it seems telling that in the myth, light creates a vast monoculture lawn and then declares that dark’s contribution of a moon and new biomes and plate tectonics is “spoiling” it; the myth flows from light’s presentation of himself to ancient humans and if he saw any value in these things he would surely have claimed them as his own—and then there’s the brother-cult framing that humans were given the capacity for evil (destruction) and good (creation) and the free will to choose which path to walk, always with the underlying premise that if humankind chooses wrong then they will “destroy themselves” (by earning annihilation at the final judgment)

this is in stark contrast to the narrative treatment of destruction as hunger and as an agent of change, and creation-without-destruction as, well, a vast monoculture lawn. sterile, stagnant, artificial, unalive.

(<- not a euphemism for “dead” and i resent that the word has those connotations now.)

to create is to destroy; paint, for example, is destroyed by the act of painting. you can’t ever use it as paint again. eating a meal is destructive—both in the sense that something living has to be killed, whether plant or animal, and in the sense that the food itself is destroyed. but this is the basis of all life. one eats to stay alive, to grow.

so in light’s view grimm are evil abominations because his brother made them to be destructive; to dark the grimm are embodiments of natural forces whose churnings keep the world forever in motion and therefore alive. jabber came out wrong—brutal, but effective, the blacksmith says—because light’s misapprehension of destruction influenced his nature. the grimm, created by dark alone, turned out right.

are they good? are they bad? they just are. the tides, the mountains, the deserts, the storms, earthquakes and volcanoes, the grimm.

meanwhile humans were given destruction by darkness and creation by light—the separation and recombination into one being was probably necessary to avoid a repeat of what happened with jabber—and then taught, by light, to understand their natures as a moral conflict and a moral challenge to rise above ‘evil’, i.e. destruction.

this is, of course, why light is so set on the necessity of permanent death: in his afterlife the dead are unaware and unalive, existing in everlasting stasis, and so nothing can ever be destroyed. darkness, who has never feared destruction, allows salem to glimpse the truth that life and death are a circle. and then he burns it all down and leaves her alive in the ashes, the wellspring of primordial destruction there for her to do with it as she will. and she does, and that is how mankind returns to life and how the faunus come to be.

which is the whole point. the grimm represent and embody pure destruction, hunger and change, which the brothers’ humans were taught to abhor as unnatural, evil abominations. salem becomes grimm and in doing so stakes humanity’s claim on destruction as darkness understood it, rejecting the false moral dichotomy light imposed on her generation. remnant is set free, and humanity rises phoenix-like from the ashes, unbound by death.

the brothers’ humans rebelled in order to claim the powers of their creators and perfect their own design. and she did.

[canmargesimpson]

Chapter 3:

Chap 1 & Chap 2

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☪ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Just as Eddie said, he eventually went on tour across the USA, leaving Steve and Gimli all on their own in the house. And the worst part is that they never got a call back from the adoption agency. Now that Steve was all alone and the only  thing he thought about was the kids and kids and more kids,  eventually became a strange topic for him. After that fight with Eddie, they both agreed to wait till they were both home for enough time to take care of a child.

So he tried to spend as much time on the basketball court of the school he worked in, playing alone and trying to think of anything but Eddie or the kids. He sometimes would also use the school’s pool, to bring back the memories of him being the captain of the swimming team back in hawkins. The more he ran or swam, the less the thoughts of kids were inside his head, and the less he missed eddie. So for the past week it has become a routine to, end work, go do whatever sport he felt like doing till 7 o'clock striked. Then he would go back to his office, get his stuff and head home to Gimli.

Today was Friday, November 4, 1996. Steve was drying his hair as he walked to his classroom with the blue towel on his hands. He had just spent the last 4 hours swimming over and over again at the pool, since Robin had a date and he was all alone. Since it's friday, he would usually have a movie night with Eddie, but since he’s not there, Steve just kept his head under the water to forget his loneliness. His shoes echoed through the completely empty hall. But as Steve started walking slower he realized that wasn't the only sound in the hall. He heard soft cries and sniffs from the half open theater class. 

Steve has been through enough trauma to know he shouldn’t follow the strange noise coming from the dark room, and especially if he is on his own and with nothing to defend himself with, but the cries were so heartbreaking, he didn’t even care if it was a trap. When he started working as a teacher, his empathy levels went through the roof, and whenever a kid had a slight frown on his face, something in him made him reach out and make sure that kid is not going through a hard or bad time. But still a nostalgic feeling crept over his shoulder and made him feel this slight panic on his stomach, what if it was a trap?. He immediately discarded the noise from the upside down since the last time he checked, Demogorgons don’t cry, and the gate was closed over 10 years ago. But it still could be a thief or some robber, so to defend himself. Before he could actually step into the theater class, he looked around the lockers to find a Tennis racquet which he grabbed and placed in an attack position in case of an emergency.

He took a step into the dark room to find a completely Victorian age set on the stage. It looked right out of a Shakespeare play, with deep red drapes, a large wooden table with a plastic shaped wine glass with a fake dagger next to it. But on the deep right end of the stage where a tall bed with big pillows and red velvet bedspread was located, was a dark haired girl sobbing into her hands. She was clearly under the probably fake bedspread and was wearing a black hoodie. 

Steve’s teacher and mommy instinct switched on as he left the stupid tennis racquet and turned the drama class light on. The girl on the bed gasped completely shocked to realize she wasn't as alone as she was. She looked towards the door to find her Counseling teacher in the entrance.

“Mr Harrington?”

“What the hell are you doing here?!” he asked with a loud and firm voice. He really wanted to approach her and hug the life out of her, but since he was a teacher, he needed to put the authority hat on. He walked down the step while placing his towel behind his neck. 

“I-I- I should go '' she stumbled out the bed as she grabbed a backpack on the floor filled with pins that loudly clashed as she moved the backpack harshly. Before she can even step out of the stage Steve is already walking up the stairs from the side stage.

“What’s going on? Why are you crying? '' He said as he gently placed his hand on her shoulder, for her to flinch and move backwards. 

“It’s nothing” she sniffed

“Nothing? You’re at school on a Friday because of nothing?,” he asked rhetorically. The girl seemed amused so he just came up with a better way to open to her “How about we go back to my office i believe i have some cookies left that are about to expire”

“I-” she looked at the floor and then mumbled quietly “I… okay”

She gave in quicker than he thought, so he nudged to the office and she just nodded. She went back to the bed on the stage and removed from under the bed a sports duffle bag filled with stuff. She then picked up her sneakers and started to put them on. Steve was quick to grab her bag and put it on his shoulder to help her a bit. Once she was all laced up, they both walked to Steve's office in a tense and uncomfortable silence. 

Once they got there, Steve opened his drawer and took out just what he remembered from earlier. It was an Oreo pack that was about a month old. As the young girl sat down in front of him and quickly grabbed a tissue from a little yellow box with some drawings of sheep. 

“Let’s see” Steve turned them around to find the expiration date “it says it has a few days more, how about we eat them before i have to throw them” 

“S-sure” she sniffed as she blew her nose.

Steve opened the package and offered the girl in front of him a cookie, which she gladly accepted. He took one for himself and left them on the table that separated them. He then crossed his arms over his chest, knowing he had to put his teacher shoes on for this conversation.

“So… School on a Friday night, sleeping on the theater bed and now eating cookies with the basketball and swimming couch… would you like to explain to me how we got here…… I’m sorry, um I don’t know your name” he says honestly which kinda made her laugh

“Julia… Bennet” she said as she swallowed her cookie and wipe the few tears she had left

“Bennet…. Is your brother Owen? He’s on the basketball team that’s why I ask” he said. He does have the parents' contact, so maybe he could take her back to her house.

Her face, though, shifted clearly. Julia looked down at her lap where her thumbs fiddled together, she nodded quietly. Steve clearly realized that maybe her brother wasn't the best subject to talk about at the moment, so he just left that information in the drawers for now. 

“Now Julia, would you like to explain to me how you got here? It’s quite late, and i'm pretty sure your parents must be looking for you” 

She scoffed loudly before covering her mouth with her hands while staring back at the coach. 

“Im sorry” she mumbled

Steve nodded and took another cookie, as he indicated her to start talking

“Well i… I got home after school, and I invited my best friend over for a sleepover. Do you know Katya?” she asked

“Howard?”

“Yeah”

“Yeah, she’s in the swimming team”

She looked back down and her stability started to break as she let out a small sob

“Well” her voice was seconds away from breaking, but she didn’t seem to care, because she kept trying to speak as if everything was okay “we were in my room and we were just talking … then I- well she- and i….” she stumbled 

“Take your time sweetie” Steve said as he pushed the oreo package towards her. She took one quickly and shoved into her mouth. After a few bites, we swallowed harshly and grabbed another tissue to wipe her eyes. 

She inhaled and looked up trying to make the tears stop. 

“We kissed?” she shrugged while cringing at herself “and- jesus christ…. My brother walked in and h-h-he told my d-” and after that she broke as she shoved her face on her hands and cried

Steve got off his chair to kneel next to her, placing a hand on her back and softly caressing it. He knew in that exact moment how the story continued. I mean, Eddie went through something quite similar, so he only placed the pieces on his mind and made a quick and smart decision.

“Okay, let’s go” he said as he grabbed the cookies, his own bag, and Julia’s bag.

The girl pushed her hair back asking where

“There is no way you are staying the night here, and no way I'm taking you back home. So you are gonna spend the night me, i have an extra room, and you can spend the weekend if you want to”

“Mr Harrington you don’t need-”

“I do” he interrupts and looks her in the eyes “I have to make sure you are safe, that’s my job, so now grab your stuff and let's get moving, alright?”

Julia smiled and stood up. They both walked to the only car left in the parking lot left, in complete comfortable silence. Steve placed her things on the back as she sat on the passenger looking at the cassette collection. Steve noticed she was quite interested in his favorite, so as they drove back to his house, Steve and Julia sat side by side listening to Eddie’s music. Julia seemed to know the songs quite well which made Steve smile. Once they got home, Steve took her to the guest bedroom that was usually for when anyone in the party stayed over, or anyone in Eddie’s band needed a place to crash. 

“Now this is gonna be your room, we have a small bathroom attached to it, it has some products and stuff if you need. This room is quite nice because the sun doesn’t really get here till sunset, in which this room turns into this… Golden box, and my hus- roommate says” Steve smiled tightlipped

“You have a roommate?” Julia asked quite scared

“Yeah but he’s not really here for the moment. He’s currently out of town… to see family”

“Okay” she nodded

Steve then walked out to let her have her space, and to make sure the house was clean. Since Gimli is the only one home 24/7, he would push things off the tables or even take some of Eddie's clothes into the living room where he would sleep on them. So Steve was picking up some band t-shirts on the floor, some decorations and a dirty sock, when Julia came out of her room and stood on the door looking at the floor. She was wearing her pajamas, which consisted of a band t-shirt  shirt (a band that Eddie definitely would have known), and some long sweat shorts that reached her knee.

“Mr Harrington?” she called, and he instantly placed the stuff on his hand behind his back to make sure she didn’t see the mess “Are you…. Are you gonna call the cops on me?” 

Even though he believed it wasn't possible, his heart broke even more.

“What?! Where did you get that from?”

“My dad…” she sniffed “he told me that… homosexual should be dead” then gasped “and… taken to jail- and i” and finally sobbed like a kid “don’t want to go to jail Mr Harrington- I swear i’ve tried to change but-”

Steve started to cry now too. He ran to her and held her as he would have held his younger self. The way he would have held tiny steve, comforting him, telling him that being confused over his sexuality is normal. She buried her head on his chest sobbing loudly. So loud that Steve didn’t hear the door opening.

“Honey! Im Home-” Eddie yells but stops as he witnesses the single most cutest thing ever. His husband was holding an 11 year old girl who was crying. 

“Eddie?” Steve looked up to see him holding a bouquet of flowers and a duffle bag “wha-”

And what happened next was just a blur. It was a mix of both grown ups crying because they missed each other, and the small girl crying at the comfort both adults gave her as they told her that being queer isn’t illegal and that they would protect her in any way possible. Even though Eddie didn’t really know who she was, he comforted her and told him his experience of getting kicked out of the house for his sexuality and how at the end of the day it was for the best. Later at night the three of them, and Gimli of course, curled up on the couch and ended up watching the old VHS tape of Mary Poppins. Julia, who was on the edge of the couch with the fat, short, orange cat on her lap, fell asleep by the end of the movie, and so did Steve. Eddie, knowing his husband had a rough day, stood up and carried the girl to the guest bedroom.

She stirred awake as he left her on the bed

“Shhh shhh, it's okay, don’t be scared, '' he whispered. “I'm just leaving you at bed, okay? Nothing else”

Julia’s eyes fluttered and looked up at the adult who had his face covered by his hair

“T-thank you” she murmured under her breath as she took the duvet and covered her shoulder “mr..”

“Call me Eddie kiddo'' he winked as he kneeled in front of her “and, it's the least we could do. Beside” he felt a small purr and lean on his legs to look down at the cat who seemed to want to get on the bed “It looks like Gimli the Dweeb seems to like you” He took the cat and left it next to the girl who smiled at the sight of the cat.

“He’s really fat” she laughed

“Yeah he is” Eddie smiled as he scratched the head of the cat. “Now” he stood up softly and looked down at the girl “what do you want for breakfast tomorrow? We usually have some leftover waffles and if not I could make you some pancakes, how about that?”

Her eyes lit up at the thought and she just nodded quickly while biting her lip to stop herself from smiling. Something that Eddie copied realizing that the fact of seeing a girl so happy made him happy. He messed up her hair and left the room, leaving the door half an inch open just like Wayne used to do when he was a kid. 

As he was out of the room, he saw Steve sleeping soundly. Eddie woke him up and took him to bed. He changed his clothes and tucked him in, and then it was his turn. Once they were both on the bed, Steve curled up into Eddie bare chest, Eddie dared to speak.

“So” he started as he turned off the lamp “who the kid we are babysitting?”

Steve lets out a laughy breath through his nose

“Her name is Julia. I- i found her at school, apparently she was gonna spend the night there”

“What happened?” Eddie asked as he played with the boy’s hair “why did she get kicked out?”

“Um… she told me that she invited her best friend to sleep over and they kissed, her brother walked in and ratted her out to her dad. She didn’t say much after that, so i just guess he kicked her out and left her friend at her house”

“Wow… can’t believe 20 years later this shit still happens” Eddie sighs as shakes his head “the worst part is that its probably not gonna stop”

“I know” Steve started redrawing Eddie's chest tattoo of a bat. “I just didn’t expect it from his brother. He’s usually so nice and like… not homophobic” 

“Not everyone who looks like good people are good people” Eddie shrugs

“Mhm”

The room falls silent.

“Thank you for bringing her here” Eddie then says “I'm really thankful that she didn’t go through what I did. And you being there is like wayne being there for me, so really thank you”

Steve raised and kissed Eddie in the lips for the first time in the day. They mumble “I love you”’s as they snuggle till they both fall asleep and the Harrington Munson household goes quiet.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☪ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[kuronanox]

Home is you - Ulquiorra Schiffer

"Hello? Hello~" (Your Name) sings shaking the pale man up from his sleep.

Opening his eyes slowly he blinked a few times looking at his surroundings. "Where am I? Why aren't I in los noches?"

"Jeez you creep! Don't go sleeping around the park like that! I know Japan is safe but I thought you were dead for a second." She says sighing in relief offering a hand.

Ulquiorra slaps her hand away and gets up realizing he wasn't in his uniform but some random t shirt and jeans.

"What have you done women?"

"Me?! I woke you up. That's what I did now, do you have someone you should be? It's getting late."

Looking around he couldn't sense any reistu, he couldn't bring his sword out or use cero. Till he remembered his fight with Ichigo. Ulquiorra remember dissolving into nothing.

"I-I don't understand." He stuttered, frustrated at the emotions he was feeling at the moment. He was lost, why was he here? Was he reborn a human? But why did he remember everything of his past life. 

A salty tear slipped in his lips as he touched his face confused. "Is this the human emotion of feeling frustrated? Feeling hopeless? Powerless?"

"I'm sorry. Do you need a place to stay?" (Your Name) asks more sympathetically watching the man breakdown in front of her.

The walk to a capsule hotel was quiet, she was surprise he asked for help. "I paid for you. I hope you find your way after tonight." She tells him as he looks into nothing and says nothing before taking his leave.

(Your Name) watches his back and sighs. "Maybe he's homeless?"

Ulquiorra laid in the comfy bed lost in thoughts, what had happen to the war? To Ichigo? To Aizen?

Why did he have to be reincarnated as a weak human?

"So this is human emotions?" He says out loud looking at himself in the mirror. He examined his face, was he always this pale and fragile looking?

Pissed he hit the capsule and nothing broke.

He was weak now, weak in mind and powerless.

He didn't know how he was going to survive.

It had been a few days and (Your Name) walked around trying to find the man. She felt a attraction towards him, like she was suppose to help him. She had no luck the past few days trying to find him.

"You have to pay for that thief!" A sales man yelled shoving Ulquiorra out his store.

"I'll kill you stupid human." He says in a monotone voice and raised his finger to use cero but nothing came out.

"You need help man!" The sales man yelled walking away in disbelief as Ulquiorra stared at his finger.

(Your Name) sighed in relief and ran towards him. "Hey! It's you again. What are you doing?"

"Trying to survive." He plainly says walking away still wearing the same clothes she saw him in the day they met.

"How do you plan on surviving with no job?" She asks following him as he walked to random places and examining people. "You will help me find one."

"Me?!"

"As you can tell women I'm not like you humans."

Bewildered a bit she pinched her nose bridge and sighed. "That's what I get for helping a weirdo."

"What do I get if I help you?"

"My protection." He simply says, even though his powers were gone he still was skilled with hand to hand compact.

"Just don't do anything stupid." She says as he follows her.

It was a very interesting few months that passed by, she never understood a lot of things Ulquiorra did.

He lacked a lot of empathy and emotions. He questioned what people did and enjoyed examining strangers on the street. He didn't speak much either.

He also became her protector.

"What is this manga that people are so crazy about?" He asks her one day as they sat and ate breakfast.

"As an manga artist and author it's my job to make my books into a reality. It gives people a sense of escape of our miserable lives." She says shooing him away from her work.

"Humans are weird." He simply says watching the news as she rolled her eyes.

"You know you're a human too?" She states to him and sighs.

"I am now."

There was a silence as she looked at him. He was a bit odd at first. She had to teach how to read, write and proper manners. She never questioned him though.

"So what were you before then?"

"Espada. I was an Espada."

"Huh a what?" She asks a bit taken back and lost.

"I don't know how to be thankful." He then says changing the subject as she sits across from him.

His eyes were green and he did have weird green marks on his face. "I'm starting to believe this guy."

"It's okay. I understand." She tells him as he looks at her with no smile or anything. His face was blank, she couldn't read him.

She knew he was thankful when he learned how to pick up humanity. He would pick up food for them, clean the house and when the rare opportunity comes he would beat up any stalker fans she had.

"I don't know who you were before but I promise you I'm here to help."

It was a cold winter night as they came back from Christmas shopping and picking her up from work, Ulquiorra was holding the bags as she rambled on how work went that day.

Ulquiorra wouldn't admit it but he had grown fond of her after spending everyday together. At first he has no choice to. He had no money or no home but she provided everything for him.

He would find himself smiling softly but frown after realizing what he had done.

"How was your day?" She asks him with a smile as his eyes widen a bit.

"I read books." He answered as she nodded her head.

Ulquiorra never really left the house unless he needed to. She had to admit it was comforting coming home to someone every night.

"I bought you new ones. I hope you like that."

"I enjoy all the books you've bought me." He says looking forwards at the snowing street.

She gasp a bit as he looked a way a bit confused. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No I'm just happy. Happy your expressing your emotions more."

He didn't say anything afterwards as she entered the warm house and set the gifts under the tree.

"I'm going to get some rest." He says and leaves to his room.

Before she could ask if he ate she saw that he had food already made for her.

"He sure is a fast learner for not being human."

Ulquiorra escaped to his room and laid in bed. He really was growing emotions, the more he stayed here the more he felt every emotions.

The emotions of pain, loneliness, sadness.

Recently he didn't feel any of those he felt happy, safe, secure. Was this the human way of saying he was satisfied of his life right now.

He didn't know but he felt a comfort of having someone by him at times. Unlike los noches, he was alone and don't know how to talk to people.

(Your Name) gave him a sense of living again and he would try to fit in this world. There was no way he could change the past so he decided might as well live for the future.

It was weird for Ulquiorra to have these thoughts, it was a new thing to him.

Before he lived for nothing but killing.

"What did you do before becoming human?" She asks him one night as they watched a movie. Well she had to force him to watch it.

"Kill."

"Okay? More explanation."

"I was created to kill, that was my only purpose in life. My home had nothing but sand and a moon."

"What did you eat?"

"My people."

She wanted to not believe him but every word he said were straightforward and he never blinked once. He didn't tell lies to her. "Interesting. So what happen? Did you get eaten or die?"

"I lost in a battle and disappeared into dust and I woke up here."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" He asks curiously a bit taken back from her words.

"I don't know you don't seem happy here."

He blinked a few times and tried his best to smile but it didn't come along. "I am satisfied as you humans say."

She sighed in relief and sadly smiled. She never really given the thought of being somewhere new with no one and not being able to fit in.

"I realize how hard it must have been for you, when people call you strange and treat you like an outcast. It must have been hard."

Ulquiorra sits with his legs crossed and tilted his head giving it thought.

"I don't need anyone if I have you."

There was a mutual understanding between the two even though words of expression were rarely ever spoken.

"I'm really glad to have you." She answered back feeling the warmth of her cheeks turn pink.

"As I am too."

(Your Name) had gone to a late meeting with a few of her editors and seeing it was past midnight she didn't wanna wake ulquiorra up from sleep to walk her home.

She lived in a nice part of Tokyo but in a quiet area so people rarely ever walked on her road.

It was raining hard as she made cover underneath a store. Sighing she pulled her phone out and tried to speed dial Ulquiorra number before a loud rumbled hit the floor and she looked up to see a hollow.

At first she didn't wanna believe it but the thing was real and screaming walking towards her.

"(Your Name)."

"Ulquiorra- there's a, there's a monster charging towards me."

The phone line went dead as he rushed out to find her.

Running in the rain he spotted the hollow immediately. "Don't get any closer to her trash." He spoke as it roared.

Ulquiorra had lost all his powers but luckily he knew some move although none of it worked as he was easily slapped away as he hit the floor hard and he groaned.

"This human body is pathetic."

Watching the hollow grab (Your Name) he felt every emotion go through him. The pain, sadness, frustration. She was screaming as she reached out her hand to his.

He called out her name and whined in pain before blacking out.

"Ulquiorra!" She yelled to him but he didn't respond. Looking back at the hollow it open it's mouth to consume her as she shut her eyes a green light was glowing around her.

"I told you I would protect you." He says to her as she opened her eyes to see him in a white uniform and he was standing on air. STANDING ON AIR!

With one smack the hollow diminished into nothing as Ulquiorra settled her down safely on the road.

"You. You got your power back! How?"

Ulquiorra thought back about his fight and realized the same thing happen to Ichigo and he finally understood why he came back.

"Someone important to me is worth protecting." He reply's as she tears up and hugged him tightly as he gasped.

Sadly smiling to himself where no one could see him he embraced her back.

"Ulquiorra?" She asks him that same night as they sat on the roof top and he was still in gear. "Yes?"

"Does this mean you are leaving?"

He doesn't answer and looks down. He thinks back on how life was here in the human world. It was quite fun here. He didn't remember what he did back in the barren sand and dark night.

"No. Unless I have to."

She sighed in relief but still she knew he was different. "Just promise me, if you ever decide to leave... you will without telling me goodbye."

"I won't leave. I have no reason to go back." He plainly says looking up to the moon.

"You promise me? I can't imagine a life without you, the way you are eases me is comforting. Your the peace I needed in my chaotic mind."

He was lost for words, was this a human way for showing love?

"I to."

He wanted to say more. He liked her. Loved her. Even if he wouldn't admit it now, there was a warmth in him he had never felt before and the feeling of being needed was something he might have yearned for.

"I promise you, I'm only yours. Even if there's a obstacle between us there's way we can break it."

She smiled and leaned her head on his shoulder as he stiffen a bit and then relaxed.

He was home. Home wasn't a place for him but someone that accepted him for who he was.

It was you.

(Author note: idk why he's such a hard character to write for me. I know he seemed oc but I put in some thought of how he would be as a human.)

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 7: Under His Protection

x

Work Summary: Jamie Fraser is hiking near some strange stones when he comes across an unconscious lass. Determined to help her, Jamie’s life is turned completely upside down as he takes her in. The only issue... she’s not human.

Chapter 7 Summary: Claire confronts various emotions; tensions rise.

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Read chp 7 below the cut

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A/n: Hold onto your hats, we’re taking a dive into Claire’s POV!

Chapter 7: Under His Protection 

***

Claire woke slowly, her brain struggling against the mire of unconsciousness, swimming lazily to the surface. As she cracked her eyes open and took in the darkness, confusion and anxiety gripped her like vines coiling around her ankles. 

Where was she? 

The material under her cheek was strange, and she certainly wasn’t on the ground with the familiar feeling of brush and grass against her cheek. Whatever she was lying on was soft and had a lot of give. 

She nearly started to panic, but then she became aware of the feeling of arms wrapped around her and her body securely anchored to that of the warm one behind her. 

While her brain, still clouded with sleep, struggled to identify who the arms belonged to, it was her heart that fondly sighed, “Jamie.” 

And then she felt it. 

Safety— warring against the uncertainty. 

Awareness came back to her with that, and she remembered all the events of the previous few days. Here she was, in this strange human’s house, in his arms even, forever cut off from her home. 

The grief washed over her anew. Her whole world had been tilted upside down in mere minutes, the repercussions of touching the stones still revealing themselves. But she could feel in her bones that she was lost, never to return. 

The thought terrified her. 

Tears pricked at her eyes and her heart leapt suddenly to her throat. She tried to swallow the lump, to force it back down, but she felt the pressure inside her building— fit to burst into another meltdown over all she’d lost. 

So she turned to the one thing she could— both figuratively and literally. 

She rolled over so she was facing Jamie. In sleep, his arms instinctively shifted with her so he was still holding on to her, clutching her body to himself. As he settled back in, his breathing a reassuring rhythm, he pulled her even closer with a soft hum.  

He looked so peaceful that she hesitated to wake him. But tears were dripping from her eyes now, and she felt so alone that she wanted him— awake with all his gentleness and quick reassurances— desperately. In a tremulous, barely there voice, she whispered, “Jamie?” 

It took only a second for his eyes to open and fix on her. They were beautiful eyes, she thought— blue like the sky on a sunny day. Those eyes held such kindness, such soft compassion. They had been one of the first things that made Claire know he was a good man. 

As soon as Jamie saw her face, which must have been wet with tears by now, he let out a pained sound. His big hands let go of her and untwined from her body so that he could lift them to cup her cheeks, the thumbs swiping at the falling tears. 

“What’s wrong, mo nighean donn?” he asked, his face soft with concern. 

The tenderness there made Claire’s breath hitch and the silent tears fall even faster. 

“I— I’m sorry—” she suddenly felt very foolish to have woken him, without even a good reason, “I just… woke up scared. And then I remembered...” 

There was a mere second for her to berate herself over her behavior before understanding crossed Jamie’s face and assuaged Claire’s embarrassment. Jamie had an amazing knack for making her feel that he understood and hurt with her without making her feel pitied. This kind of empathy was something Claire had never really experienced before she met him. 

It was with that empathy that he met the tide of her grief.

“Come here,” he said softly. 

He pulled her closer and his hand settled on the back of her head to press her face into the crook of his neck. She went willingly. The skin of his neck felt warm and silky under her teary eyes, and she let more drops fall onto the offered canvas of his body. She wasn’t actively crying like she had the previous day when the realization hit her, just quietly addressing her loss, releasing pent up tears that seemed to have been inside her all night. The nighttime was when fears always preyed, darkness and loneliness reminding one of their greatest insecurities, but she was lucky not to be alone. 

Both of his arms encircled her, but one of his hands was free enough to rub comforting circles into her back. His hands were so big, she marveled at the feeling and strength of them— so reassuring. Grounding her. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. Her lips barely brushed the skin of his collarbone as she spoke. 

“Dinna be sorry,” his deep voice was a vibration in his chest that she could feel from how she laid on him, pressed so tightly against his body, “I’m here.” 

That made her feel a thousand times better. As much turmoil as she’d been through in the past couple of days, he was her light— her anchor. She somehow trusted him with everything inside her. 

She’d known him to be trustworthy from the first time she touched him. Before that, when he’d knelt a short ways away from her on the moor, she’d noticed the kindness in his eyes, the truth in his words, and the deference in his posture that indicated he meant her no harm. That all made her less wary. But the first time she’d truly known was when she’d touched his face and felt that warm rush of security and gentleness, more powerful than she’d ever felt before. There was a connection between them that was completely novel to Claire but nonetheless reassuring. From that second on, Jamie had been hers, and she his. 

As she wept against him now, she couldn’t help but believe his earnest words. Everything would be okay. As long as he was there to hold her, to protect her, she could survive. 

Comfort. 

He continued to embrace her long after her tears had dried. With infinite patience, he simply offered his body to her, wrapping himself around her as if he could block out her pain. She was loathe to move away from him and the safety he provided, but the sun was up— light was filtering through the window indicating late morning— and she needed to face the day. 

She lifted her face from his shoulder and locked eyes with him. 

“Thank you,” she said softly. She hoped he knew all the unspoken things those words held— thank you for saving me, for caring for me, for holding together my broken pieces, for letting me drop into your life like this and never complaining once…

He must have known, because he gave her a smile that made her knees feel like jelly and said simply but with a weight of regard, “ye’re welcome.” 

They got up slowly. Claire parted from Jamie reluctantly, but sat up nonetheless, allowing him to stretch and then set off. Watching him, all the high emotions from the night before seemed to dissipate, and she was left feeling more like herself again. Jamie seemed to have a routine that he followed every morning, and Claire followed him, interested to watch what exactly he was doing. 

First, he padded sleepily to the little place with the “shower”, scratching the back of his head where some of his beautiful red curls were sticking up adorably. He’d left the “door” open, but Claire wasn’t entirely sure he knew she was there as he made the water appear (she still had no idea how it did that!) and put a small stick thing under it. Then, he raised the stick and started to rub it inside his mouth. She recoiled a little in disgust, wondering if this was something like “eating”, but upon closer inspection, it seemed to be something different entirely. It lasted only another few seconds before he leaned down and washed his face under the little waterfall. When he straightened up again, his eyes met hers in the strange reflective surface, and he turned suddenly toward her. 

“Claire!” he exclaimed, “I didna realize ye were there. Ehm… I hafta take a shower. Would you mind givin’ me a bit of time?” His eyebrows were raised apologetically as he thrust a thumb in the direction of the “shower.” 

With a nod and a smile she hoped looked reassuring, she said, “Of course!” 

She didn’t want to impose on him, and he’d been spending nearly every second with her. He was obviously reluctant to leave her on her own, but she wanted him to know that she’d be fine. 

He gave her a nod, still looking a bit guilty, and then shut the bathroom door, separating them. A second later, she heard the sound of rain and figured he was beginning the shower. 

Left to her own devices, she headed down. She was still a little hesitant about descending the odd hill that led down to the other level— the blocky shapes on it seemed easy to slip on— but she held tightly to the little trees that lined either side. 

When she’d finally made it down, the grey “cheetie” Adso was sitting in the middle of the place Jamie called “the living room” and looking up at her with big green eyes. 

“Hello my friend!” she exclaimed happily as she sat down to run her fingers through his soft fur. He rumbled beneath her hands, making her giggle a little, and she spent a few moments completely absorbed with Jamie’s companion. He must have been loyal to Jamie— she thought— to choose to spend all his time inside with him instead of out on the moors. 

As she stroked his soft fur, thoughts of her future crept into her mind, unbidden. Thinking more than a few days ahead was complete madness, so she limited herself to worrying about this day and its troubles. Jamie would honor his promise and take care of her, but if she was going to be here for any amount of time, she needed to really start learning about this world. She didn’t particularly care for the feeling of helplessness that was her ever-present companion; she wanted to become competent and hopefully one day reciprocate Jamie’s care. With a hardening resolve, she decided that today she would be brave. She would learn everything Jamie would teach her and take as many steps as she could toward her new life. 

It wasn’t long before Adso grew bored of her. Just as she had made up her mind, he abruptly hopped to his feet and pranced off, tail flicking in goodbye. 

Claire wasn’t sure what to do next. She would have liked to go back and feel the warm wind (what was it Jamie had called it— “space heater”?), but she wasn’t sure how much heat it could possibly have trapped inside of it and thought probably best to save it. Glancing around the room in search of inspiration, her gaze fell on the window. 

It was a beautiful day— the sun illuminating the terrain with its bright colors, not even a hint of the usual Scottish greys of clouds and drizzle. It was the perfect opportunity to tend to Jamie’s plants (which were sorely in need of a good touch). And if doing something she was good at helped her to feel more competent and useful in this world, all the better for it. 

She headed outside right away. Kneeling down in the dirt, the slight tension inside her eased. She was in her element. Her hands instinctively reached for the plants, classifying to herself, cataloguing their needs in her brain, and simply touching in order to better sense them. 

It wasn’t long before she grew lost in her endeavors. There were some invasive plants— dreadful, malicious things that didn’t even belong in Scotland, she knew— that she began to pull up and toss aside. Their roots were strong, but she could feel them choking the life from the others and pulled hard. Her hands grew dirty in her efforts but she didn’t mind; it was only evidence of her making a difference. The sun rose even higher in the sky as she worked, but she was paying no attention to anything around her. She finally felt a sense of value again as she freed the plants from the choking hold of the invaders.

Her tranquility was suddenly shattered when a loud bang came from the direction of the house. Claire jolted upright, dropping her weeds, and her head whipped toward it. 

Jamie stood just outside, his fiery hair aglow in the sun but beautiful blue eyes blown wide in panic and fixed on her. Seeing his tension, she thought for an instant that something was terribly wrong. Was something after him? Come to harm them? She had no idea the dangers of the human world. 

But then he was suddenly racing toward her, eyes never leaving her the whole time. He fell on his knees beside her and scooped her into an embrace. Bewildered, she didn’t resist as he clutched her to his chest, hugging so tightly it was nearly hard to breathe. 

“Christ, lass!” he burst out, “I looked everywhere for ye and couldna find ye. I thought maybe ye’d run off or somethin’d happened and—” He was breathless as he spoke, and Claire could feel his chest heaving against her as he tried to calm himself down. 

“I was only out here,” was all she could think to say. 

Jamie pulled back a little so he could look down at her, but made no move to let her go. She didn’t particularly mind— she liked being in his arms and wished he’d hold her all the time, but she was disturbed by how upset he seemed. He studied her for a long moment, eyes sweeping over her as if ensuring she was alright. 

“Ifrinn,” he muttered suddenly, face softening from an expression of frantic worry into a more gentle concern, “ye’re shakin’ like a leaf. How long have ye been out here, a nighean? And wi’ out a coat? Ye’re cold as ice.” 

Claire wasn’t sure what a “coat” was, but at his words, she realized that she was freezing. He was right— her whole body trembled in that odd way it had ever since she’d touched the stones. She furrowed her brow in discomfort. The cold was the worst. 

Jamie was muttering something under his breath and rubbing his hands up and down her arms. On one pass, they traveled further down and caught her hands in his, heedless of the dirt caked on them. He squeezed, and Claire was taken aback at just how warm they were. 

“Come now. Inside,” he told her, his tone indicating there was no room for argument. 

He all but hauled her up and tugged her toward the house. Her hand was clasped in his, so the tension that lingered in his body was apparent to her. 

The moment they were inside, Jamie whirled to face her. He snagged the soft fabric (what was it called again— blankit?) from the couch and, facing her all the while, raised his arms over her head to wrap it around her shoulders. The forceful movement of him swaddling her brought her closer to him, and he pulled the edges tight together so she was wrapped completely. Her trembling hadn’t eased in the slightest, if anything it was getting worse now that she was back in the warmth of the house, so she was grateful for the comfort. 

But that sense of gratitude didn’t stay long. 

“Christ, lass,” Jamie was saying, voice giving way to frustration, “ye canna go wanderin’ like that.” 

His hands waved wildly in a grand gesture of “wandering”, as if she had walked all the way back to her forest instead of just out back. 

“I was only just outside,” Claire protested. 

She took a step backward so Jamie wasn’t so close to her. She didn’t like the emotions radiating from him. He seemed red to her, like the heat of the sun— energy roaring within. 

“Aye, but ye didna say a word about it tae me first. Anythin’ could have happened to ye,” Jamie shot back. 

Claire felt her nerves fraying at the tone of his voice. 

“I’m capable of taking care of myself,” she spat, bristling. 

“Are ye, then?” His tone teetering just into the realm of mocking, “Because—”

That put her over the edge. She dropped the blanket from her shoulders and stalked back toward him, fire in her belly. 

“You treat me like I’m just some foolish child! Like I’m this fragile thing about to break if I’m alone for one moment. I may not know everything about your world, but I’ve taken care of myself my whole life. I don’t need you!” The last words burst from her mouth in her fury, lashing out with a shot aimed right at his heart. 

But the moment she said them, she wished she could grab them out of the air and shove them back in. Jamie seemed to instantly crumple. It was as if she’d struck him with her fists rather than her words, the “I don’t need you” a killing blow. He deflated, all the tight muscles in his shoulders uncoiling as he slumped back against the couch heavily and slid a little further down to sit on it. His big blue eyes looked up at her with the most heartbroken expression she’d seem in her life. And it tore her to pieces. 

Even worse… to know it was her that had caused him such anguish. 

“I ken ye can take care of yerself…” he said, very softly, all the fight completely gone out of him, “I’m sorry that I made ye feel like I didna think that. It’s jes’ that I was sae worrit when I couldna find ye, I thought I’d maybe lost ye forever and… I overreacted.”

Nearly the exact same way Jamie had gone limp after her words tore through him, his soft confession knocked all the air from her lungs. Any remaining fight in her was gone, leaving only the hollow feeling of regret. 

She hesitantly knelt down in front of him. After his declaration, he’d braced his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. As she settled herself between his legs, she gently took both of his wrists and forced him to raise his head to look at her. 

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, that being the most important thing that she was dying to ensure he knew, “I overreacted too. The truth is... it scares me how much I do need you—” 

His beautiful eyes peered searchingly into hers, as if desperate for a confirmation on her face that she was telling him the truth. She couldn’t help but reach a hand up and lightly cup his cheek, caressing his face softly. Her touch was fueled by a yearning to feel close to him again as much as to comfort him. 

From the second she’d met him, she’d felt a connection to him down to her very soul. They were bonded, the two of them. And now she’d found herself falling for him. And in the face of that— and the desperate need for him that scared her to her core— she’d lashed out. 

“I dinna ken why…” Jamie started, very slowly, “but ever since I found ye on that hill, I’ve felt this… compulsion… to keep ye safe. To care for ye and protect ye from anythin’ that might steal that bonny smile from yer face. I’m sorry that I went too far. I wish I could jes’ tuck ye into my coat like a wee cheetie and carry ye with me against my chest, but I ken that’s no’ what ye need. I’ve been selfish, Sassenach. If I coddled ye, it was only because I needed it, not you. But I wasna lookin’ to see how it hurt you. Ye’re incredibly brave, mo nighean donn, and strong. Dinna ever believe otherwise, or think that I believe otherwise…” 

Tears shimmered in his eyes, and she felt a matching sheen in her own. The pressure was building inside her, a lump in her throat matching the coil in her belly. 

It surprised her when the next words came tumbling out of her mouth, a hasty confession she hadn’t meant to see the light of day—

“I don’t feel very brave.” 

It was the truth, of course. She’d been a mess this whole time. Unable to bear the weight of separation from her people, clinging to Jamie as her lifeline. Without him, she would have surely shattered…

She was interrupted from these thoughts by Jamie sliding down onto the floor in front of her so they knelt face-to-face. His big hands came up to cradle her jaw, forcing her to meet his eyes. Then, he began to speak, somehow achieving the perfect balance of firm conviction and gentleness. 

“But ye are, a nighean. Ye are here, and ye’re still goin’. That’s brave.” 

His words hung in the air— short, simple, but as poignant as a stone throw. 

She nodded, too choked up to give any further reply. 

It was then that he hugged her. Smashed her to his chest, his arms wrapping around her middle, solid as trees, and holding her to him as if he was scared she would disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. Her own arms had been trapped between them during his sudden movement, but she managed to wriggle them free to bring them around his shoulders and embrace him in return. 

She felt anchored suddenly— as if she’d been floating in the sky, subject to the fancies of the wind, before this strange man had suddenly reached up and pulled her back down to solid ground. 

All thoughts of the home that had been lost suddenly disappeared from her mind as Jamie held her. Because it was thoughts of her new home— her home with him— and the hope that accompanied them that filled her mind instead. 

“You know… I think I’d actually quite like to be a cheetie wrapped in your coat,” she tremulously joked, her voice muffled from how her mouth was pressed into the fabric at his shoulder. 

Jamie let out a laugh that vibrated through him and into her— a clear, unrestrained sound like the way the loch ripples when a stone plunks into it. She wished to herself that she could hear it forever— to spare him from any pain like the kind she’d just inflicted upon him. 

In that moment, she knew she loved him. 

***

Next

[aknosde]

Okay, you know earlier this week when I dropped a paragraph of a fic? I actually finished it, and the end isn’t the best so I’m posting it here and not on AO3.

Loneliness - (featuring my HoH Percy and Clarisse head cannons)

TW for attempted self harm and a generally bad mental space

Percy’s never really had a mentor. When he was young he was put in a few organizations as a mentee. The type of organizations that are supposed to make things easier on kids like him, brown and black kids with “authority problems”. They never really clicked though, sometimes it was him, a lot of the time it was the supposed mentor. He had never cared much, it’s not like they could help him in a way that mattered.

Then there was Luke. Luke who was tall and strong and quick and really, really, really good with a sword. Maybe some of it was a crush, but he had never met someone who he was so encapsulated by. Luke was cool, intelligent, and good looking. He was everything Percy ever wanted and ever wanted to be.

Luke left a bitter taste in Percy’s mouth and a scar on his hand and a distaste for soda. Luke left Percy with an even quicker brain and a knot in his stomach that turned into a murder plot for his stepfather. He drew Percy in time and time again with a hatred that was laced with unrequited love and left Annabeth with blood stains on her dagger and both of them with salt stains on their cheeks and the taste of ash on their tongues.

After Luke was Beckendorf. Granted Percy had had a bit of a crush on him too. Beckendorf was pure, not in the way some white campers might call Hazel innocent. He was just kind, and genuine, and warm. Percy looked up at Beckendorf, big, strong, brave, caring, and he thought this, this is something I could do. I might not be able to be a big hero, but I can do this. I want this.

Beckendorf left Percy with no body for the shroud to cover. He left Percy with inside jokes that would never again be completed and a desire in his brain to constantly be in the forges and to keep as far away from them as possible. Beckendorf left a hole in Percy’s heart that was filled by blood and guilt. Percy looks at the acid scars on his foot with a longing for the time when Beckendorf was taken by giant ants.

And after Beckendorf there was no one. Suddenly Percy was one of the oldest campers. A war veteran. Supposedly the strongest demigod alive. He wasn’t just a counselor now, of his cabin that was solely him, he was a senior counselor. Jake Mason sat in Beck’s seat and Percy cried because suddenly he was alone.

He shouldn’t feel alone. When Annabeth holds his hand while they wait for breakfast he shouldn’t feel alone. When Grover makes enchiladas in the kitchen of the Big House and they eat them together in a field Percy shouldn’t feel alone. When Nico comes running into Percy’s cabin telling Percy that Mythomagic is apparently run by demigods and that they made a card of Nico he shouldn’t feel alone.

It only gets worse when he’s back at home. His mom goes through their normal post-quest routine. She gives him time and space and love. She takes him to the doctor’s. His old prescriptions get refilled, adderall, meperidine. Sally tries again to find a demigod therapist, to no avail. They don’t celebrate his birthday this year.

He’s at Goode without Rachel and he has no other friends. He’s never really been good at that, the whole friend thing, and now it’s practically impossible finding someone who isn’t uneasy around him. He sits in the back of his physics class and eats alone at lunch and sleeps in Paul’s office during breaks.

A teacher hands him back an essay and there’s a paperclip in the corner keeping all the pages together. There is a B+ on it with a smiley face, and Percy takes the paper clip and sharpens it and tries to scratch his skin. It doesn’t do anything. His skin still won’t break, there is just a faint redness. Only after scratching away mindlessly for weeks does he realize that he’s writing words. Last words. “Go!” “Don’t let it happen again.” “Tell him I’m sorry.”

He can fill up his schedule with school and homework and swim and skating and basketball. He can wake up in the morning and eat breakfast and take adderall and carry around the other small orange bottle waiting for his skin to revolt against him. He feels disgusting and empty. Like a demon in a suit of skin that used to be Percy. He misses two years ago when the war wasn’t looming over head, when he and Annabeth and Silena and Beck would all hang out, when he and Clarisse had weekly midnight basketball games.

Grover knows. Grover’s gotta know. For one thing, there’s the empathy link. And Grover is calling multiple times a week, and he always asks how Percy is, if he’s alright. Percy lies “I’m all good man, don’t worry. How’s work?” Then Grover goes off on a tangent about pollution or some shit he saw a human do and the way he purses his lips when he’s worried doesn’t come back until they’re hanging up.

He hates it, the lying. He’s only told lies to protect others, when he doesn’t have enough information yet, when he needs to save them. Now he is lying for himself. How fucking selfish does he have to be? But he’s so lonely, and he can’t bare to lose anyone else. It feels like the smallest step out of line will make his world crumble.

So he lies. He lies his ass off, and he doesn’t know if he’s good at it, but he could be. When Annabeth comes over one weekend, all the way from California, and she asks about the pill bottle rattling in his pocket he says that it’s adderall and she turns back to the tv. When his mom asks if he’s made new friends he says yes, and proceeds to tell a mortal version of something that he and Beck did last year.

One day Rachel comes into the city to visit her parents. They’re sitting on a bench in Central Park and he takes the paperclip out of his coat pocket and goes to work on his wrist while they talk. It’s habit by now. Rachel stops in the middle of her sentence and gently pries the paperclip from his hands and in its place she leaves a blue eyeliner pencil.

Soon his arms are covered in names and words and horrifically beautiful drawings. Blue pigment against brown skin and pink scars, all swirling together. The pencil runs out quickly, but a week later, just as he’s about to take the paperclip back out, an envelope arrives. Sitting in the bottom is a new pencil of blue eyeliner. Percy throws the paperclip in the trash.

By Thanksgiving break Percy isn’t feeling good exactly, he’s feeling mildly better. Loneliness still hits him, in pangs. He’ll be walking to lunch and he’ll have to jump in the canoe lake because he can’t handle it, and swimming is a good excuse for missing a meal.

He wakes up early in the morning and sits in Rachel’s cave waiting for her to wake up. She makes hot chocolate and points out drawings she particularly likes, and then he’ll wash his arms off ready to begin again.

Days are filled with meetings. Meetings with Chiron and meetings with other counselors, trying to make up for being away at school. When he’s not in meetings he trains. Sometimes himself, but a lot of newer or younger campers. The disarming technique he teaches throws him back to Luke and he gives the campers a five minute break hoping the feeling leaves.  

Evenings are being tossed between one person and another. Racing up the climbing wall with Annabeth and laughing at the top and sitting there for way too long. Stopping by the Aphrodite cabin where Drew will catch him up on everything he’s missed being away or being busy. He sits on the floor of the Hades cabin trying for the fifth time to understand Mythomagic.

Every night since he’s gotten back Clarisse raps on his door at two in the morning and they play one v. one on the basketball court until they end up on their backs under the stars. There’s rarely any talking. It’s dark outside and Clarisse has left her hearing aids in her cabin and he’s left his back in Manhattan. Not like he ever uses them in public.

He’s still lonely. 

Maybe Clarisse can read his mind because she taps his leg and they sit up facing each other. He can just barely see her fingers in the moonlight.

“Sometimes people can be lonely not because they are alone but because they miss someone. You have a lot of people to miss.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” He signs back.

“Oh be quiet punk.”

They both break into laughter then, before she continues.

“Miss them. As much as you fucking want. I was in love with Silena, and she died, and Drew is a bitch about it, but she has a right to be.”

Percy is struck again by how similar he and Clarisse are, their lives and their feelings and their actions. The only difference is that Clarisse grants herself the freedom to do what she wants, and he’s scared to death of doing that himself.

“But, and do not ever tell anybody I told you this, a lot of people would miss you. You can pull away and feel lonely but you can’t disappear. Annabeth needs you, Rachel needs you, Nico and Will and Drew need you. And gods fucking dammit, I need you.”

Clarisse stands and pulls him up behind her. They part ways, heading back to their cabins. Percy mulls her words over in his head as he finally drifts into sleep, his body completely and utterly exhausted. Suddenly there is a blue-gold light, and he remembers Annabeth, and then everything is dark and there’s the smell of pine.

[minseologs]

smoke and mirrors: part 1/2

tw// car accident and blood mentions

smoke and mirrors: the obscuring or embellishing of the truth of a situation with misleading or irrelevant information.

And for every hand dealt, one must deal with the consequence. She knew better than to push others. She had a good hand in making everything worst. But she was also good at fixing things.

In her head, at least.

~

“Go ahead and say it, 'I told you so' I have the worst taste on the planet, yada yada yada...” Cash’s words slur, his head resting against the window of Minseo’s car as he looked out.

Their friendship was put to the test for the night, and she thought it was a good way to cool off his emotions. She didn’t think alcohol would come along. Her nervousness spikes as she thought Cash would probably throw up and break the glass in her vehicle. She would have to pull over at some point.

“You already know, so it'll be a waste of breath to say it again.” Her eye rolls, continuing to drive and was hostile to him. “Drinking wont make shit better you know.”

“Who said I’m trying to make anything better? it's Friday night, don't people drink on Fridays?—why are you being such a bitch right now?”

“Excuse me—,” that does it. “Last time I checked, I warned you about that girl. And what did you do? And don’t bullshit me about people drinking right now.”

“You aren't excused, when you're going through shit do I act like you are? no, everyone has their issues and what do I do? Find solutions, try to cheer them up but when it's me?” His voice was booming so loud— it made her even more nervous considering she knew Cash may go haywire any moment. “I don't get the same, do I have 'use me' on my fuckin’ forehead or what? Because that's all I get, used and I’m not allowed to cope with that in my own way. You know what? Pull the car over I'm getting out I'll walk home, fuck this—“ He had already reached over and takes off his seatbelt, all while holding the drink in his hand.

Her voice resonated against his and she immediately turned into a fight or flight situation as soon as she heard something click. “Because I know this is how you act when everything's said and done-- do you think I wanted this for you? You could've just listened to me! Did you ever do that for me?? Because I always listened to you— Cash put your fucking seatbelt on, I am not joking around-- !!”

It wasn’t safe— arguing in a moving vehicle. They were driving late into the night and her choice of drive was on the Mapo bridge. She always went there when she needed to clear her head. Perhaps not this time around. She thought this is what’s best for him.

She thought.

“No, stop the god damn car, you’re a shitty friend, you think I want to hear “you should have listened to me” right now?” Be calm Minseo... it’s okay... he didn’t mean it. “I don’t pull that shit with anyone I never judge anyone but everyone wants to be mean to me? Nope, I’d rather be at home than deal with this.”

And the door was flung open. His body thrown out to the pavement, her foot slamming on the break as she instinctively turns the car to avoid hitting his body as he made his way out. The car hits a post and gets totaled but she miraculously didn’t get hurt... not bad of an injury, at least— that she was able to walk out of the car and chase after Cash. She was confused at what was going on, can barely walk straight as her body is signaling it was injured. Her head was pounding when she reached over to his form, his screams echoing out into the night. It took her awhile to realize that it probably wasn’t from pain. His breathing was ragged— he was panicking— an attack that she was familiar of. Cash had vomited on the pavement from the trauma, the pain of the past surges through him. On top of the hurt he felt tonight, it was too much.

Minseo didn’t know what to do. She wanted to save her friend from the hurt. She wanted to be hurt so he didn’t have to hurt. She knew that feeling all too well... 

The loneliness, the emptiness. 

The times where she felt unimportant and was used... she knew. But unlike how Cash handles situations, she had gotten good at shutting down her emotions and doesn’t have much empathy on herself. A façade of perfectness and “always strong” was implanted to her that her terrible coping skills started destroying anyone that got close, and he was no exception. 

Is it why what he said earlier hurt so much? Because it was true? You’re not good at letting others cope. Why? Is it because you’re like that to yourself?

Her arms stabilize Cash, a fight between the two ensues as all she could do was hug him. She didn’t care he thrashed around, even if she was thrown too. The sirens are heard in the distance as a couple of people break up the two. Now, Minseo could only watch from the cold ground as her face hits it, feeling herself about to pass out as her sight fades. She reaches out to his form who was also almost on the same state. Her hand reaches out, it was coated red but she was unsure who’s blood it was. She felt sad this happened, she couldn’t help someone important to her.

“You’re okay... I got you— okay..? I’m here... okay..? ... I’m here.” Her voice comes to a whisper, grasping of what she could reach of Cash’s arm. She was afraid. Afraid for him to die, and afraid of what will happen to this. It wasn’t so much of death, because she kissed death too many times to be afraid of it now. Her words come out desperate, making sure they don’t get separated if they did die. 

Dying alone, in fact, was her only fear. 

part 2 coming soon

[mrshenrybolet]

in which may rain shows more compassion than summer

Henry Bolet’s grief and emotional turmoil finally break through, and he sees that the love he thought Summer had for him was more of a facade than his calm, sarcastic demeanor ever was.

PG-13 | SFW | TW: emotional abuse

“God damn it, Summer, I fucking told you not to do that again.” Henry’s voice began to shake as he felt all the anger and frustration from the past 8 months bubbling up from the dark recesses where he had been forcing it to reside.

Summer scoffed and rolled her eyes, crossing her copper arms over her chest. “Can you just stop making such a big deal out of this? You’re getting worked up over nothing.”

“Nothing? This is hardly nothing, Summer! I needed that money!” 8 months. 8 months of sheer toxicity that he could no longer ignore. He felt the heat bubbling from his chest up to his throat and swallowed hard, trying to choke it down, silently praying that it wouldn’t manifest as tears. He only allowed that release when no one was there to bear witness. As of late, he had been spending hours walking around the expanse of cemeteries that filled the land behind what had once been his home. He somehow found comfort in the presence of the dead; it was a feeling of being alone, without the loneliness. It was only then, and frequently in front of his parents’ mausoleum, that he allowed his tears to fall. But this, being with Summer, did nothing but fill him with the feeling of loneliness.

“It never bothered you before when I used your card.” Summer had brushed off Henry’s financial concerns before and spent his money without asking, but he had reached his breaking point. Henry crossed the room, one hand in his jet-black hair, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.

“That was for things you said you needed, like gas or coffee, not a whole damn sound system!” His head spun, filling with thoughts of the financial burdens Uncle Bruno had left him with, all the things he couldn’t afford but was somehow now responsible for, with no indication of having been left anything of actual value.

Summer followed him across the room. “I did need it! This is honestly unnecessary.” She tossed her sleek hair over her shoulder and Henry caught a trace of the woodsy scent that was so intoxicating to him, that was Summer, that caused him to pause and second guess his decision. “You know what, maybe if you took a second to realize that I’m going through a really tough time right now, you would stop acting like a little bitch and have some fucking empathy.”

Summer’s words hit Henry in a way that was reminiscent of learning of his parents’ death two weeks after his 8th birthday. It had been over a decade since he had felt it, that distinct sense of loss, of knowing that something meaningful had been irreparably broken. He hadn’t even felt this when Uncle Bruno died. Unable to contain his emotions any longer, he heard an unfamiliar burst of sound escape his lips.

“Are you seriously fucking laughing at me right now?” Summer gaped at him in incredulity. The hazel eyes that Henry had previously fooled himself into thinking held compassion and love for him now looked accusatory and empty.

“You’re having a tough time? You are having a tough time. I’m so sorry, Summer. I should have realized. I should have put my great-uncle’s death on the back burner. I should have pushed aside the fact that the last living family member died.” Henry could feel all the heat that had been festering inside him for 8 months pouring out, breaking into his smooth and sarcastic tone. “I should have ignored that I’m somehow still fucked up by this, even though he didn’t give a shit about me, and apparently neither does the one person I have who’s supposed to love me.” He turned to look at her, having lost the ability to think straight and scrambling to find something to ground him. “I should have realized that Summer Brandywyn would need my support after she decided to max out her credit card, and then mine.” Henry felt a familiar despair raking through his chest in which he found comfort, a distraction from his emotional anguish.

He no longer felt in control of his body. He felt himself collapse backwards into the desk chair, putting his face in his hands, giving in to the peals of hollow laughter pouring from his mouth. His fingernails, colored black with chipped polish, raked through his hair as he sat up straight to look Summer in her cool eyes. The still silence was palpable as she stared down at him with what he could now recognize as disdain. The May rain pattered against the library windows, and Henry thanked the skies for giving him something to focus on, to bring him back to reality and gain clarity. Their eyes locked, his voice came in a whisper, any trace of a smile fading from his lips. “We’re through.”

Summer opened her mouth, then clenched her jaw when no words came out. She took one slow breath. Tilting her chin up, she spun around and flung open the back doors, letting them slam open against the exterior of the house. As Summer stormed out of the Bolet mansion for the last time, Henry spun around in the desk chair and picked up his computer, finding the rain and the hollowness of grief to be his only remaining companions.

“Groovy.”

[dusky-dancing]

For the ask meme, can you do #17 and rikunami?

Thank you for the ask, anon! 

See this post for the full list!

I admit that I was a little nervous since I’d never written RikuNami before, but they are so fun to write! Hope you enjoy :)

Here’s #17, A Kiss to Distract

——————————————————————————————–

After helping the Radiant Garden Restoration Committee unlock more data from Cid’s computer, Riku had needed a breather. A quick detour before he headed back to the Land of Departure, nothing else. His heart led him to the same place it always had, and for the same reason. Next he knew, the warm sun and green forests that cradled Twilight Town greeted him on his descent.

For the first time, it hadn’t been Namine who greeted him off of the gummi ship, but Hayner, Pence and Olette who were eager to put him to work. 

So much for a breather.

The “work”, turned out, involved throwing Namine a party for her new birthday, the day that her heart was returned to her. Of course, the day had been the anniversary of many things, but they’d wanted to focus on the positive like the good friends they were.

The others had already been busy getting all of the decorations, and the three before him were in charge of handling all of the food. With smiles all-too suspicious, they’d volunteered him to keep Namine company for the next few hours while everyone else set up, and he’d agreed to the task almost embarrassingly quickly. For one, he’d have done anything to avoid being in a small space with several people again. And two, he’d just…wanted to see her. She’d been his whole reason for visiting the quaint town in the first place. 

Hayner had told him to have her back by six o’clock, but his tone had reflected that of a protective sibling as much as an eager party-planner.

He found her sipping tea alone outside of a cafe. Time always seemed to slow the moment her eyes found him, and this was no different. 

“Riku!” She stood and faced him. Neither of them were fully comfortable initiating or participating in things like hugs, but he felt content just being in her company. “Xion told me they had a surprise for me today, but I wasn’t expecting something this great,” she smiled. 

A lump formed in his throat, and something between a groan and a cough escaped. “Yeah,” he gave her a subdued smile, which he knew paled in comparison to the one he was receiving, “guess I’ll try not to disappoint.”

“Never,” she gestured down the street. “Join me for a walk?”

Yes, a walk. Anywhere that wasn’t near the usual spot. Or a gift store. Or anywhere that sells food. Shouldn’t be too hard. 

As he scaled up his singular task in his head, he realized she was still standing a few paces ahead of him and waiting for an answer. 

“Uh, yes,” he said and hastily joined her side. 

He’d never get tired of exploring Twilight Town. The real place was so much more lively than what Ansem the Wise had generated in his computer. Though his task of keeping her oblivious made it harder to just enjoy the colors of the town. 

When the gang had said they’d be around town gathering supplies, they hadn’t been kidding. Whether it was Axel and Isa with a giant banner that said “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NAMINE”, Roxas and Xion trying party hats on each other, or Hayner and Olette picking out cupcakes, there had been spoilers around almost every corner. He swore they could teleport too. With how many times he had to quickly herd Namine out of view, he was surprised she never caught on. One thing he knew: he had to get her out of the main portion town. 

A brief train ride brought them to the appropriately named Sunset Terrace, and Riku immediately appreciated the lack of familiar faces.

“So,” he said as he walked, “it’s been a year since you moved here. How do you like it?”

“It feels like a home,” she folded her hands in front of her chest. “Thanks to the people here, the happy memories here far outweigh the sad ones.”

The sad memories, in which she was essentially held hostage for a second time, all while being belittled and dehumanized. Most of those memories he’d been a bystander for, and he wondered if being around him now caused her any pain by association. It was a miracle that she granted him any of her time at all. Perhaps returning to his rightful form again helped make their friendship possible, or perhaps she was just that kind.

Namine seemed to follow his thoughts. “You know,” she said, “with my time in the mansion, some parts were painful, but some were happy too.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm,” she nodded, “Atleast I wasn’t alone.”

He chuckled, “I would’ve hardly considered myself company.”

“You were struggling, but you were there.” She giggled, “In a way, we were both these strange beings overwhelmed with guilt, yet still determined to set things right.” She leaned and brushed a hand over his arm as she walked. “Thank you, Riku.”

He searched himself for reasons that he could possibly deserve a ‘thank you’, but came up empty. Why was he making this day about himself, anyways? And why was he making her recall painful memories? She certainly didn’t look unhappy, but he wanted her to remember the day - remember his company - fondly.

“Here, come with me.” Out of nowhere, she grabbed his hand and began running up Sunset Hill, turning him into a stumbling mess after her. 

 He’d been to the top of the hill before, but now he could fully take in the view. The town itself seemed to end while the rest of the world stretched out in an endless green forest.

“What do you think of the view?” She asked.

“It’s nice.” He kept the strong words to describe it, and even stronger words to describe how she looked, to himself. “I haven’t been here since-” he caught himself, hating that he seemed to fail at lighthearted conversation. 

“Since you let me go,” she smiled. 

“You’re giving me too much credit,” he chuckled. “It was the least I could’ve done.”

A commotion down the hill in the marketplace caught Riku’s attention. From where he stood, he could see that it was Pence struggling to carry a giant cake. He rolled his eyes, grateful that Namine’s back was turned to it. He played it cool and refrained from staring too long. It wasn’t difficult to keep his attention on her anyways.

Despite his efforts, the conversation kept coming back to their memories in Twilight Town. Maybe leaning into the topic would be better than forcing small talk. 

“It was a two-way street in the mansion, you know,” he said. “You helped me too.”

“I helped restore Sora’s memories,” she muttered, “but-”

“I don’t mean that,” he interrupted. “I thought I was…cursed. But when I saw you use your powers to restore Sora’s memories, it made me want to do more than just conquer the Darkness. It - you - inspired me to walk the road to dawn, even if it took a while,” He looked straight into her light blue eyes. “So, thank you, Namine.”

She hung her mouth open, as if she wanted to respond, but settled on one of her humble smiles.

“And on a less complicated level,” he added, “you’ve been there for me as a friend ever since,” he hung on the last word and left the sentence unfinished, both unable to and knowing she wouldn’t need him to. 

Being separated from his best friends weighed on him heavily over the past year. Even though he knew he and Kairi were working together to save Sora, and he couldn’t imagine what kind of loneliness she was going through, the events of a year ago had left him with no one to confide in. 

Well, no one but the woman in front of him. 

Her cheeks reddened, and her eyes reflected a deep empathy. If anyone knew how badly one needed friends, it was her. “It’s the least I could do.”

He’d thought his connection to Namine had only been through some combination of Kairi or his replica, but that delusion shattered the moment she’d placed her hand in his. In the tiny contact, there had been neither a familiar spark of an existing friendship, nor a drive to protect solely out of obligation.

No, there had been something more. He found himself coming to her for seemingly no reason, and she always made time for him amidst her new found family. Every strong face and misleading “I’m fine” from him had fallen apart under her gentle gaze. The more he thought of her, the more that the word “friend” failed to fully describe who she was to him.

A loud yelp echoed from where Pence was, and Riku didn’t have to look to know his attempt to carry too much had failed. An earsplitting clatter followed, along with many more gasps. 

Unfortunately, Namine hadn’t resisted the temptation to look. As she began turning around, time slowed, and Riku panicked internally. He had one job - don’t spoil the surprise for Namine - and her seeing Pence dropping a birthday cake was probably considered a mission failure. His mind ran through several excuses he could tell her, but none were convincing. 

There was one thing he could do to keep her focused on him; something he might just be mad enough to do. Before he could talk himself out of it, he mustered up all of the courage he possessed and took her face within his hands. This new touch along with the surprised look she was giving him was enough to turn his stomach into nothing but nerves, but there was no going back.

Next he knew, his lips were on hers in the gentlest, most inexperienced of kisses. Her lips were just as soft and warm as her heart, and he wished he could stop time to cherish it a little longer. Her hands came up to brush over his own and settle on his arms.

Kissing her was less like fireworks and more like finally breaching a surface he never knew existed. Everything, from breathing to smiling to jumping to crying, felt waves easier.

When he pulled away, her eyes stayed closed a moment longer before fluttering open. 

“Riku…” 

The way she breathed his name so fondly made him want to lean back in for more, but he waited. Waited for her to move first. To say something else.

Only she didn’t. She remained still, looking up at him with both surprise and tenderness. 

Guilt quickly pulled him back under the surface. He meant every second of kissing her, but how could he fumble something so earnest on a distraction? Had it only been a distraction, or was the distraction just an excuse to kiss her? Whatever it was, it had worked on both of them, because the commotion down the hill was the furthest thing from their minds now. 

“I’m sorry,” his hands fell from her face, to her shoulders, to her arms. Even her hands felt far more than he deserved to touch. “That was…selfish of me.”

Her hands caught his wrist as he tried to back away. When he dared to meet her eyes again, her expression hadn’t changed. She shook her head. “You deserve to be a little selfish sometimes.”

As she stepped closer, the distant clock tower chimed to signal half-an-hour until six. Walking back now would barely make them punctual, but hopefully Pence’s accident had afforded them a little more time.

It was then that Riku decided making her a little late to her own surprise party was worth taking the time to kiss her properly.

—————————————————————————

Thank you for reading! If I recall correctly, the Kingdom Hearts character files revealed that Namine goes to live with the Twilight Town gang after the events of KH3, which I thought was super sweet and everything she deserves. The sea-salt family just keeps growing, and I loved the idea of Namine joining their little found family. It was also really fun to think of all the things Riku admires about Namine, and in what circumstance he’d kiss her as a distraction.

This was my first RikuNami fic, so I hope you all enjoyed it:) 

[eyreguide]

Comparing Villette and Jane Eyre

Charlotte Bronte’s Villette, the last novel she published in her lifetime, is often cited by critics as being her best work.  Of course, it’s not my favorite of Charlotte’s works, but Villette is a powerful story and has, I feel, an interesting parallel to Jane Eyre with some similarities in plot and characters.  I read Villette when I was in college many years ago, and I have always remembered it as Jane Eyre “through a glass darkly.”  I’m revisiting that idea by re-reading the novel and seeing exactly how it compares.

Before I go into comparisons, I do want to talk about how the novel strikes me so many years later.  I was surprised to see how much of Charlotte’s personal past is fictionalized for Lucy Snowe - of course, Charlotte also did this for Jane, but it seems like there were more specific experiences that Charlotte drew on for Lucy than she did for Jane.  Charlotte’s experience in Brussels, her romantic feelings for a certain brooding professor at the Pensionnat and recreating his personality, the affably suspicious nature of Madame Beck, seeing a famous actress, confessing to a Catholic priest, and of course being a teacher are all used for Lucy.  And in Lucy’s opinions and descriptions of the people around her, I felt like there was something more of Charlotte in Lucy than in Jane.  With the fact that at this point in Charlotte’s life she has lost all of her siblings, I do find the vivid passages about Lucy’s loneliness and poor mental health to be especially sad.  It seems like Charlotte is writing as much to purge her feelings on the subject, as she is to embody the reticent and passive Lucy Snowe.

My thoughts on Villette as a novel is a little less effusive than I remember from my first time reading it.  The story meanders quite a bit - with long passages of Lucy judging her fellow teachers and her students pretty harshly.  As well as looking down on the tastes and habits of the people of Labassecour.  I was surprised by how much bitterness was in the character, but I wonder how much this reflected Charlotte herself.

The plot feels episodic - things happen to Lucy and she relates them to the reader.  There doesn’t seem to be much of interest in what happens in Lucy’s life - just in how she characterizes the people around her.  Even with the romance, the ultimate sharing of feelings is long delayed.  And a large part of the story is devoted to Lucy barely acknowledging that she might have feelings for the handsome and charismatic Dr. John.  But that goes nowhere for Lucy - especially since she does not act on any of her feelings.  The same goes for her antipathy of Ginerva Fanshawe, whose company she bears with barely disguised hostility.  I again find it funny to think of how Charlotte might also have acted that way in the presence of people she disliked.

Comparisons to Jane Eyre

- Characters:

Dr. John Graham Bretton reminded me somewhat of St. John Rivers.  Both are very handsome and romantic possibilities for the protagonist.  Of course with St. John, he was cold and did not love Jane, but Graham also did not love Lucy, even though he regarded her in a friendly way.  And Graham and St. John are very moral and sincere individuals.

Ginerva Fanshawe seemed like an amalgamation of the beautiful but insipid women that Jane Eyre does not admire - Blanche Ingram and Georgiana Reed.  They are all beautiful, graceful, vain and selfish.  They can be false and coquettish, without much depth to their personalities.  Interesting that Charlotte would return to this character composition.

Paulina Home de Bassompierre could stand as her own more well-rounded character, but she did remind me at times of Rosamond Oliver - even down to Dr. John being the one to fall in love with her.  Polly is sweet, graceful, pretty and intelligent.  She seems a bit silly but she has a good heart. All things that bring to mind Rosamond who is a positive but insipid character in Jane Eyre.

Paul Emmanuel, of course, has the distinction of being a more sarcastic and more religious version of Mr. Rochester.  Both men have morose, fiery tempers, and they are intelligent and like to talk.  They are also both dark-featured, although Paul has blue eyes.  

Both men have troubled pasts that involve a relationship that has gone awry.  For Mr. Rochester there is no love lost between him and Bertha, but Paul loved Justine Marie and is forever tied to her family - obligated to take care of them even when they don’t show appreciation.  Paul is ruder, more cantankerous and vain than Rochester, but his kindness towards Lucy is almost equaled to the love and romance Rochester showers on Jane.

And they both like bonbons! (which I find such a fun parallel):

“- he was fond of bonbons, by the way - and as he always liked to share with others what pleased himself, he would give his “drageées” as freely as he lent his books.”

“I liked bonbons too in those days, Miss Eyre, and I was croquant—(overlook the barbarism)—croquant chocolate comfits”

Lucy Snowe as the protagonist and narrator is quite different from Jane Eyre.  The only similarities between the two are that they both had childhoods without parents, and worked as teachers.  As a narrator, Jane is confiding, natural and honest and Lucy hides her feelings, makes harsh judgments, and often dismisses her own importance.  Lucy is a character that comes off as excessively passive - just letting things happen to her, while also being afraid of trying something new.  There is a chance in Villette for Lucy to become governess/companion to Polly and she declines - declaring that there is less freedom in being a governess than a teacher. (A curious change from Jane’s experience.)  That puzzles me since Lucy likes Polly and would enjoy her company and clearly, Lucy is suffering from loneliness. She would also be paid well for the job. There are many moments in the novel, where I don’t quite understand Lucy.

However, there is a poignant aspect of Lucy’s story that is easy to understand - and that is her loneliness.  It causes her to have depression and a break down that affects her for the majority of the novel.  She can’t eat or sleep, and in a memorable scene, she visits a Catholic priest, despite being Protestant, just for the opportunity to talk to someone.  This honest depiction of her mental health made me feel for Lucy, and also for Charlotte who must have felt at least some of this to have described it so well.  

“But I got over that pain also.  Life is still life, whatever its pangs: our eyes and ears and their use remain with us, through the prospect of what pleases be wholly withdrawn, and the sound of what consoles be quite silenced.”

- Romance

When comparing Lucy/Paul to Jane/Rochester, I see that Villette champions a more honest relationship.  Lucy quotes “Prove yourself true ere I cherish you” as Paul’s ordinance before he gives affection, and how interesting that he demands honesty as much as Lucy does.  Honesty is an integral part of any relationship and a huge obstacle in Jane and Rochester’s connection.  Lucy and Paul also comprehend all of each other’s faults before realizing that they are in love.  Paul sometimes made Lucy cry with his harsh, acerbic comments, and Lucy seems to have annoyed Paul more than once with her quiet, unflappable nature.  Lucy says “I was full of faults; he took them and me all home.”

With such an unromantic beginning, the relationship between Lucy and Paul becomes very much like Jane and Rochester.  The nature of the couples’ connection seems so strong and based on fully understanding each other.

Paul says, “Lucy, take my love.  One day share my life.  Be my dearest, first on earth.”

Mr. Rochester says, “I ask you to pass through life at my side—to be my second self, and best earthly companion.”

While Jane Eyre shows a more idealistic courtship, Villette seemed to have focused more on showcasing the romance of two people with faults and issues finding their way to each other.  (Their weaknesses do make me wonder if they will sometimes have spectacular fights!)

Conclusion

It’s probably not entirely fair to think of Villette as a darker version of Jane Eyre since Villette has a solid plot and complex, nuanced characters.  Yet, I do find the broad similarities in personality types and plot points to be intriguing.  

Villette’s characters do feel sharper, more vivid, and less pleasant.  I feel less empathy somehow for everyone and less investment in their lives.  There is an interest in Lucy’s observations, but the story takes a while to unfold, and it’s disconcerting how much Lucy as the narrator holds back from the reader.  To understand her emotions the reader needs to tease out the clues from the way she observes the people around her.  While the story has its faults I think the main brilliance of the novel is in it’s uniquely flawed, complex, and human protagonist.

“I like to see flowers growing, but when they are gathered, they cease to please.  I look on them as things rootless and perishable; their likeness to life makes me sad.”

[uniquexbehaviour]

So guys, I wrote this tonight. It's pretty much about what I imagine were Sander's thoughts after recieving Robbe's text message yesterday. It's also followed by his mom being there for him at the hospital and him confessing that he loves a boy. So yeah, enjoy and let me know what you thought. There will be a second fluffier part to repair our little hearts. Enjoy Xx

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

"Because there is no us. "

The message shines in bold black writing, screen sending light into his tired eyes and making them struggle to stay open. Sander reads the text from Robbe repeatedly, unable to chase away the thought that he has ruined everything he had been building for the past two months. Images of Robbe flashes through his mind: the moonlight reflecting on his beautiful face, his soft plump lips against his damp forehead, his fingers intertwining with his, the warmth of his skin, the delicateness of his hands against his body. Sander could not believe that all he had ever dreamt of was now only a sour memory that would remain in the past. Robbe did not want him anymore. What had happened at the hotel had been to much for him to handle. He scared Robbe away, just like he had always dreaded. Sander's shattered breaths, his wedding suggestions and his little naked adventure to get some burgers had been too much. Robbe did not want to be around mentally ill people and Sander could not be loved.

As thoughts keep going on and on in Sander's busy mind, he curls onto himself, pulling his legs towards his chest and holding them tightly. He shuts his eyes to block away the tears, feeling his own heart being stabbed.

Maybe if he had died that night, he could have been happy for infinity.

Right as he feels himself drifting away, he hears the slight noise of the door of his hospital room creek open. He prays that Britt is not standing by his side, because he can't handle it right now. He can't handle the idea of standing up for himself. He lets out a heavy breath of relief as he recognizes the footsteps of his mom.

Sander's mom is a brave woman. She is kind and very caring, but ever since he had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder three years ago, things had changed. The conversations filled with laughter that they used to have, were now always tinted with concern. She had become overprotective. Sander could not blame her, because he did pull scary things a few times, but he missed the friendship they shared. Sander now felt more like a burden and that's exactly why he was trying to keep his diagnosis from Robbe. He did not want Robbe to let his mental illness define him. Sander was not his disorder, he was so much more than that. He was an art loving, music loving, David Bowie obsessed young man, with dreams that filled his mind and crazy amounts of love to give. Those are the only things he wanted Robbe to see.

"I brought you some food baby. I know you have a hard time eating what they give you."

He hears the soft voice of his mom ring into his ears as she wiggles out of her rain jacket. She sits on the chair right by Sander's bed, letting the fresh bag of food rest on the nightstand by Sander's bed. She gently runs a hand through her son's bleach blond hair, knowing it had always done wonders to soothe him down.

"I spoke to Britt. She says she'll come by later to keep you company. You're lucky you have a girl like her around." His mom whispers, not realizing the heaviness of her words.

Sander feels his entire body shiver and can sense his breath stopping. The last person he wants to see right now is Britt. The girl who had always seen him as inferior. The girl who had always defined him as his illness. The girl who had always spoke to him as he was this broken art piece she needed to fix. Sander does not realize the whimpers that escape his lips before his mom mentions hearing them.

"Oh Sander. It's alright to feel low baby, you know your mood will end up perking up now that they balanced your dosage of medication. Maybe I could get back home and grab your laptop. You could watch a movie with Bri…"

Sander panics. He needs to say something. He knows he will not be able to survive one second more with the presence of his intoxication ex-girlfriend.

"Mama…Stop." Sander breaths out faintly, surprised that the words came out as he had hoped. He searches for her hand and gives it a light squeeze, eyes finally focusing on her own. "Britt and I…We…I…We're not together anymore. She keeps insisting that we are and that I must be manic, that I will realize just how much I love her once I get my senses back. She got in my brain mama. I even wondered myself if she was right, but she is not. I know she is not. I tried going back to her and I tried kissing her." Sander speaks out painfully, placing his mom's hand against his heart. "I might have been manic yeah, but I know what I feel right here."

His mom listens closely to every single one of his words. She doesn’t stop him from expressing his feelings. She simply keeps her hand against her son's chest, tearful smile as she feels his heartbeat increase, reminding her that she has not lost her baby, no matter how scared she had been two nights before hand.

"Please don't make me see her again. Please mama, please." Sander begs, feeling completely stuck in his own torments.

His mother brushes a tear away from Sander's cheek with the tip of her thumb, giving him a small nod. She knows from her son's focused eyes that he is no longer manic, and she knows that she can trust his feelings. In the end, Sander has the biggest heart she had ever seen.

"It's about this boy I saw the other night, right? That boy for who you booked a hotel with my credit card?"

Sander nods in defeat, covering his tearful face with both his hands. His heart was aching so badly he had not idea how he could ever feel redeemed. He was starting to believe things would simply never get better for him.

Maybe loneliness was his happy ending.

One thing was for sure, it was always better than having to be by Britt's side for the rest of his life.

"Is that boy special for you? Does he make your stomach hurt?" His mother asks as she points her own abdomen, looking at her son with a sad smile.

"It's like a good pain though. A pain that makes the knots in my gut untangle. A pain that makes me want to be alive in infinite universes. But it's over now…I scared him away. He does not want to be with me anymore." Sander groans, chin quivering as he once again tries to keep himself from crying.

Slowly, his mother connects the dots. The young boy with whom her son was minutes before was the kid standing on the sidewalk looking terrified and shouting Sander's name last Friday. It was the same boy who Britt had excused herself from the medics to go see. The same boy who had tears in his eyes as he stared at her with terror and empathy in his spheres. The boy who Britt had walked up to with a rage so lively, it could of have destroyed anyone passing by.

"Sleep darling. It will make things better, I promise." His mom gently reassures him as she presses a light kiss against his sweaty forehead, exactly like Robbe would do for him.

Sander shrugs, keeping his knee's locked against his chest as his mom slowly pulls the thin stack of blankets against her son's shivering body. She waits for his breathing to have calmed down, making sure he is fast asleep. Sander's thoughts keep rolling on repeat in his mind, but he is unconscious enough to allow his mom to grab his phone without noticing. She does not have to go through the messages long before she notices the name Robbe with a heart emoji next to it in his contact list. She presses one last kiss to the top of Sander's scalp before dialing the number and stepping out of the room, waiting for an answer.

[kayincolwyn]

Whatever It Means To Be Human (Easter reflection, 4/12/2020)

As many others throughout the world have been pointing out over these last couple months, these are strange times that we're living in.

Back in December around Christmas I started getting sick, and in January I had to go to the ER for some kind of infection that was giving me a sore throat as well as a fever and headache, got a look over and a prescription for a week long course of penicillin which seemed to knock out the infection (and later got hit with a 1200 bill for that ER visit, because my insurance didn’t cover it, that I still need to pay back, which I was livid about when I first found out about it but now am trying to accept as best I can because I have bigger things to worry about). A couple weeks later I had a followup checkup (with a very sweet and very pretty nurse, so no complaints there) and I remember staff at the clinic being pretty jumpy about some virus over in China (now widely known around the world as the coronavirus, or Covid 19) that I honestly hadn't heard about before then, and they were asking me if I had traveled to China or had any interaction with anyone from there, and of course I said no, and I remember being kind of annoyed by their jumpiness at the time. Well, needless to say, now I can see why they were being so jumpy.

I've had some kind of bug or another off and on since then, like a lot of people do in the wintertime, but because of, well, 'everything that's going on' (a phrase I've been using and I've heard a lot of people using lately, like it's become some kind of collective cultural meme) I find myself worrying much more than usual about a little cough or stuffy nose or feeling a little under the weather. At first, like a lot of people, I thought this was no big deal, that it would be another of those diseases that infected a few people but would be quickly contained, and then when that didn't happen I thought, like a lot of younger folks, that I would be fine and just needed to worry about older folks that I care about, but now I know that I could potentially be taken out by this virus too, and even at the ripe old age of 37, so now I worry about myself as well as others, and I admit that, while I’m trying to be brave, part of me is scared.

Even with that worry and anxiety, and with the whole world changing so drastically in just a matter of weeks, I'm still working (with the realization that janitorial work has more value than perhaps I initially thought or felt) and still busing it to and from work and going to the grocery store as needed, while usually wearing my newly acquired neoprene half mask (with inserted filters provided by a friend) like armor, and while washing my bloody hands more than at any other time in my life, and while trying to boost my immunity as best I can with vitamins and supplements of various kinds. Strange times indeed.

I admit it's kind of odd to be considered an 'essential worker', to hear some even hailing people in my position as 'heroes on the frontline' or something like that, when for years I've felt that being a janitor was equal to being at the bottom of the totem pole, and over the years I have on occasion been made to feel less than by others because of my place on the totem pole (though to be fair I've also received my share of gratitude and kindness from others concerning my work as well, which I'm thankful for and appreciate). I mean, I don't really see myself as particularly heroic (I see doctors and nurses and other healthcare workers who are directly risking their lives in order to save others as far more heroic than myself, for example), but just as a guy trying to do his job in order to provide some service to others while also making a living, but I appreciate the validation nevertheless.

As an 'essential worker' (though even among 'essential workers' I still feel like I'm at the bottom or at least near the bottom of the totem pole), I just want to say that I feel that we all have a part to play in this world, that we all have something that we can contribute to the world, even if it may not seem like much.

Like I have seen some people online ragging on celebrities for trying to entertain others from the safety and comfort of their homes (with many of them being out of work at the moment for obvious reasons) but I would say that trying to entertain or encourage others in whatever way you can, even from a distance, can be meaningful and has its place, because we could all use a little entertainment and encouragement sometimes. I mean, for example, people out there can rag on Gal Gadot for trying to sing Imagine with a bunch of other celebrities who may or may not have any musical talent or ability in some online video, but even as cheesy and cringe-inducing as that may be, I still loved her as Wonder Woman (and through that role she has inspired many people, including many young women and girls) and I appreciate her desire, as well as the desire of everyone in that video, to uplift others in some way. Heck, even just trying to stay home as much as possible, trying to keep your distance from others, trying to be mindful of others, as she and many other celebrities as well as everyday people have been and are doing, in this time can be meaningful and shouldn't be completely discounted.

And to me it's not about being 'essential' or not, or 'heroic' or not, it's just about being human, and doing what you can to be a decent human in whatever way you can.

Of course being human is hard, as every human, no matter who they are or where they are, gets their share of suffering and sorrow in some way or another or at some time or another in their lives (though to be fair some certainly do seem to get a bigger share than others, and some comparatively less), and being a decent human is even harder, as it's often a challenge to do some good or do the right thing with all your faults and flaws and with all your limitations and shortcomings, and then going above and beyond that and being someone that most others would think of as a 'saint', well, that seems nigh impossible.

And what does it mean to be human anyway?

I guess that brings me to something that's been on my mind, and is on my mind more now what with it being Easter and having Jesus on the brain a little more than usual (hey, you can take the boy out of the Christianity but you can't take the Christianity out of the boy).

In times like this where the world is shaken up and we're in a semi-apocalyptic state of mind, where our mortality not just individually but collectively is more in question than usual, the question of what it means to be human looms large for many of us, along with those often asked questions about where we come from, why we're here, where we're going... you know, the usual fare.

Lately I've been reading some books by former evangelical Christians, including Unfollowed by Megan Phelps-Roper, granddaughter of Fred Phelps, founder of the infamous Westboro Baptist Church, as well as books by Frank Schaeffer, son of Francis Schaeffer, an influential evangelical thinker and theologian.

Being a former evangelical Christian myself who is trying to find his way after questioning and deconstructing and for the most part walking away from that way of seeing and operating in the world, I can resonate with much of what they have to say and share, like the pain and loneliness there is in walking away from a community that you can no longer agree with to try and find your own path, or how with freedom to think for yourself comes an uncertainty that you have to get used to because now it's on you to decide what you will believe and where you will stand rather than just following what others have taught you or told you, or the mixed feelings about who you were and where you were when it wasn't all bad and it's part of who you are today and even while you don't want to, and really can't, go back, you're still grateful for it somehow.

And in their books they both wrestle with what it means to be human, what it means to be a good person, with the value of life and the value of love, because those questions and concerns still matter to them whether God or some higher power exists or not, just as they still matter to me on some level.

I've also been thinking a bit about Fred Rogers, better known to the world as Mister Rogers, the widely beloved children's TV host, after watching the recent film which stars Tom Hanks as Rogers, A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood, as well as the documentary Won't You Be My Neighbor?, and listening to a podcast about him called Finding Fred.

My late friend Erin McCarty was a big fan of Fred Rogers (I even sent her this Mister Rogers t-shirt that I found at a thrift store which she wore proudly in some of her photos on Facebook) whom she saw as a real saint, and she was far from being alone in thinking of him as one. Fred Rogers was one of those people who seemed to go above and beyond just being a decent human, as he was by all accounts a highly exceptional human, who, while having his share of quirks and eccentricities, more than most dedicated his life every waking hour to pursuing the good and showing love to others (and most especially children, whom he could be thought to be the patron saint of if he were canonized as a saint I should think) and even in such a way that no one with a sound mind and clear conscience could find any fault in him.

Those closest to him knew that he at times struggled with feeling inadequate, with feeling as though he wasn't really making a difference in the world, like what he was doing wasn't enough, but even so he continued to move forward, continued to try, an artist whose art-form was kindness and empathy (or as that podcast Finding Fred put it ‘a genius at empathy’).

I remember I was talking with a friend of mine about Fred Rogers the other day and he said that he thought if there was anyone who could perhaps have been the second coming of Christ it was Rogers, and while some might think that sentiment a little sacrilegious, I think it's a testament to the respect many people have for the man's character. People may on occasion playfully mock Mister Rogers for some of his mannerisms, for the way he talked or dressed or otherwise expressed himself (though of course much of that was for the sake of the children he was communicating with), but if you were to ask anyone with any sense at all they would admit that he was, if nothing else, a good man.

I guess the same could be said of Jesus, whose teachings about life and love Fred Rogers, being a Presbyterian minister who took his faith seriously (even if he was kind enough and wise enough not to push it on others as many religious folks tend to do unfortunately), sought to follow and apply to his own life as best he could. Many have parodied Jesus in one way or another over the years (in fact the next book I'll be reading just in time for Easter is Lamb: The Gospel According To Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal, which I look forward to reading as it sounds like fun) but most would agree that he was, if nothing else, a good man. Even the beloved comedy group Monty Python, most of whom were agnostic or atheist, after studying the gospels in preparation for what would eventually become their classic comedy Life Of Brian, decided against making a film where they mocked Jesus but instead made a film that mocked the church that often failed to follow his example. Instead of focusing on Jesus in the film they decided to focus on a guy named Brian who was mistaken for Jesus, following him on all of his adventures (or misadventures), while occasionally showing the real Jesus respectfully somewhere in the background (much as was done in the film Ben Hur). They said their reason for doing this was that they couldn't help but appreciate much of what Jesus said and did in the gospels, or as they said in their decidedly British way 'you can't take the piss out of it'.

As Frank Schaeffer points out in his book Why I Am An Atheist Who Believes In God (which I thought was a pretty clever title, and one I can kind of resonate with as I’m somewhere in the middle like that myself), some things that Jesus says and does in the gospels, or at least is recorded as saying and doing, don't really make sense or seem inconsistent with the general thread of kindness and empathy that can be seen in Christ's teachings, and having read the gospels at least a couple of times myself (or at least a couple of their English translations anyway, where no doubt much gets lost in translation), I would agree. He wonders if maybe some things were taken out or added in, if the writers sometimes spun some things to bolster their own point of view (which humans tend to do unfortunately), or if some things were simply a result of 'the telephone game' as it were (with most of the gospels probably being written decades after the events that they chronicle took place so that's not really out of the realm of possibility), and he may be right (as much as many Christians out there, especially the more fundamentalist among them, who may believe that scripture is infallible and inerrant, would hate to admit it).

But whatever the case may be, there is still enough of that thread of kindness and empathy in Jesus' story and message that countless people have been inspired by it through the centuries since he was said to have lived and died (and at least according to the Easter story, risen from the dead), including people like Fred Rogers, and also including people like Megan Phelps-Roper and Frank Schaeffer or myself, who even though they no longer identify as Christian still see some value in Jesus’ example and teachings, or at least as they now interpret them.

Many still seek to follow that example and apply those teachings today, including in these very strange, and very difficult, times, trying to walk a path of kindness and empathy when the world seems to be falling apart. I can't really say for sure how much I'm doing that myself, walking that path, with all of my faults and flaws and limitations and shortcomings, but I would like to think or hope that I manage to do a little good each day and get things right at least on occasion.

The truth is though that many of us, including me, feel as though we don't measure up to the standard that someone like Jesus sets (or at least appears to set when you read about the kind of life he led), or even to the standard of someone like Fred Rogers. It just seems nigh impossible to meet that kind of standard. I mean I can't really speak for everyone who struggles with this, but I know that I have often struggled with wondering if I'm good enough, have debated whether I'm making a difference in the world, and have had doubts about whether I am even a decent human, let alone a saint. I feel like I fail or fall short in some way or another every day, feel like I don't care enough, don’t give enough, don't live big enough or love deep enough. Maybe some of my family and friends who see more in me than I see in myself might argue with me on this, but it's still how I feel sometimes, or even much of the time, and is a daily internal struggle for me.

But hearing about Fred Rogers, who some half jokingly (but also half seriously) would call the closest thing to a second coming of Christ that they can think of, having similar struggles gives me some perspective and comfort though, and it makes me wonder if even Jesus himself had such struggles, even if they may not have be written about, even if they were only written in his own heart, as blasphemous as the thought of someone whom many claim and believe to have been the Son of God, or even God in human form, actually struggling with feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt may be, but blasphemous or not that thought gives me a strange kind of comfort.

I remember in reading the gospels one of the parts of Jesus' story that resonated most with me was him wrestling in prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane before he was arrested. Just imagining him being scared and uncertain and agonizing in the dirt and just being, well, more human like me, because I've been there too, is somehow encouraging, because if that's God, or a representative of God, or even just a very good man, maybe it's okay for me to be scared and uncertain and to agonize in the dirt too, because maybe I'm not alone in that.

One of the things that Fred Rogers is famous for saying is 'I like you just the way you are'. In the podcast Finding Fred, the podcast host, who greatly admires Fred Rogers, sometimes expressed struggling with that idea, being a black man who has experienced a lot of racism, and also being someone who has been mistreated in a lot of ways by others throughout his life, he wondered how he could like someone just as they were when, well, there was so much wrong with some people out there. One of his guests on the show, another admirer of Fred Rogers, suggested that what Rogers meant by 'I like you just the way you are' wasn't that everyone was perfect in every way, nor that everyone's words or actions or choices should be condoned, let alone praised, or that people didn't need to learn or grow in different ways, but rather that underneath all the dirt and the muck of our imperfection, our imperfect words and actions and choices, and no matter how deeply buried, there is something of value, something of worth, some spark of the divine in us, which can never be completely destroyed, and no matter how much others, or even we ourselves, may try to.

Of course, much like the host of the podcast, many of us struggle with seeing that that is true of those whom many of us would call 'monsters', the murderers and abusers and tyrants of this world, the worst of the worst if you will, but then it appears that Rogers was able to look at people even like that and see something of value and worth in them, seeing something of beauty beneath all of the ugliness, or at least the potential for it anyway.

I think of another man that many could think of as a saint, named Daryl Davis, who is a black man that has made it his mission to try to befriend members of hate groups, including members of the KKK, not in a concerted effort to convert them to his way of seeing things necessarily but simply to give them something to think about through their just knowing him. He has helped many to walk away from the KKK and other such groups simply by extending the hand of friendship to them, and he challenges others to try to break down divides by seeing the humanity in others, including those who are different from us, or even those who hurt us or frighten us.

I also think of Fred Phelps, who was the founder of the infamous Westboro Baptist Church, and who has become an icon of religious hate to many, and what his granddaughter Megan wrote about him in her memoir Unfollowed, how even though to most people he was a terrible human being, even a monster, to her he was her 'Gramps', whom she loved dearly even if looking back she knows that he got a lot of things wrong, and she spoke of how towards the end of his life when he was falling into dementia that he softened considerably, and even to the point that his own church effectively excommunicated him and abandoned him in a retirement home, where Megan and her younger sister Grace, who had recently left the church (and at great personal sacrifice to themselves), snuck in without permission from their family to see him one last time, and Megan says he was mostly lucid at that time, and instead of reproaching them for having left the church he only expressed his love for them in the end. It seems that at the end of his life Fred Phelps didn't cling to his dogma and hate so much as his relationships and love, which is encouraging.

Fred Rogers (the other Fred if you will), whom Fred Phelps himself often mocked as 'a wuss and an enabler of wusses' among other things, even going so far as to protest at his funeral, would have been proud I think that Phelps had come so far at the end, and I am sure he would have said to him 'I like you just the way you are' and I think the humanity buried even in someone like Phelps was what Rogers was pointing to by saying that to everyone he encountered.

Frank Schaeffer spoke of his mother, Edith Schaeffer, in his book Sex, Mom, and God, in much the same way, even going so far as to say that even being straitjacketed by the limitations of her religion and its dogma she was a force of nature and he could see her humanity shine through throughout her life, especially towards the end when, as Fred Phelps did, she softened, and said that ultimately she was better than her beliefs, or that something in her, her humanity, rose above that.

And maybe that humanity, or that divine spark, or whatever you want to call it, was also what Jesus was pointing to and trying to call out, and whether that be in the everyman on the street, or in the seemingly irreparably damaged people that you may find in prisons (or even sometimes in governments) or even among the religious who can get so mired in their ideology and self-righteousness as to forget that spark within them or in others.

It may seem nigh impossible, if not flatly impossible, to live up the standard of what many of us think of as saviors or saints, but I think of a scene in A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood where Roger's wife Joanne says that 'Rodg' (as she affectionately called him) wouldn't want people to think of him as a saint, as he believed that anyone and everyone could walk the path that he walked, or at least tried to walk, and in their own special way.

I also think of how Jesus said to his disciples that they would do even greater things than him, which when you think of the kind of example that someone like Jesus set, namely one where you are willing to die for what you believe in and stand for, that seems like a pretty tall order, but it makes me wonder if, as controversial as this may be and contrary to popular and widespread religious opinion that has been built up around him for centuries, maybe Jesus wouldn't want us to think of him as a savior anymore than Fred Rogers would want us to think of him as a saint, because maybe instead of putting them up on pedestals we're meant to try and follow their example as best we can.

I remember one of the guests in the Finding Fred podcast saying that maybe instead of just looking back on Rogers and his example with admiration and nostalgia, we could also try to be like Fred Rogers ourselves, much as those who seek to follow the way of Jesus (which Rogers himself was trying to follow) instead of just looking back can try to be like him as much as they are able, and in their own special way.

With it being Easter today as I post this, I honestly don't know whether or not Jesus rose from the dead, heck I am not even one hundred percent sure if he even existed (as there are those who argue that he didn't, even if most historians would agree that he did, though most of them think that most of what was written about him was just fanciful legend that was built up around him, which may or may not be the case, because none of us can really know for sure on that since we weren't there, and unless we invent time travel or something it will continue to be a matter of faith, and faith alone), but then I am willing to keep something of an open mind about it, and even with where I am now I can still understand why many look to Jesus as a symbol of hope and the love of God, and why people see something meaningful in the story of his life, death, and resurrection because even if it may not be literally true (and again on that front it is a matter of faith), that doesn’t mean it isn’t mythically true. Whatever the case, I believe that his example and message of kindness and empathy lives on (even if one has to dig through a number of inconsistencies and mistranslations to find it), much as Fred Rogers’ similar example and message lives on.

And I guess this brings me back to 'everything that's going on', and the question of what it means to be human.

One of the things that a lot of people have been saying through this crisis that all of us in the world are facing is that 'we're all in this together' and I think it's safe to say that there's nothing quite like a pandemic to remind us of how much we value our relationships when we are having to keep our distance from others, including those we love, for our good and theirs, and when we are fearing for not only our own health and our own life but also for the health and lives of others.

I recently watched the film Contagion, which came out about ten years ago, and many are seeing it as eerily prophetic as much of the film parallels what is happening now, but one of the underlying messages of that film, as one of my favorite Youtubers, Like Stories Of Old, pointed out, is how much our relationships matter, how much those connections that can so easily be taken for granted matter, when we are faced with existential threats such as the one we seem to be faced with now. More likely than not, as in Contagion, this pandemic, as bad as it may get, will not be the end the world, but it is certainly shaking it up and it appears it will continue to do so for awhile, and in the midst of that all we have for sure is eachother, even if we can only be there for one another mostly at a distance and in spirit.

In A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood there was a moving scene where Rogers says concerning death and how difficult it is to talk about it that 'anything that is mentionable is manageable', and I think the same applies to the situation we are in now, we can face this and face it together, because we're not alone in this mess, not alone in the dirt, even as lonely as it may feel at times.

Our situation is also a reminder (and is another theme in Contagion) of how connected we all are, especially in this globalized world that we now live in. A friend of mine here on Tumblr was telling me in a recent message how this whole situation shows how interconnected we all are, and how every choice we make can impact those around us and can have a domino effect, even having effects, whether positive or negative, that we aren't even aware of.

What he said reminds me of this passage from the classic children's book Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster, which I finished reading for the first time just a couple days ago, where there is this exchange between the book's chief protagonist Milo, accompanied by his loyal companions Tock and Humbug, and the princesses Rhyme and Reason:

“It has been a long trip,” said Milo, climbing onto the couch where the princesses sat; “but we would have been here much sooner if I hadn’t made so many mistakes. I’m afraid it’s all my fault.” “You must never feel badly about making mistakes,” explained Reason quietly, “as long as you take the trouble to learn from them. For you often learn more by being wrong for the right reasons than you do by being right for the wrong reasons.” “But there’s so much to learn,” he said, with a thoughtful frown. “Yes, that’s true,” admitted Rhyme; “but it’s not just learning things that’s important. It’s learning what to do with what you learn and learning why you learn things at all that matters.” “That’s just what I mean,” explained Milo as Tock and the exhausted bug drifted quietly off to sleep. “Many of the things I’m supposed to know seem so useless that I can’t see the purpose in learning them at all.” “You may not see it now,” said the Princess of Pure Reason, looking knowingly at Milo’s puzzled face, “but whatever we learn has a purpose and whatever we do affects everything and everyone else, if even in the tiniest way. Why, when a housefly flaps his wings, a breeze goes round the world; when a speck of dust falls to the ground, the entire planet weighs a little more; and when you stamp your foot, the earth moves slightly off its course. Whenever you laugh, gladness spreads like the ripples in a pond; and whenever you’re sad, no one anywhere can be really happy. And it’s much the same thing with knowledge, for whenever you learn something new, the whole world becomes that much richer.” “And remember, also,” added the Princess of Sweet Rhyme, “that many places you would like to see are just off the map and many things you want to know are just out of sight or a little beyond your reach. But someday you’ll reach them all, for what you learn today, for no reason at all, will help you discover all the wonderful secrets of tomorrow.”

While I think the main themes of The Phantom Tollbooth are the value of education as well as how you see and experience the world around you, I think this passage could also be applied to how we learn how to live and love, and how you follow a path of kindness and empathy.

It's a process to be sure, and we will all make mistakes along the way, but as Reason says, we can learn more from being wrong for the right reasons than being right for the wrong ones, and trying to apply what we've learned as best we can and holding onto our reasons for doing so is just as important as what we learn. And there's a purpose to it, to living and loving as best we can, and it can impact the world around us, it can be like a ripple in a pond that spreads out in ways we can't know or even imagine, and who knows, maybe it will take us to places that we couldn't have even dreamed of...

Maybe that's something to try remember whenever we get discouraged (and I know I do plenty, as I’m sure most of us do), much like Fred Rogers did, and perhaps even Jesus did, and when wondering whether or not we have cared enough or given enough or lived enough or loved enough, that even seemingly little things can have a great impact and can actually make a real difference in the world.

In Fred Rogers' last television appearance after 9/11 he spoke of how his mother said in times of crisis that you should "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” I remember in the Finding Fred podcast they pointed out how in that message he was speaking to the children who are now grown ups themselves, the ones who had watched his program as they were growing up, and he was pointing to their own humanity, to that divine spark within them, and calling them to become those helpers themselves.

Even in that instance Rogers struggled, as he was so shaken by the enormity of the events of 9/11 that he felt that nothing he said could really help, and yet many, including myself at the time, even not being as familiar with Fred Rogers then as I am now, as I hadn't really watched his show growing up myself (I was more of a TMNT and Transformers kind of kid back in the 80s), were encouraged by what he had to say, and it made an impact, it made a difference. It helped.

And we can help too in our own way, and even if we too may feel shaken up by the events of our own time, these strange times that we're living in, we too can make an impact and a difference, we can help in some way, and however small and inconsequential what we may have to offer may feel, and whether it may feel decent or good or 'essential' or 'heroic' enough or not, we can help, and even if we may not know that we are helping.

As far as the answers to some of those big questions, like where we come from, why we're here, and where we're going, honestly I'm not sure what the answers may be, I mean I have some guesses, but I don't know with absolute certainty (and I'm having to learn to live without that anyway, even as I try to look forward with some hope and look back with some gratitude), but whatever it means to be human, I think it may have something to do with doing what you need to do even when you're worried and scared, with trying as much as you can to lift up others when they're down or maybe even when you're down, with the value of life and of love, with not being alone in the dirt, with seeing some measure of value and worth in jaded and cynical adults as much as you may see it in children, with extending the hand of friendship, and maybe even to those that are different from you, or looking for the humanity even in those that hurt and frighten you, with somehow loving those that others may only see as irredeemable monsters, with seeing the light in someone even if they are held back by things that limit and hem them in, with not insisting that others put us up on pedestals whenever we do some good or get something right but that they try to do the same themselves as best they can just as we are trying to do, with learning and growing in every way we can, with facing difficult times together, with trying to encourage and support and help one another, and even as imperfect as we may be and are. Maybe it has something to do with all of that.

I hope that we'll get through these strange times, that we'll not only survive them but that this may also push us to change some things for the better, that this will push us forward somehow, through death towards resurrection, that this will remind us of our humanity, that spark within us, and while I don't really know why we are in these strange times, or why 'everything that's going on' is going on, really I do hope that in the end it will move us a little closer to finding out, both for ourselves and for eachother, what it means to be human.

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

Her eyes, the stars - Bucky Barnes x Reader (Steve Rogers x Reader)

[I know, I am a ghost. Sorry guys. Enjoy.]

The reminiscence of a rose - the single flower that’s so impossible to hate, delicate and pretty, even when it stops blooming. Her voice could calm even the most chaotic oceans, always soothing with soft notes of comfort. Even her eyes could mesmerize the most soulless creature; her sweet face left him dreaming in heartache. On the nights his loneliness stung him harder than cheap liquor; he was always thinking of her. For he reveled in the memory of her heart placed on his hands. As he tried to get drunk on other people’s skin. Yet all that regret still burned his chest. And he realized that he once had the best. Since she loved his highs and lows. He thought about what he once held. He regretted leaving her. But she deserved more than his pettiness and demeanor.

She begged herself to stop loving him.She hated herself for all the mistakes she had made, all those wrong decisions - she blamed him for he made her vulnerable. He was the sun, never really committed to one planet, always dancing around the universe, with bright colors revealing themselves, leaving her in awe. Her heavy blues of night opened to reveal the chariot of the sun lighting up the sky with various shades of yellow and gold. The feeling was almost theatrical and the dramatic intensity was palpable. How could they end up in the same sky, when he was the sun and she was always so fond of the night? They were just celestial objects, trying to find the one perfectly still moment, so they could co-exist in harmony without worrying about nature's balance. That moment had passed them by, ignoring their desperate attempts to escape the chaotic force.She was a whole universe in motion - he had guessed that was why she seemed so tired lately...It must be an exhausting, yet beautiful thing to brush the orbits of all the universes she walked by. He had tried to stop thinking that he made her so unhappy. He couldn't. Instead, he tried to understand her a bit better than before, to get close to her, without hurting her. Again. She was no pawn in his game, she was clever and cunning - but just to hide her true self.

"You think you can define me, that I am a tick in just one box. Like my being is a door that a single key unlocks. But let me tell you something - something I figured out after you broke me. I have the universe inside, I hold an untamed ocean with a constantly changing tide. I'm home to endless mountains with tips that touch the sky, flocks of grand migrating birds and deserts harsh and dry. Please, don't tell me that you know me. That "this right here is what you are", trying to get an old and very dead version of me back. I am the universe in motion, for I was born from the stars" she was talking to him, trying to make a point, to seem sure about what she had become - but she was scared of her heart. Oh, the things it made her do. He wasn't taken aback, which surprised her. He was looking into her eyes, watching the soft colors of the sky fooling around with the dark strokes of her irises. It was true, her eyes held the stars. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the swirling feelings inside her. She felt every single cell of her body begging for her to forgive him - there was nothing to forgive, really, for he had done nothing wrong. It was her that could not - would not - handle things. She never saw herself in a relationship - so many obligations. She was not made for ballgowns and parties but for battlefields and saddles.

"I am yours, forever yours… and when the last star of the universe blinks silent, I will still be yours", his answer came naturally to him. It was the most sincere thing he had ever said. He knew her as a sea breeze, but now she met her as a hurricane. So he knew, she needed to be alone. She had been craving freedom so long and he had been blind. He was a liar- he lied to her, to the entire world, to his own self. He wasn't the Golden Boy, people made him to be. He had hurt her in ways he couldn't have imagined before. She softly smiled to his words, because she knew he was being honest. Once upon a time, everything was magical and they were found themselves walking through a chaotic paradise. The entire multi-universe had changed.

"I might have been too harsh, Stevie. Truth is that this, us, has turned to dust right after we were defeated. Five years now, we have been foolish enough to try and make things work. We have been lying to everyone, we want them to move on and be alright when I know that all those sleepless nights we have been thinking of a way to make everything as it was. I also know, and please do not try to deny it, that you are not mine. Not really, not entirely, not ever. For you, it's always gonna be Peggy. Accepting that, was the hardest thing I have ever done". His face twisted in a guilty way. Everything she had experienced for the first time, had been with him. It hurt her but she would move on, find someone else to make her feel alive again.

"I... I am sorry. I love you, you should know that. It's just. I can't shake the feeling… I am so sorry" he calmly apologized to her. He couldn't control his heart.

" And I love you. You can't unlove someone. You can, however, become just friends with them. I wouldn't want to lose you from my life. So... Hey dude" she tried to change the dark and painful situation into something less... 

It all happened so quickly and slow at the same time. It was a disaster and a triumph. Everyone came back - well, not everyone. Once she laid eyes on Bucky, she ran like hell and almost knocked him down as she enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug. How she had missed him - her best friend, companion and well...it would take her a while to admit it but there were butterflies, even though she did push them away every time, convincing herself that it was nothing more.

"I missed you Jay, so damn much" was all that she managed to say before Steve called them to assemble. 

They won. And they lost. All thanks to the amazing Tony Stark. After a horrific scene of Thanos wearing the gauntlet and snapping his fingers - only to realize that Tony had stolen them right on time - everyone's heart fell and crushed and burnt. Yes, Tony defeated Thanos but at what cost?

He had always been the only father figure she knew- if she thought that standing against him with the Sokovian Accords was devastating, this was torture.

When things slowed down, Steve looked at her for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime. Her porcelain-like skin was bruised, stained and twisted forming a pained mask, her hands were trembling and she was leaning against his best friend- why was this the first time he was noticing the look on Bucky's face? Why was this the first time he felt that his friend craved to be more than a friend to her? 

Life has a strange way of revealing her secrets, a dark sense of humor. It goes on, like a circular river, never-ending, never resting. After the simple ceremony to honor Tony's memory, she took a step back, asking for a few weeks off of the team to help Pepper and Morgan. All she wanted was to feel normal again. One more task before that though.

Seconds before Steve stepped into that platform to be teleported back in time, she called for him. He knew it and so did she. She had seen it in his eyes after they had mourn Natasha. In all honesty, she understood why - he deserved the life that was taken away from him, without asking him if he liked the alternative options. Bucky knew it. He knew it when he saw him on the blood-stained battlefield. He felt it in their hug. He also knew that she knew- he was the one both her and Steve had asked for help before Thanos. He was the one who swallowed his feelings for her and gave her a friendly shoulder to rest her head. "Thank you" Steve mouthed to her. She smiled, eyes covered in tears threatening to spill. "Go".And he was gone. Bucky gave her hand a gentle squeeze and she turned to face him. Unknown him, she had become aware of his feelings. And her own, slowly but steadily. "A soul that carries empathy is a soul which has survived enormous pain" she softly whispered as if she didn't want to be heard. He felt that she could read his mind. All those years ago, another Bucky had existed- one who flirted shamelessly with everyone. He had to get in touch with him if he wanted a chance with her, he thought, only to be proven wrong after a while. He just had to be himself. 

She had finally realized that Steve and her were exactly like the moon and the sun- and their time together was an eclipse, a breathtaking phenomenon, a glimpse of what it could have been. A moment. And that was okay. She regretted nothing. It was perfect in its imperfection.

She found herself knocking Bucky's door, not knowing why. All she wanted was to see the stars but somehow when she was greeted by sliver blue eyes, the stars seemed inefficient. He was the night, she thought.

"Can I stay here for a while?"... because I am scared when I am alone? He opened up his door to let her get inside because he knew the part of the sentence that left unsaid. His room was warm with a serene view of the night sky. He knew that she loved to gaze the stars, how she would always complain that the moon was a hypocrite. But not tonight. She felt gravitated towards him which made him blush, thankful for the darkness. To say that he hadn't wished for a moment with her, it would be a lie. He was pulled towards her like a magnet and in all honesty, he didn't want to leave far away and get over her.

"Can't sleep?" he asked her in a hushed tone as he laid to his bed, eyes watching her every move. She let a tired chuckle and sat down next to him. He pierced her eyes and she felt naked - and she didn't mind. It was okay for him to see her in all her doomed glory.

"Jay, its past midnight and I’ve pretty much thought of all the words hoping to find something that can remedy this... I can try but my vocabulary falls short when it comes to describing the matters of my heart. My heart. Not yours - mine. I could fill pages about the likes and dislikes of your heart. What makes you tremble what softens you up. I know you like the back of my hand. I know your anger and I know your vulnerability. Vulnerability…. what does that even mean? I guess it happens when you finally take the leap to open up to one who might not ever see you the same again. I guess that your weakness is not supposed to be a different form of feeling when it comes to me. And it isn't. I guess that attachments don’t exist between the two of us. But it does. And I guess, well I guess, that I love you a bit more each day and bit less on the days you choose to ignore me. No, wait, that's a lie. And I know that this is way too forward and yes, he was, is, your best friend, and my ex, which can be a bit awkward -  but you know what? He made a choice, but not before I do. I had already fallen for you and if it's weird -" he did not let her finish. The words coming from hee mouth were burning fires inside his head, for years now. His lips were ever so gently upon hers. It almost didn't feel like a kiss.

In the end, everyone wanted to be like Icarus, hoping to fly high and soar far. Nobody was satisfied with their standing and kept pushing their limits. And that was human...  full of life, blinded, arrogant, wonderful... always falling in the end. But not every fall hurts. She landed softly on his lips, her hands caressing his face and his were holding her tight as if she was a dream and he would soon wake up.

He was the stars and she was the moon. Finally, it worked.

'From stars we came, to stars we'll return and in the middle is all we are'

[invertedeidolon]

The Longest Library #3: Griffin & Sabine by Nick Bantock (Or, Eidolon again talks way too much about previous relationships, also, pretty art!)

(This is a series in which I attempt to read and review all (or most of) my library of 297 books.)

Rundown: Postcard artist Griffin Moss gets a weird letter from a weird lady who can apparently see what he's drawing telepathically. They form an ill concieved bond over it. The story is told in colorful postcards and envelopes you can open and then read the mysterious things inside. 4.5/5 for calling me THE FUCK OUT and having some BOMB ASS ART.

I can't give it a full 5 because not everyone is going to have that experience when they read this. It's just going to look very strange and floaty and things won't make very much sense. This book hits close to home with me because it heavily echoes (more like yells about) my first long distance relationship. I'm not really able to see this book through any other lens, so that's what my commentary is mostly about.

So for the part that ISN'T about that stuff though: The art is amazing. Even though it's made by one person technically, both fictional artists have their own, distinct style. Let's be real: The art and the interactivity is the main draw of this book. There are envelopes inside with letters carrying a myriad of little details: Griffin uses a typewriter for his long-form letters, and bits where he's crossed out typos or added in letters with pen, or that Sabine's correspondence is something I now recognize as someone who uses quills or manual dip pens. The inconsistency in the color of her writings suggests she's using a homemade ink, brownish in color, slightly too watery. Maybe it's even watered down watercolor and not even ink at all. They've also made the background of her letters and cards a rich dark gray, while Griffin's is a clean, sterile white.

"Will you explain to me about those geometric paintings you did at Art college? I want to understand their hidden language of color and shape. It's so alien to me."

So this is about the fourth time I'm reading this book since I first got it, and now that I have to write about it, I'm noticing so many more details. Here the line "It's so alien to me."is written in smaller, slightly more rounded letters. The ink is much darker here too, suggesting she wrote this slowly, thoughtfully. What a detail!

Anyway that's it for the objective bits of the book, the rest is entirely subjective from here on out.

"The phenomenon that links us has taught me much about you, yet I am ignorant of your history."

My years and years of suffering emotional abuse set me up to be able to read and predict what was going on in your head perfectly, as well as respond in the most helpful ways with eerie precision, yet I am ignorant of your history, and who you really are (because you use such obtuse floaty language and metaphor. Who were you really? Suffering, but that's about all I could tell.)

"Why doesn't this alarm me as much as it should?"

Because we're already "in". And I "feel safe" to you because I've been trained to be the least offensive, most placating being in the universe. If I could build a business model on conversational comfort, if I could sell my goddamn empathy like the capitalist machine really wants me to, *I'd be so rich*. It would be like, a step down from therapist. Anybody want a virtual friend for like an hour? Gimme 20 and we can watch stupid videos or I can calmly talk you through bread making. It's okay, you can cry. GOD PLEASE LET ME JUST SELL MYSELF SAFELY, I WAS MADE FOR THIS GODDAMNIT.

"I want to hear everything. Write in detail. Tell me all about yourself. I demand to know - please."

This is like fucking CRACK to those with a suppressed self. An unwitnessed self. "Someone who's interested in ME, and won't yell at, ignore, or dismiss me for talking! Holy fuck I love you!"

"Finally I knew who you were. I counselled myself to be cautious and find out what you were like before revealing myself fully."

Sabine at this point is to the reader who I was to Him. A weird mythical creature, the non-human monster of your lonely adolescent imaginings, who is intimately aware of your secrets, "I've been watching you" it says before introducing you to a wondrous world free of the pains of living, where you actually feel loved and all is well forever and ever. Except I wasn't as inhuman as I wished to be.

"Occasionally I'd come home to a re-enactment of The Battle of Britain in the front room. [...] My entrance would make no difference to their dogfight, but when one of them accidentally (and inevitably) knocked over a pile of books, they'd stop instantly and unite to examine the extent of the damage."

The whole 'making light of a not-great home life because it was your normal for so long that you still haven't learned that you need to be horrified about it' thing. As well as passing it off as something funny. Thankfully this character's parents (SPOILER?) get literally run over by a truck and he gets sent to live with his mom's step sister who is really good and lets him ditch school to become a potter's apprentice and eventually go to art college. He never really deals with the grief when the step sister dies, OBVIOUSLY.

"And hearing that my existence eased your pain made my heart race. We have found one another, and I give thanks."

Hearing that my existence wasn't going to be punished but instead, made someone happy? Fucking HEROIN. Downplay it a little with grateful gentleness, I don't want to be punished for being presumptuous or for seeming like I like it too much. If I like things too much they get destroyed, hard.

"My kinsmen are responsive to me - but there is no one to reach my heart, and you who are so far away, have been closer to me than any man on the Islands."

This is something I remember. So far all they've done is shared eachother's life stories and gushed about how close they feel now. She (like my past self), has confused the feeling of 'finally, a witness! they're witnessing me! I've been Seen!' with the feeling of attachment. Of course she would feel infinitely more attached to this man. She's witnessed his most private moments as a creator for a good portion of her life. It's been a mainstay throughout her adolescence through adulthood, so of course an unwarranted sense of intimacy is going to be attached to this mysterious figure. The whole thing wrapped up in a dream like sense of mysticism.

"I remember your first erotic drawing; I was trembling from head to foot by the time you'd finished. Was that Sarah? No don't answer; I'm only teasing."

...Unless? (Man the implications hurt to think about. I REMEMBER THIS FEELING. This author has unintentionally called me out. I wonder how much of Sabine’s writing is actually calm, or if she’s reigning herself in almost constantly?)

"I was finding it hard to get over the idea of there being other men in your life when I reached the part in your letter about my erotic drawings. I stopped being jealous. We were lovers and I hadn't realized it. The drawings weren't of Sarah; they were of you."

ow ow ow ow ow ow JUST SAY IT ow ow ow ow, Also, I REALLY wanted her to be like 'bitch that looks nothing like me, what the fuck', but instead she's all like "So you've been making love to me ten thousand miles away - how tantalizing." URGH. TOO CLOSE, TOO FAST. DISENTANGLE YOURSELVES NOW. GRIFFIN GET HELP.

"I had failed to understand how unhappy you are. You cover up with jokes and a front of being self-contained. I'm worried for you."

EVEN SHE SEES IT, GET HELP.

"When you found me, I thought my loneliness had gone for good. I was kidding myself. I desperately desire your company. I haven't talked to anyone in three days. I was sure I was going to start seeing your pictures like you see mine. I've tried so hard. [...] How can I miss you this badly when we've never met?"

BECAUSE YOU MISS HUMAN CONTACT AND YOU DON'T HAVE ANY FAMILY LEFT YOU NERD, GET HELP. DON'T HANG IT ON ONE PERSON WHO IS TOO FAR AWAY TO HELP YOU IN THE WAY YOU NEED.

"Island magic works on island souls. You and I will heal eachother."

ANTIDEPRESSANTS MAYBE UUUUGGGGHHHHH

"I've started to hate this city, this country, all these stupid fucking people [...] I finally snapped. [...] I want to know what you look like."

*HEAVILY RECOILS*

"Why, my kindred spirit, are you prepared to settle for a postcard of my face? If you wish to see me, why not come here? What is there to stop you - you're clearly unhappy where you are. Come."

Yes. I offered and I offered and I offered. What's to stop you from just fucking TALKING TO ME instead of DISAPPEARING OVER AND OVER AGAIN. and then COMPLAINING THAT YOU'RE SO HURT AND LONELY. I'M LONELY TOO. WHEN I HAD THE MONEY YOU DIDN’T TAKE MY OFFER FOR ME TO COME SEE YOU, SO WHAT THE FUCK IS UP KYLE?

"Foolish man. You cannot turn me into a phantom because you are frightened."

This kind of sentiment is what lead to the breakup. This feeling of being large, and dark, and slighted. Being real and supernatural. Make your choice. Say REAL words instead of just flagellating yourself. Do I exist to you?

"If you will not join me, then I will come to you."

Unfortunately, Sabine has what I definitely did not: Mobility, the ability to make things real. She had a job and money and her own life and the ability to travel. I had a shitty little shared room in my parent's house where I spent most of the time partially starved and dodging devils in one form or another. Many many times I wanted to spontaneously show up and give him the closeness that he needed. But I couldn't. And he wouldn't take my words. He wouldn’t take me.

3 down, 294 to go.

[healthylifes]

How To Crate Train A Puppy | Brain Training for Dogs Review | Ultimate Guide

How To Crate Train A Puppy, First, reject the highly motivated belief that dogs or cats feel like crates because they are rejecting animals. You may have noticed that dogs receive conflicting articles or have different feelings about experiencing crates.

So what are crates? Handbook of Applied Dog Behavior and Training, Steven R. According to Lindsay's adaptation and learning, Crete is not a house or a den, but more properly a "place of restraint." If the crates were too natural, the dogs would be lured like magnets.

Your home is also their home, but they need to learn how to respect that freedom. I am going to teach you

how to train a dog and how to nurture a mate in your own dog room.

Crate training helps keep your dog calm, submissive and prevents all unwanted behaviors that can inspire so much freedom - I call it chaos. By placing your dog in a crate, you limit his access to his home until he realizes that his crate is his own space, but the rest of the house is designated as his alpha location. Consideration will be given to most dogs when you introduce a crate. Positive associations are needed. They learn to adapt to these places for captivity, just as they learn to adapt to leashes and collars and often find them voluntarily when they want to be comfortable and run with it (dogs also need a place).

Crate training is a big step towards mutual understanding between you and your dog. The process lays a strong foundation for further compliance training. However, if done incorrectly, your dog may suffer from loneliness or loneliness discomfort.

This article will show you how to properly train a dog and is the next step towards advanced obedience training and mental stimulation.

"Click Here To Learn More About Obedience Training And Tapping Into Your Dog’s Hidden Intelligence From A CPDT-KA Certified Dog Trainer"

Crate Training 

Today's dogs suffer from a lack of mental stimulation as a result of poor nutrition. The resulting increase in levels of anxiety - which can manifest itself in the form of barking, crying, hypersensitivity activities or drooling - leads to numerous physical and behavioral problems.

Crate training is the most obvious way to reduce this problem. Once you condition your dog to be quiet inside his crate, he begins to associate it with safety and peace. This process creates neural pathways in their brains that make Crete a predictable pattern related to peace. According to behavioral scientists, this predictable route has a huge impact on behavior and general well-being levels in most dogs.

IDEAL CRATE SIZE

The crate should be large enough to be able to stand, sleep, spread its legs and move around comfortably. This is very important in the beginning because if the crate is too big, it will use one end as its play area or sleeping area and then the other end as its bag area (when it hangs). Gives crate). Keep this crate small, push it to keep it nice and clean. This can prevent any issues with the bathroom that he has (a quick home training hack). While there are other ways to train your dog, this is a very comfortable transition, primarily requiring you to get your dog out of its crate at appropriate intervals to use the toilet. This way, your dog will choose very easily and conceptually what he expects to pursue the business. Also make sure the crate is adequately ventilated.

THE TRAINING PROCESS

Crate training can take days or weeks depending on your dog's age, experience and other factors. The key to success is consistency (and lots of behavior and positive reinforcement!).Be patient with your dog. Take comfort in knowing that if you implement a simple training and mental stimulation program from this article, you will be able to train your dog as quickly as you want to cover your chin or hold the TV remote. To perform simple tasks.

"Click Here To Learn More About Obedience Training And Tapping Into Your Dog’s Hidden Intelligence From A CPDT-KA Certified Dog Trainer"

So let's get started

STEP 1 Introduce Your Dog To The Crate

Place the crate somewhere where you spend most of your time, such as in the living room, and leave the door open; Let your dog explore the crate without any interference. Some dogs are naturally curious and sleep in crates. Once your dog is well acquainted with the crate, then you can intervene.

Bring him closer to Crate and talk to him in a happy, calm voice. Be very honest while doing this. Dogs are strange animals with strange abilities - a highly elevated form of empathy that can give them a definite experience of your energy. Close the crate door or remove it so that it does not hit your dog and scare him.

Encourage him to enter the crate by placing small high value items (such as meat) near the entrance to the crate, then inside the door and finally behind the crate. If it doesn’t get out of the way already, fine; Don't force him to enter. Repeat this process until it can run quietly in the crate for treatment. This step may take a few minutes or a few days, but remember that patience is the key.

* Quick note: Whenever you catch him going to the crate, treat him and appreciate him. Tell him the behavior you want.

STEP 2 All Good Things Happen In The Crate

For your dog, Crate should be the place where all dreams come true. You need to make a positive connection between Crete and the things that make her happy.

To start this, give him his meal in the crate. If still feeling nervous about inserting the crate, repeat step 1, or place the bowl near the entrance. Slowly move it into the crate until it has no problem eating from the back of the crate.

When your dog eats from the back of the crate in complete comfort and confidence, you can slowly close the crate door. For the first time, open the door with as much thought as can be done with her meal. With each subsequent meal, keep the door closed for a few minutes. If he starts to cry, you will have extended the duration of the crate very quickly. Make sure the change is subtle. Time is purely subjective, so understand its body language and act at its pace. Do this until it stays in the crate quietly for at least 10 minutes after it is done.

Now that this is believed to be on his journey, he is beginning to understand what “power” Crete has. This is the hard part.

Try to keep it in the crate for a slightly longer period, and if it starts to cry or cry, don’t stop until it does. If you give up, he believes the way out of Crate is to cry a little, and he believes he will continue to do the same.

* Quick note: This is an important part of his training, and to avoid developing bad habits, everything needs to be done through the book.

STEP 3 Crank-Up The Crate Duration

At this point, your dog should now be comfortable eating crates. When you serve his bowl in his crate, he should show no signs of fear, anxiety or hesitation.

Stand next to the crate and call your dog and treat him when he comes to you.

Use short line commands, such as "crate" or "kennel", to jump to the crate. Show the inside of the crate with a handful of things to eat.

If your dog enters the crate, appreciate it and treat it. If he eats a few things behind Crate, and then when he goes to pick them up, wait for him to come out. Now, repeat the previous step. With the same handheld behavior, try pointing inwards using the same short line command. Do this until you can go to the crate to say "kennel" or "crate" or whatever word you use.

After inserting the crate at your command, and you treated him and appreciated him, closed the door.

Sit quietly with your back in front of the crate for about 3 to 10 minutes and then move slowly and without looking at your dog and go to another room. Remember, don’t react when it whines. Wait for her to pause and then move on to the next stage of training.

Spend about 3 to 5 minutes in another room, and then return to the crate. You sit next to him slowly as before. After 2-5 minutes, take it out. * Quick note: Don’t get excited when it comes out of his crate as it will encourage him to stay out. Be completely neutral, and if you want to treat it, treat the back of the crate and then let's leave the crate door open (NEUTRAL) All good things happen in the crate. (Remember, it is very important not to give any feedback when the crate crawls during the training process. Wait for it to stop and move on to the next step.)

Repeat this process several times a day, and gradually increase both crate duration when you are sitting next to it and when you are moving to another room.

At the beginning of long-term training, make sure that the crate does not contain any absorbent material, be it towels or blankets or stuffed animals. Many dogs go to their bed or bathroom for their packed toys and push them to the shore. Dogs are relatively clean animals; They don’t like to sleep in their dirt, so it’s good that they can shore up their dirt. Once your dog understands the rules, give your crate more comfort with blankets, toys, etc.

"Click Here To Learn More About Obedience Training And Tapping Into Your Dog’s Hidden Intelligence From A CPDT-KA Certified Dog Trainer"

STEP 4: Distance & Duration

Once your dog stays quietly in the crate with you for about 30 minutes in another room, you can start pausing when he goes for a short period. You can start adding additional elements to the training:

Keep your dog in crates using your regular short line command and treatment. Leave it with a chew toy or a safe toy for fun. If your dog has been practiced and performs well with the first phases of training, it should be a natural and easy progression.

At this point, you need to present more realistic scenarios for the crate training process. You will need to be a little unexpected to separate the period between your dog’s popping and leaving the house. You can keep it in a crate for 3 to 20 minutes before leaving.

When exiting, avoid prolonged emotional interactions with your dog - compliment them briefly for entering the crate and then depart peacefully.

When you return home, be neutral. Your dog will be restless and extremely excited (as you would, but hide it).

Don’t reciprocate his enthusiastic behavior by responding enthusiastically. Let everything go down This will stabilize its levels of discomfort, which is associated with your withdrawal. (Don't worry. Cold-shoulder treatment is a small part of training, but it is necessary.) To prevent your dog from being left alone in a negative way, puncture it periodically. Home.

STEP 5: Finally, Night-Time!

This is where you finally get all the fruits of your hard work - peace and quiet.

At the beginning of the night crate training, keep the crate in your bedroom or in a nearby hallway. This is done so that your dog does not negatively associate Crate with social isolation.

For the first two-three nights, reduce the amount of water your dog needs at a certain time so that there are no problems in the bathroom. (Say, 8 starters for starters. Choose any time that works for your dog.)

Call your dog to the crate using the usual short line command. Remember, no sudden reactions or prolonged emotional interactions. Keep it simple and subtle.

Go to your room and go to sleep. Ignore Rona. If he makes a constant noise and you can hear him scratching against his crate, this is a very good sign that he needs to use the bathroom.

Once your dog sleeps comfortably during the night with the crate closest to you, start moving it slowly towards your desired location (preferably close to the exit somewhere. This way, they instinctively go out to use the bathroom when the crate is opened).

However, keep in mind that the time period spent with your dog is an opportunity to strengthen your bond.

Some people don’t like to restrain their dogs at night. In such cases, the dogs have to understand the rules. They are crate-trained and then home-trained. If you like sleeping next to your dog, learn to interact with him first, and then stimulate his brain to learn commands quickly.

"Click Here To Learn More About Obedience Training And Tapping Into Your Dog’s Hidden Intelligence From A CPDT-KA Certified Dog Trainer"

Strip Them Then Crate Them

All dogs - and especially those still accustomed to their crates - must have their harnesses and / or collars removed before being left alone in their crates. Stripes, harnesses, collars and swinging IDs can be easily caught on the crate door and between the crate bars, which is a big and otherwise avoidable risk.

What The Crate Is And Isn’t

Your dog’s crate is not in his prison or cage, but his room is in the house you shared. After adequate training, they need no treatment or special attention to know that Crete is their little dog paradise. The positive organization you have worked so hard to create will now work for you.

Crates should not be used for extended periods. This is an efficient management tool, but don't make the mistake of making it a babysitter when your parents are out. Think of it as a cradle or game; We go through some similar stages with infants. If your dog is spending time in the crate, you need to make sure that the constructive use of mental stimulation and physical exercise does not develop any disorders that you are coping with. * Quick note: If you have a tight schedule, rent your pet a sitter or take your dog to a daycare facility to reduce the time spent in your crate. Hold your dog in place until you can be sure that you will not be able to side with him when you step out of the house. After that, Crate should be the place he voluntarily wants.

Puppies younger than six months should not be more than 4 hours at a time. They can no longer control their bladder and intestines. The same is true for adult dogs. Physically, a big dog can catch it, but they don’t know what they’re going to do.

Crate is not a place for expiration. Don’t use it to punish your dog or when you’re mad at him. It just teaches him to be afraid and hate spending time in the basket (negative union). Remember, you know you were offended before you said it. If Your Dog's Behavior Is Not Pleasing To You, How To Control This Negative Energy Rage.

"Click Here To Learn More About Obedience Training And Tapping Into Your Dog’s Hidden Intelligence From A CPDT-KA Certified Dog Trainer"

What You Need To Do Next

Congratulations on learning how to train a dog. You’ve come too far, so you can go all the way. You have discovered the basic principle behind training your dog to be obedient. The next step is to tap your dog's intelligence and teach him how to do simple tasks.

To learn more about tapping your dog's hidden intelligence, click on the link below

"Click Here To Learn More About Obedience Training And Tapping Into Your Dog’s Hidden Intelligence From A CPDT-KA Certified Dog Trainer"

[cyniciism]

´   ･   .   ✶   ⧼    manny   montana,   cis   male,   he   &   him   /   bury   me   face   down   by   grandson   +   a   grubby,   faded   duffel   bag   always   packed   to   capacity   ;   ready   to   be   picked   up   and   slung   over   a   shoulder   padded   in   worn   leather   at   a   moments   notice.   the   slow   build   of   white   hot   anger,   the   itch   in   clenched   fists   with   already   bloodied   knuckles   to   lash   out,   to   do   more   damage,   to   destroy   whatever   is   within   reach.   broken   windows   and   filthy   rooms   and   a   sinking couch   that   has   been   slept   on   one   too   many   times,   bed   clothes   still   knotted   on   its   frame   and   vodka   bottles   half   empty   on   the   mismatched   side   table    ⧽   ━━   don’t   look   now,   but   that’s   CRISTIAN   RAMIRO   DE   LA   CRUZ.   the   THIRTY   year   old   HUMAN   has   been   here   in   seattle   for   his   whole   life,   and   is   a   DETECTIVE   &   LOCAL   YOUTH   GROUP   LEADER.   they’ve   always   been   STAUNCH   &   VALOROUS,   but   i   guess   this   town   just   brings   out   the   worst   in people   ;   apparently,   they’ve   been   way   more   BELLICOSE   &   INJUDICIOUS   than   usual.   it   wouldn’t   surprise   me   if   they   knew   what   was   going   on.   you   can   check   out   his   stat   page   HERE   and   his   pinterest   HERE.

ALL   ALONE   /   whether   you   LIKE   IT   or   not,                alone   will   be   (   something   )   you’ll   be   quite   A   LOT.

SECTION ONE OF THREE : BULLET POINT HISTORY trigger warnings for talk of chronic ill health, prison, sociopathy, serial killers

anyone who knows cristian’s birth mother, mariana de la cruz, can agree on at least one thing - whether she SHOULD have or not, she ALWAYS say the best in people. it probably had something to do with how little about people she actually KNEW. ana was born, it seemed, to suffer ; she spent her whole life SICK, all of her time either in hospital, or AT HOME. she was BEYOND sheltered, and she had very few friends because of it. her kindness could only get her so far in life when she was so SEPARATED from it.

she started to write to CONVICTS in her late teens. it was a decision made out of loneliness, and she figured that was a feeling that the people she wrote to could RELATE to. as heinous as some of their crimes were, ana continued to feel EMPATHY for them. if she had just a few more critical thinking skills, maybe she wouldn’t have fallen in LOVE. he was a sociopath, and a homicidal sadist. he was a SERIAL killer. he was SERVING consecutive life sentences. and still, she got on his visitation list. STILL, five years after they initially began to exchange letters, she obtained a marriage license. and two years after that, cristian ramiro de la cruz, mariana and her locked up love’s child, came into the world.

back when he was just a BABY, of course he visited the prison with his mother ; they would make the trek together once every six months, as this was about as much as she could MANAGE. his mother thought that he was their MIRACLE, and at that, believed wholeheartedly that his father LOVED them BOTH. when he got old enough for conscious thought, he’d REFUSE, point blank. his mother was blind to the type of man that his father was, but cristian’s defining memory is from when he was SIX YEARS OLD, and he was gazing back at his father through the bars of their visitation room. there was no love, in those eyes - eyes they SHARED, and that he would HATE, later on. there was nothing in his expression, that even IMPLIED a hint of care. mariana was delusional, but cristian could SEE what she couldn’t. he would kick up a fuss ever after as his mother prepared to leave, and though it broke her heart - and her visions of a HAPPY FAMILY - she would leave him with a RELATIVE.

outside of this delusion she had, however, mariana was the best mother that he could have ever WANTED. she was the sweetest and most gentle soul ; she loved him with a real FEROCITY, this baby she had never thought she would have, and she was WICKEDLY over protective of him. mariana didn’t LOVE that cristian had to grow up quickly, because of her health. it didn’t make her happy to have a son that could cook for them both when she was simply too weak, or that knew her exact medication dosages off the top of his head, or who had been taught how to place her into the recovery position should the WORST ever happen. he should have gotten to be a KID, and he didn’t, because of her. it HURT, more than anything, and it was probably why the fact he wanted nothing to do with his FATHER pained her so ; they shared EVERYTHING, in their home. they experienced everything, together. and the one thing that cristian couldn’t do was love the man he knew was a MONSTER.

when he was ten years old, his mother collapsed the day before one such visitation. he found her at the bottom of the stairs, and he called 911 from her PHONE as he had been taught to. it wasn’t the first time that his mother had been to the hospital, over his childhood, but it was the first time that he didn’t leave with her. it was decided that mariana was no longer in position to take care of cristian, or herself. she was better off in assisted living, and he would do better in care.

it didn’t take LONG for him to be taken in, and his ‘new parents’... were good substitutes, for the one’s he didn’t have, though he told his adoptive mother more times than he could count that she would never replace his REAL mother. neither of them wanted to, and they won his respect very early on for how they approached DEALING with him. they were there, when he needed someone, and theynever hesitated to help him, when it was required. but they brought him to visit his birth mother once a week, and when he was old enough, he was allowed to go and see mariana ALONE. they helped him buy presents for her, they didn’t STOP him from leaving school early, when his mother’s health seemed to have dipped. they didn’t control him or attempt to take a place they had no right to, and so, cristian grew out of his grudge. it was as easy as that.

and what was more, as he got older and started to go through puberty - they stuck by him, even when he ACTED OUT. cristian had a huge capacity for ANGER - and when he lost his head, he would… break things, over yelling. they never lost their heads with him. they always spoke CALMLY, even after he had punched a hole into his wall, or shattered his mirror. and when he asked, they didn’t HESITATE in sending him to counseling ; something HE recognized he needed, all on his own, as he reached his sixteenth birthday and realized that his BIGGEST fear was being his FATHER, and he was very quickly turning into him.

cristian decided to become a DETECTIVE because he didn’t want to be the kind of MONSTER that his father was. he wanted to be LAW ABIDING in every way - almost to prove to himself, to his father, to EVERYONE who had ever known him, that the blood that ran through his veins wasn’t EVIL. he signed on as team leader for a local group for troubled youth, recently, because he had been there. he had been angry. he had lashed out. he had made BAD CHOICES in his teens that he was lucky hadn’t come back to BITE him. but he’d gotten past it, for the most part, and he wanted to help OTHERS. that’s all he’s been trying to do.

SECTION TWO OF THREE : HEADCANONS trigger warning for mention of cancer

mariana is still alive today, and cris visits her once a fortnight. he still brings her a bouquet of flowers every time, though the gifts he gives are ever changing ; she goes through periods, and right now, she’s enjoying an embroidery hobby, so he brings her thread.

his FATHER, charles brandt, is ALSO still alive - though he TREATS him like he’s NOT. he was diagnosed a year ago with stomach cancer, and cristian’s mother has urged him almost every time he’s visited to do what she can’t, and VISIT. he’ll never want to upset her enough that he’ll tell her the only time he will is when he’s DEAD, but he certainly thinks it quite a bit.

the ONLY reason cristian hasn’t taken on his adoptive parents surname, by now, is equal parts feeling it insulting and because there’s a part of him that thinks doing so would be HIDING. he’s cristian de la cruz, and yes, he’s the son of a serial killer. it’s certainly SOMETHING, and perhaps he would have had an easier time in life at certain points if he wasn’t who he had been BORN. but he’s pretty stubborn, so, here we are.

morals wise, cristian is a GOOD GUY. in every other sense of the words, he probably… wouldn’t be classed as so. he’s pretty arrogant, and he has a fairly bad reputation in the police department because of his TENDENCY to kind of run with things, and charge ahead. they like to say he doesn’t THINK, and that’s why he makes ‘poor’ decisions - but cris is actually very conscious of everything that he does, and he’s very willing to… make the tough call, so to speak, so that no one else HAS to.

he’s still very hot headed. he still goes to counseling. he still fucks up, from time to time. it’s all very human.

SECTION THREE OF THREE : WANTED CONNECTIONS

you know the usual DRILL ! friends ( anything from best to passing ), enemies, hookups, exes, the very MOST. hit me up if you’re interested !

i’m going to send in wcs later but: 

his adoptive fam !

two half siblings via his serial killer dad !

cristian’s partner in the seattle police force

his oldest friend + current housemate

his enemy w benefits !

work friends , enemies , everything in btwn

his ex fiancé ( its super angsty )

the cotm who will eventually turn him

members of his group for troubled youth ! 

[minttoy]

Daylight

CHAPTER ONE

Summary: “She spent so much time counting her days. Finally, she sees her future clear as daylight.” - Linhardt helps Lysithea survive more than the war.

Pairings: Linhardt/Lysithea

Click here to read on FF.net.

Click here to read on AO3.

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At the war’s conclusion, Lysithea comes up with the idea to plant daffodils in the monastery greenhouse.

Nothing seems more suitable than the soft, yellow-petal flower meant to symbolize new beginnings. With Edelgard’s new reign, Fódlan is due for a drastic change, including an overhaul of crest-related policies and caste systems. Lysithea can note with some measure of gladness that the value of crests should fall, but more so that the war is finished. No longer will she pay the toll of using two crests in battle.

Admittedly, she never frequented the greenhouse much in her academy days. Most of her free time was spent cooped up in the old and dusty library, or learning new spells. Nowadays, there is little need to return to her studies. She should learn how to garden instead, or cook and bake. Her family will have little to spare due to restoration efforts anyway.

In the greenhouse, the keeper teaches her to pick apart the weeds and suckers from healthy sprouts. She learns how deep to plant her daffodil bulbs, and how to predict which ones will grow. For the first time in her life, she gets on her knees and digs into the dirt. Soil gathers at her fingernails despite wearing gloves, but she doesn’t mind much. They work away in silence, time ticking away unnoticed.

Before long, a knock resounds the room. She glances up to find the green-haired sleepy crest scholar standing at the doorway and stifling a yawn.

“Lysithea? When you have a chance to talk, I would like a moment of your time.”

He sounds tired, but she cannot recall a time when he’s not. Her eyes drop to the leather suitcase sitting at his feet before she tells the greenhouse keeper it’ll only be for a few minutes. She discards her gloves and gives her hands a wash. Linhardt waits patiently, and only pushes himself off the door when she beckons him to follow.

They make the short trek to her room. She leaves the door open because she knows this won’t take long.

He starts off with a sigh. “A while ago, I made a promise to show you the results of my research. It disappoints me so, but as of currently, I have yet to determine a conclusive way to remove your crests.”

Lysithea leans on her desk and looks at him earnestly, even though she expected as much. Wartime left them with little time to indulge in personal matters.

He shakes his head. “…While I am certain it is still possible, I require more time. For now, it remains a work in progress and for that, I am terribly sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she says, but as far as admonishments go, it’s a gentle one. “You’ve done more than enough. The fact that you went out of your way to research in the first place…well, I’m grateful. I should be thanking you.”

Her words offer little ease to his dissatisfaction, because in truth, Linhardt has always had strong convictions of his own – it just lies dormant behind a façade of laziness and apathy. He tries to prove he doesn’t care, but failure is not an option for him, and he’d be damned if he had to settle for it. In this case, he might have to, and it shows.

She attempts another tack to ease his mind. “Considering the state of the church, there will be little need for crests anyway. I’m certain Edelgard will make it so.”

He gleans nothing from it. “But what of your life? The war has reached its end and your days are still numbered. It hardly seems fair.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

The two of them reach a standstill and she stares at him for a bit, wondering what he’s thinking.

Lysithea doesn’t know how to counter that so she doesn’t. Eventually she shifts her focus.

“I just remembered. I have something for you,” she pipes up, turning to her pack. After some rummaging, she fishes out a small bag of twine. “…I suppose you can consider it a gift, or maybe just something to remember me by.” She offers the bag to him, and he accepts it easier than she expects. “Just a few daffodil bulbs. I know it’s not much, but I had some to spare.”

“Hmm, daffodils. How fitting,” he acknowledges, inspecting it briefly before pocketing it in his coat.

“I know you don’t like getting your hands dirty, but I figure someone else could plant them for you.”

He gets a small laugh out of that one, not offended in the slightest bit. “You know me too well, but know that I appreciate the gesture. I’m afraid I didn’t prepare anything for you in return.”

She shakes her head and dismisses his concern. In retrospect, they’ve come a long way since their academy days. A time when she would, quite literally, run and hide if they passed through the halls. He’d corner her and ask uncomfortable questions. She would fire back rudely, and tell him not to poke his nose where it doesn’t belong. He even tricked her into revealing her secrets in the first place. Empathy wasn’t his strong suit then, but he’s changed for the better.

“Are you leaving?” She gestures to the suitcase at his feet.

His expression sours into a childish pout. “Indeed. As much as I don’t want to return, my father has been summoning me back to the manor since the war ended. It’s rather troublesome, seeing as I’d much prefer to stay here with Professor Hanneman and continue my research.”

She offers a smile. “Maybe you could – one day.”

“Perhaps. In the meantime, I want to request something of you.”

More probing and inquiries. She braces herself out of habit.

“Please write to me every now and then,” he requests, surprising her a bit. “Forgive my bluntness, but your situation is rather…precarious. It would give me great relief to know you’ve made it home safe and sound. If you’re busy, I understand. You could send an empty page and it would suffice.”

She cannot tell if he’s joking. “Will you write back?”

“Well, of course. If I have a breakthrough, how will I let you know otherwise?”

She eyes him suspiciously, but lets it go. This could be the last she’ll see of him. Although she will never admit it out loud, she will miss him. As if coming to the same realization, he exhales deeply and then reaches for his bag.

“Goodbye, Lysithea.”

On his way out, he gently lifts her chin with a finger, tilts her face so she’s looking at him instead of the ground. He scours her features, as if committing them to memory, and then he lets go. Grievance lingers in his eyes as he leaves.

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To: Linhardt von Hevring

I write to inform you that I am home safe and sound, just as you asked.

Lysithea von Ordelia

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To: Lysithea von Ordelia

Thank you. Do take care of yourself.

Linhardt von Hevring

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She’s been home for nearly three months when Marianne pays her a visit. She stays for only four days, but Lysithea wishes it were longer. The nearest town is a three mile walk, which is a long way to go for social conversation. The house is also quiet, just the sounds of crackling fire and creaking floorboards. Even though she doesn’t consider her parents to be dull company, loneliness finds her fast.

Their yard hasn’t been tended to in years, so Lysithea takes it upon herself to remove the shrubs and greenery growing wild and unchecked. She trims them to proper size and weeds the grasses before they grow too large. It’s back-breaking work, she quickly learns, so Marianne’s offer to help is a welcome reprieve.

One day, they commit the long distance walk to town and return with flower and vegetable seeds in their baskets. Lysithea adds to her repertoire and plants more than just daffodils. Marianne teaches her what to do with the trimmed overgrowth – how to arrange bouquets with only shrubs and greens, or how to press petals and leaves onto sheets of parchment.

Once she leaves, Lysithea pens another letter to soothe her loneliness:  

To: Linhardt von Hevring

I understand it’s been a while. Things are going well at home with the exception of one thing: I’m terrible at baking. Rations are difficult to measure. I burned my last attempt at pastries. My dough does not rise enough in the warmer. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. We’ve let go of our kitchen staff to keep afloat, but I miss the cakes and sweets they served at the monastery every Friday.

On a more positive note, I’ve started gardening. With Marianne’s help, I’ve planted honeysuckle shrubs and lilies in our yard. At least that was a success.

Hope all is well with you.

Lysithea von Ordelia 

She slips her best pressed flower into the envelope and sends it off with the town courier.

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A package addressed to her name arrives one month later:

To: Lysithea von Ordelia

I will be honest and tell you my situation is rather troublesome. I’ve been forced to help with restoration efforts. As you can guess, I have no willpower to sort out bland paperwork, nor do I have the muscle to assist with repairs. I have argued as much, but reason seems to evade my father.

I have asked a gardener to plant your daffodils. I’ve also been sleeping to catch up on lost time. I have no advice to offer on baking, so feel free to find the answers to your questions in the cookbook I have sent.

Oh, and Edelgard stopped by. She hopes you are well and healthy.

Linhardt von Hevring

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To: Linhardt von Hevring

Sleeping, huh? Sounds like you. Don’t forget to eat as you sleep for two days straight. And please send Edelgard my regards when you see her next.

Lysithea von Ordelia 

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To: Lysithea

How inconvenient for both of you to make me your messenger. Why not write letters to each other instead? It’s really quite simple.

Linhardt 

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To: Linhardt

You can a stubborn pain sometimes, you know that?

Lysithea 

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To: Lysithea

Yes, I have been well-informed.

Linhardt 

She crumples the paper in her hands and rolls her eyes at his lackadaisical response. Linhardt is an intellectual, but comes off petty when he wants to be. And yet, in spite of it all, she also misses that part of him. Even after a year’s time, he crosses her mind every week, just to wonder what he’s doing, where he is, and how he’s coping with family affairs.

She mails her response a month later, and deposits it quick before she regrets it:

To: Linhardt

I miss you dearly. Although it is unlikely, I hope we see each other again.

Lysithea 

----------

She waits one month. Two months, and then three.

She gets nothing back. Perhaps the last letter was a mistake.

The town mayor approaches her one day and she forgets it temporarily. Her neighbours know she used to attend Garreg Mach Academy, but what they don’t know is that she helped end the fight against an immaculate demon with origins older than Fódlan itself. She doubts anyone would believe her. Regardless, she’s asked to eliminate the giant wolf beast prowling in the town outskirts.

She accepts the mission mainly for compensation, but she doesn’t expect the struggle that comes with it. She knew eventually how her powers would wane, but she didn’t expect it to happen so soon.

Her miasma comes out in short sprouts and small doses, her swarm is sluggish and her seraphim is difficult to conjure. It might be her lack of practice. In the war, she overused these things until it became second nature. It also didn’t hurt as much. Now, only one day of use and her palms burn, her wrists hurt and her blood pulses unnaturally. Her crests fight for dominance, and she’s lost control of both of them.

She stumbles home that night coughing up blood and sputum. Her body weak and trembling, her mind ravaged with head pains. She’s bedridden for a few days and she’ll lose the battle to her crests if she continues to fight. For now, she wards off magic use indefinitely.

----------

Lysithea is coming down the stairs and hefting a laundry basket higher on her hip when the front door rings. It’s the courier, she thinks, to bring in their daily mail and paper. Dropping her basket, she wipes her hands across her apron and opens the door to a halting shock. He’s definitely not the postman she was expecting.

“L-Linhardt?”

He smiles at her, too casual for her liking, and follows up with a lazy hand wave. “Morning, Lysithea.”

Her shock morphs into disbelief. She sneaks a quick glance into the living room, where her parents are sorting out paperwork, and she lowers her voice to a hissing whisper. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m here to resume my research, of course,” he says so nonchalantly, as if it’s obvious.

She makes a quiet, but exasperated noise. His aloofness is less than helpful. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He looks at her strange. “Oh. Is this the first time you’re hearing this? I thought I informed you, or perhaps I forgot.”

“You forgot?” she repeats after him, raising her voice a little.

He puts a hand to his chin and thinks back several months prior. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t put it past myself, and it does sound like something I would do…I suppose it would also explain your lack of response.”

Lysithea drops her face into one hand and drags it all the way down. “Linhardt, I haven’t heard from you in months.”

He sighs and puts on his most sincere expression. “How callous of me. Please accept my apologies. I’ve spent the last few months at the monastery actually. It’s kept me awfully busy, but I needed to pick up a few supplies and research material from Professor Hanneman’s office.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at home?”

“Oh, goodness no,” he says, repulsed by the thought of it. “I renounced my noble claim months ago. I’ve been released from duty, and figured I should try being a scholar instead. Clearly, I’m not fit to do much else, nor am I particularly interested.”

She bites her tongue and cools her rage. It occurs to her suddenly that he’s come to help her. She doesn’t even want to imagine what other sacrifices he’s made in order to be here.

“I will require your consent, of course,” he pipes up, sparking her curiosity. “As you know, my goal is to develop a safe process in which we can remove your crests, and for that I would also need your active participation.”

She figured as much. And while hesitation rings in her mind and heart – by now she’s already come to terms with her shortened lifespan – some part of her still clings on to hope, desperate and foolish as it might seem. Strange enough, it’s almost easier to be blissfully ignorant and think it impossible.

“Umm, I…” she starts, fingers worrying and fiddling with the ends of her sleeves. His gaze is patient and sincere, and the conviction written on his face makes her want to believe. She supposes she would be stupid to refuse. “…Okay.”

“Okay?” he echoes with uncertainty.

She nods once. “Okay. I consent.”

He smiles. “Wonderful. To be honest, if you had refused, I would find myself in a very awkward and unfortunate situation.”

She’s about to dig in and ask what exactly prompted him to come all this way – goddess knows Linhardt is rarely motivated by anything – when the sound of footsteps draw near.

“Lysithea, dear? Who are you speaking to?”

Her mother enters the room and Lysithea prepares for the inevitable. Linhardt shoots her a look, silently asking if she prefers to make the introduction. She would, of course, because knowing him, he would go about it in the most nonchalant way possible, as if liberating someone from a cruel fate is no big deal.

----------

He’s invited for dinner that night.

As she helps with meal preparation, Lysithea quickly cuts and shoots down any suspicion that he’s seeking courtship. He is here for research and requires her help. They are nothing more than former classmates. They also don’t need to house him, seeing as he’s already made his own accommodations at the town inn.

Linhardt arrives at approximately sunset, dressed in warmer robes. As he parks his horse at the front, she observes him more carefully. His hair is tied half-up and half-down, but it’s wavy and loose now. On the other hand, his features are still as delicate and pretty as she remembers. He seems relatively optimistic, but she holds on to her doubts.

Unfortunately, the dinner doesn’t go as well as she hopes.

The two of them do their best to explain the nature of their relationship. He explains his desire to help her, and then proceeds tells them in the most humanizing way possible that she is his subject. Lysithea observes carefully, and finds a growing fear and apprehension hidden in her parents’ eyes; all of this is sounding an awful lot like the initial experimentations. She knows it’s not his fault, but the mere notion of crests and blood and transfusions can trigger the horrific experiences.

To spare them the atrocious memories, she puts a hand on Linhardt’s knee and stops him from explaining the process any further. It might not even help, because the damage is already done and the conversation has taken a turn. The atmosphere is tense and almost unbearable. For a split second, she wonders if she is foolish to hope.

She changes the topic then, going back to happier memories untouched by war. Their favourite professors, classes and days at the academy. None of it helps their cause, but she does it anyway.

When the sun sets, Linhardt thanks them for dinner and politely excuses himself, explaining he should return to the inn before the night turns pitch black. Lysithea throws on a coat and follows after him, if only to escape the stiff atmosphere lingering in their dining room.

“I’m sorry if I made a poor impression,” he says with sincerity.

She watches idly as he prepares his horse, her mind heavy and deep in thought. “It’s not your fault. I should have saw it coming. My parents…well, let’s just say the world hasn’t given them much reason to be hopeful.”

He raises a brow at her words. “That would explain their skepticism.”

She sighs and nods in agreement. “Don’t be discouraged by it.”

Linhardt just shakes his head. “Of course not. All the more reason to remove your crests, actually. That’s how I see it, at least.”

She focuses on the dirt ground, wondering if he’s oblivious to the confusion that clouds her mind when he says things like that. After a while, he pats the mare and deems her ready to go.

He must be tired, having travelled from Garreg Mach to Ordelia territory the past few days, so she doesn’t keep him for long. Knowing Linhardt, he needs as much sleep as he can get. Before he leaves, he plants a kiss on her cheek – his own way of telling her to keep faith.

Suddenly there’s a knot in her chest she can’t quite explain.

“For now, I only ask that you trust me,” he says softly.

Her expression softens and loses its edges. “Okay.”

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