#when you adult more than a parent and it oscillates out of control

[catboybiologist]

Holy fuck this got long.

@glorhatransgal asked about my "queer timeline", and I'm making a separate post for reblog control. Feel free to engage in the replies or my DMs, though! I'm a pretty open book, except some stuff I would rather leave to DMs.

The tl;Dr is that I think I knew from the time I started puberty, but I had a weird commitment to suppression and misery. I've only managed to tackle that feeling in the past year or so, and I still need to socially transition.

Long long thing under the cut with mental health CWs!!!!!

I'm pretty sure the first awareness I had of queerness was when California proposition 8 was a thing, in the 2008 election. I was ~10 or 11 at the time, and asked my mom what the big deal with letting two men marry was. She explained a bit, explained that "you'll like girls when you get older but you shouldn't judge what other people do" and then emphasized that I shouldn't really ever worry about dating or relationships ever because I should focus on school.

That was a HUGE underlying theme, not just from my parents, but from the area I grew up in overall. Very high academic pressure just kinda.... Oozed out of everywhere, without any one specific parent or teacher particularly overemphasizing it (with notable exceptions). This came up a lot, and made me feel stupid or vain for engaging in any other aspects of my personality, including queerness.

I remember having some semblance of trans thoughts back in Middle School, without ever learning what trans people are explicitly. None of the adults in my life wanted to discuss the subject, mostly brushing it off as "it's something other people do and you shouldn't judge them". Very little explicit hate, to be fair, which is good. But a lot of changing the subject. So to me, it felt like basic vanity- eg, a shallow desire to be "pretty" that everyone had, of course, that I just needed to get rid of to focus on academics.

And of course, on top of that, I was more tech literate than the average kid. So my head was stuffed with the.... Unique.... Perspective on queerness, particularly trans people, provided by the unrestricted wilderness of the 2009-2016 internet. Since no adult in my life would really address it, it gave me a lot of really bad perspectives on the whole thing.

I'm not quite sure when bisexuality entered the picture, but I called myself "straight with exceptions" from the ages of 14 to 21 at least. My earliest clear memory of being attracted to a man was when I saw Aragorn in LotR for the first time (can you blame me?). If you want to make fun of my little nerd ass more, my first distinct attraction to a woman was probably Padme's midriff outfit in Attack of the Clones. Again, since my head was stuffed with weird ideas of queerness, gayness was often portrayed as a disgust or lack of attraction to women. I didn't have that, so I couldn't be queer, right? "Straight with an asterisk" it was.

Dysphoria kinda crackled in the background and grew as I went through puberty. The way I've described it is that my "resting state" was never happy pre-HRT. I could easily make myself happy and distract from it, but I didn't "come home" to a good feeling. Not an overwhelming feeling, not a suicidal one, but just being miserable in the background if there wasn't something to make me happy.

So when I hit a wall with my mental health in high school, it ended very poorly. I was in mostly advanced programs until then, but couldn't keep up due to things I *now* realize were ADHD symptoms. I had ongoing physical health problems that meant orthopedic surgeries, multiple extended times on crutches, limping around a lot, and ongoing pain and lack of physical ability that most people couldn't see, making me feel hopeless about my body and future. Add in a nice little dysphoria bundle in the background of all of that…and yeah. That's the self harm and suicidal period of my life. I was very weird in high school, oscillating between AP classes and almost failing out. I was also really just... Nasty to a lot of people around me, as a shield for how miserable I was. So uh, if you knew me in high school and stumble across this somehow... I am truly sorry. But I made it through, mostly through the patience and good graces of friends and teachers.

Anyways. I'm on a tangent.

Undergrad wasn't that memorable for my queerness- I lived at home while attending a local state college, and dated one cis girl for about a year there. Years later she told me that she realized she's bi, so that was kinda validating. I dove a lot into a academics, research, and volunteering to distract myself, and was academically successful.

I was asked out by a gay guy at one point in undergrad. He was someone who I had talked about my uncertain sexuality with and helped me work towards calling myself bi. When he asked me out, I got a bad vibe, and told him I actually thought I was straight. He was later arrested for rape. So uh... Bullet dodged? After his arrest, I started openly calling myself bisexual, but didn't really do anything with it- no dating and no community. It was a long time coming by that point, and the experience made me realize that I didn't have to be attracted to *all* men to say I'm attracted to men. After all, I wasn't attracted to all women either.

I graduated from undergrad in 2020 and stayed at the same uni for my MS. And this is where we enter "how much do I say" territory. My MS was instrumental in figuring out my transness, but was also a fucked up ongoing situation that involves several other people's dirty laundry that I don't necessarily want to air. I can talk a bit more about this in DMs if I know you and trust you, I guess. Sorry OP. So uuuhhh... Let's just say that I was extremely miserable and living mostly alone, so in the Fall of 2020, I ordered my first skirt to try and alleviate that background misery. I called myself a femboy as a last ditch effort to “just be a feminine man”. It was a key part of figuring myself out, though, and I loved the online community I made that way. About a year afterwards, I was having a shit time, and started the CatboyBiologist account on reddit to distract myself from it. I worked more and more from home, and would dress up as a "femboy" as I did.

I graduated from my MS in 2022 in a miserable state, probably worse than I was even as a teen. But it made me realize three things: one, some kind of mental illness made it really easy for my life to derail, two, my dysphoria made it such that *when* my life derailed, I had nothing to be happy about, and three, my weird standards growing up gave me the subconscious sense that I HAVE to be miserable, otherwise I'm not "accomplished" or whatever.

That's kind of the theme of my queer experience. I always knew it was there, but I excused it as "stupid" or just ignored it because I thought everyone was supposed to be miserable by default.

When I entered my PhD, I made a promise to myself to get rid of my weird connection to misery, and actually work on the first two. I joined a grad student queer group and started therapy almost immediately. At first the focus of therapy was essentially immediate trauma support. Slowly, however, I was able to tackle the underlying issues in therapy. I also brought my "femboy" fits to events organized by that queer org, and social events with the friends I made there. I fully engaged in my bisexuality and had a hot girl summer last year, dating men, women, and enbies for the first time since my undergrad GF.

Oh, and btw. Being a feminine man gets you laid. I'm sorry, it's just how it is. Take notes, alpha males, and put on the fucking dress.

With that support, I finally started HRT in August of last year, at the age of 25. I'm still a mix of boymode and girlmode- I girlmode around queer friends, and boymode most of the time otherwise. I've also told several people that I'm transitioning, but just to treat me as a man for now and wait for me to come out more publicly. My plan is to take a hiatus from my PhD this summer, and use that to travel and socially transition. So that's my upcoming landmark experience.

Up until this past month or so, I was the happiest I've ever been. Some out of the blue bad things happened this January. But I realized something- for the first time ever, bad shit happened in my life, and I didn't derail. I was sad. I cried. I was frustrated. I yelled. I had dynamic emotions and handled it. That's never happened before.

Obviously it's always an ongoing process, and it's linked to so many details of my life that it's really hard to say things about “just my queer experience” but uh yeah. Idk if anyone read all that and I'm taking multiple passes to trim out details that got too personal, but fuckit I'm already extremely doxxable at this point.

[keeroo92]

A Father’s Presence

Hi guys! This was my contribution to the @dadgilzinedmc​, in which the Sparda boys take a trip to the amusement park. I hope you enjoy it!

-----

Vergil grimaced and did his best to block out the sound of howling children. Their laughter and screams of delight grated on his ears, and he found the encouraging shouts of their parents equally disturbing. Yet again, he questioned his sanity in being where he was.

An amusement park. How ludicrous.

Buttered popcorn and human sweat tainted the air, colorful banners and balloons in every direction. The whirring of machinery oscillated as nearby rides cycled through the crowds waiting their turn, grinning excitedly or grumbling about the wait. Starry-eyed teenagers barely outnumbered the swarms of unruly children. Case in point was a nearby family of four, the father hand-in-hand with a toddler, laughing proudly as the child devoured an ice cream and smeared more of the treat on its face than it managed to get in its mouth. The cheerful buffoon leaned down to wipe away the mess and pressed a kiss to the child’s forehead.

Disgusting. Was that what a father was meant to do? This may be more difficult than he thought. 

Yet he had only himself to blame for his current predicament. 

As the weeks had passed in the Underworld, he’d had plenty of time to ponder the existence of his son and all it implied. Duty, responsibility, strength. Fatherhood; a gift he never expected to receive. Having lost so much already, Vergil knew family was a precious gift (excluding Dante, of course). By the time he and his accursed twin returned, Vergil’s resolve to be in Nero’s life was unshakable.

But his desire to do so didn’t help him know how to be there properly.

His first few clumsy attempts had led to disaster, and Nero seemed reluctant to be in his company after he asked one too many awkward questions about Kyrie. In the end, his lackluster efforts left him no choice but to ask Dante for aid, and after weeks of enduring his brother’s teasing, here they were. Three grown men surrounded by children and young families at an amusement park. 

“Dude, we have to ride the Mega Coaster! It’s huge!” Nero cried, pointing at a snake-like metallic structure on the opposite end of the fair grounds. Even from such a distance, the screeches of the patrons aboard were faintly audible.

Dante tossed an arm around the youthful man’s shoulders and cackled. “For sure! But first —cotton candy!”

Vergil raised an eyebrow, stepping over a splash of fluid he didn’t dare to ponder further. The ease of his brother’s banter with his son summoned a strange longing in his heart, but he shoved it aside. Feelings were not to be trusted. “Cotton candy? That doesn’t sound edible.”

His two companions exchanged a grin Vergil didn’t like one bit. They were scheming something; this could only spell catastrophe. He glared at Dante but got only laughter in response. 

Within moments, the eldest Sparda held a stick with a blue cloud larger than his skull mounted on it. He eyed it suspiciously, curling his lip at the sugary scent. Why did people eat such things?

For that matter, how did people eat such things?

A glance at his brother and his mass of pink fluff showed one technique of tugging a chunk off with one’s teeth. Animalistic, but effective enough. Perhaps now was the time to emulate his twin; he had more experience with situations such as this. 

Vergil took a bite, allowing the fluffy sweetness to meet his taste buds. It vanished within seconds, melting away as if he’d merely dreamed it. Only a powerful aftertaste of sugar marked its passage. 

He didn’t despise it. 

“Good, huh?” Nero commented, his own helping already missing several mouthfuls. Vergil offered a non committal hum in response. Using words only got him in trouble before, maybe avoiding them would be more effective for now. He took another bite.

The trio soon rejoined the crowd, allowing the flow of humanity to pull them along towards the rides. According to Dante, the sooner they got in line the better, so they might as well finish their cotton candy on the way. For once his logic was sound and Vergil followed his lead into a snaking queue for The Zipper.

The pointless contraption was only the first of numerous conquests, each daring to seek an answer to the question of how many planes of rotation a human being could withstand before vomiting. Children and adults alike screamed and laughed as their bodies whirled and spun about, tinny music and the squeal of metal a soundtrack to their terrified joy. 

Hours passed in a blur of color and sound, motion and taste. At first Vergil tried to argue that he did not, in fact, need to experience every single ride, but Nero and Dante’s pestering only grew more tiresome as they dragged him along. The two seemed determined to force him to endure it all. With each absurd ride, they grew ever closer to the monstrous roller coaster overshadowing the park.

Yet despite his reservations, Vergil stifled chuckles as Nero settled a balloon animal hat on his closely cropped hair, and he outright smiled when Dante vomited after riding The Orbiter. His own stomach fared rather well, though it did change position whenever a ride featured a sudden drop. Apparently Yamato only trained him to resist rapid horizontal motion.

At last, he found himself seated beside Nero as the Mega Coaster creaked into motion. Behind them sat Dante, already whooping as the ride began. The lack of proper restraints barely registered in Vergil’s mind as they climbed a steep slope, the first of many dramatic steel hills their small cart would plummet down. He braced his feet on the floor and locked his eyes on the rails. 

“Here we goooo!” Nero hollered, grinning as the cart lurched over the peak. 

Vergil swallowed harshly as his belly shifted, the ground racing closer with each beat of his heart. Faces still waiting their turn in his seat blurred below, shouts echoing from the ride’s other passengers. Wind roared in his ears and through his hair, louder than the metallic hum of their cart in motion. He was tempted to close his eyes, but the view was impressive any time the cart slowed. 

The Mega Coaster proved it deserved its name, throwing his body to and fro as he hurtled through the track. Loops and twists, peaks and valleys too numerous to count, the ride in full control of those few minutes. His eyes watered in the intense wind, but Vergil refused to submit. No childish ride would best him, on this or any day. He crossed his arms and glared through the final turn, forcing his stomach to rethink its plans of revolt. 

As their ultimate conquest slowed to a halt before the platform, Vergil smirked at his victory over physics. His body was his to command, though it was admittedly thrilling to require his focus to do so. Perhaps roller coasters served a purpose after all? It merited further study. 

“Hey, check it out!”

He turned and followed Nero’s extended finger to a nearby display. Beside it sat kiosks showing photos of terrified faces plummeting down the steepest slope of the Mega Coaster, glee and fear alike sparkling in their eyes. 

The largest display screen showed an image from Vergil’s own escapade. Nero sat beside him in the front cart, hands braced on the metal and laughter clear in his youthful expression. His own face wore a stern frown, arms crossed and hair aflutter. Behind them both sat Dante, his hands raised and collar flapping in the wind as he whooped at top volume.

“Damn, Vergil looks like someone just pissed in his cheerios! I’m getting twenty copies,” Dante replied with a shit-eating grin, already striding to the kiosks.

“Foolishness,” Vergil commented. Undoubtedly, he’d never hear the end of it.

He followed Nero away from the kiosks and the horde of fair-goers demanding their own photographic evidence of their supposed courage. How pathetic to imagine riding a roller coaster was a feat of bravery. Vergil scowled —the masses truly had a simple existence. 

The setting sun painted the clouds with shades of pink as they walked, reminiscent of the cotton candy Dante ate earlier. Vergil licked his lips at the reminder, still unsure if he enjoyed his own sample of the sugary treat. It was both pleasant and revolting, following the theme of the day. At least the younger children were dissipating at this late hour, their high-pitched squeals of delight fading away as the park approached closure.

Indeed, the crickets were just beginning their song as he and Nero found a suitable place to wait for Dante’s return, leaning on a white fence overlooking an empty field. The tall grass swayed in a light breeze as if to beckon them closer, urging them to leave behind the distractions of the fairgrounds. 

Beside Vergil, Nero sighed, his short hair still mussed from their exploits with a certain roller coaster. A smirk curled the boy’s lips, amusement glinting in his eyes as he watched Dante wave in their direction before dashing towards the food stalls with far more enthusiasm than fair cuisine warranted, a massive stack of photos in hand. Childhood was short, but immaturity lasted forever.

“So, uh…” Nero said hesitantly. 

Vergil raised an eyebrow but didn’t speak, content to let the boy finish his thought before offering any comment. The way he shuffled his feet and scratched the back of his neck brought home just how young Nero was, his awkwardness an obvious sign of his inexperience.

As if I have room to judge, Vergil thought.

“It’s been a good day,” his son continued. “Dante mentioned it was your idea, so uh… Thanks.”

Vergil froze. The lingering echoes of laughter and mirth faded to a dull buzz. It all seemed distant and foreign, like a mirage. The only thing in the abhorrent display of normalcy that mattered to Vergil stood beside him, brow furrowed in a mirror image of his own stern face. How hadn’t he noticed the resemblance before? 

He cleared his throat, struggling to find an appropriate response. “You’ve enjoyed it?”

Nero leaned back, lifting his eyes to the sky with a hint of pink coloring his ears. Another trait they shared. Dante had always teased him about it when they were children.

“I mean, yeah. Never been to one of these before.”

A disorienting tightness bloomed in Vergil’s chest, different from the ache of separation he’d grown accustomed to. It hinted at joy, teased him with hope and danced with potential. Was this how having a family was meant to feel? He didn’t mind it. In fact, he wouldn’t complain if it became a regular occurrence. 

The two men stood in silence as the first stars twinkled to life above. Little sunlight remained, yet the world seemed a touch brighter. Wasn’t it strange, how different one’s perceptions could be when one wasn’t alone?

Nero eventually broke the reflective calm with a wry chuckle, running his palm through his hair and smirking at his father. “How much do you wanna bet Dante’s coming back with nothing but pizza?”

Vergil met his son’s gaze and matched his smirk, a dry huff of amusement slipping free. “That or strawberry sundaes. Perhaps both.”

Nero chuckled. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Warmth he hadn’t known in decades suffused Vergil’s chest. He’d made his son laugh. Perhaps there was hope for them yet? At the bare minimum, it seemed the young man didn’t hate him the way most sons despise their absentee fathers. The way he despised Sparda. Why the difference?

I came back. My father did not. 

Was it possible that his mere presence was enough to tip the scales? What a strange concept; he’d have to ponder it further. For the moment, he had other priorities.

“Perhaps we could do more things like this in the future,” Vergil said carefully. “If you’d like to, that is.”

Nero nodded, his eyes bright as he spotted his uncle on the way over. “Yeah, sounds good. But maybe next time we shouldn’t let Dante get the food?”

The legendary devil hunter held three pizza boxes, his stack of photos balanced precariously on the top. A grin stretched across his entire face. Vergil smirked and shared a knowing glance with Nero.

“Indeed; children do require supervision after all,” he quipped. 

Nero coughed to disguise his laughter as Dante joined them, sending another burst of warmth through Vergil’s heart. Yes, family was a blessing. He’d never take it for granted again.

[ask-hunterxhunter]

How do you think the adult trio would have been had they a chance to grow up in a normal stable family? Are their behaviors (mostly) a product of nature or nurture?

This is actually a very good question. I honestly believe that, inmost cases, nurture wins against nature. I’ll try to give my analysis ofeach case. Now, I just read a little about psychology for fun (and because I loveit), I’m not an expert and this is how I see things. It doesn’t mean, at all,that I am right.

Hisoka

The whole fandom agrees that something happened to Hisoka and verylikely made him into what he is today, but how much of this is connectedto the present is anyone’s guess. I think I mentioned how I noticed that Machi thought that Hisoka doesn’t talk about the “past” (being specific about it) and how hedisplays a desire to be in control of his own life, to the point he doesn’t open up to people (which seems to be more related to his personality ratherthan lifestyle). Also, note that Hisoka is part of the main characters (not the core ones, but important enough) and yet, nothing about his past has everbeen shown or mentioned. Even with the Spiders we at least had a briefflashback of Chrollo and some explanation about the Meteor City, which can give us some ideas of how things were for those who grew up there. Heck, Togashi has told us the background of characters that are not as much part of the main plot.

With Hisoka? Nope, nada, zero. The guy may as well have fallen from thesky with his Nen activated and searching for an opponent.

It keeps going back to Hisoka’s past. Contrary to Pariston, whoseems to be a born sociopath (perhaps even a complete psychopath), this makes me think that something seems to have pushed Hisoka. Even we can’t besure of how much of what he has displayed is genuine or a façade that he keeps around others (we have rarely seen him by himself) or the levels of disordershe seems (or most certainly) has.

Is it all connected to his past? We have no means of knowing. Hehas an intense bloodthirst and is always seeking opponents. Hey, maybe he was into fighting since he was a child anyway. He seems uninterested in formingbonds with people. Has he been betrayed at some point? Has he experienced atraumatic loss? We don’t know.

However, I do think most (if not all of it) is connected tosome event, if only for how twisted Hisoka is. So, it follows that if his life hadbeen different, if he had had a safe and stable environment, he would not bethe same he is today.

Would he still be into fighting? Possibly. I, at least, find it hard to imagine Hisoka not into fighting, though he wouldn’t be that much of a sadist (even if it remained his “call”) and might have emotional bonds with others regardless of their strength (he wouldn’t judge people based on this). Depending on his “family” and other events, he might have been a man who would actually use his Nen in order to help others. 

Illumi

Definitely yes. No question about it. We just have to look at thewhole Zoldyck family and Illumi’s own behavior and words in several occasions.For crying out loud, Killua was chained and whipped when he returned home (itdoesn’t matter if he broke the chains and his pain tolerance is high, thegesture alone is disturbing by its very nature and the insight it gives us tothe workings of the Zoldyck as a family does not paint them in a positivelight). Besides, with Illumi being the eldest, it is very possible his trainingwas even more severe due to being only child for a while and future head of thefamily, until Silva and Kikyo decided Killua would be the better option.

Just for a note, see the rest of the Zoldyck children as well… Alluka hasbeen caged almost all her life (and later she asked Killua if everyone elsewould be happier if she was dead basically), Milluki is just as focused in the familygoals and wants to please/impress his parents (he once seemed afraid of hisfather. Respect is something, fear is another), while appearing to almost neverleave the mansion. Kalluto shares a few similarities with Illumi and is also asadist that enjoys prolonging a fight just for his own amusement… While the Zoldycksclaim to love each other and maybe do/believe so, we cannot look at them andsay they aren’t toxic people (except Killua and Alluka, who got to break thecycle and escape) or that those children are examples of a healthy upbringing.

Does it all connect to the family’s “teachings”? Yes. And the fact theyare assassins doesn’t excuse any of this. If Togashi wanted, he could have madethe Zoldycks to be as dangerous as they are while having a far more stable/lovingrelationship between each other. There is a reason why this isn’t the case.

Illumi reached a point when being… Well, the way he is, is already hisnature and for what we can see, it is entirely connected to his family and whathe has been taught or rather, molded into being. I don’t even think thereis any hope for him. If you take away the “teachings” and “assassin business”,there is nothing left in Illumi. Whoever he was or whoever he could have beenis lost forever, there is only this walking, breathing result of years of training.And we all got a glimpse that he may not be as stable as we came to believe…

If Killua hadn’t been strongenough to break away from them, he might end up the same or even worse than his“big brother”.

So, if his family was different, then he would have been different. Forone, his displays of “affection” would not be tainted by the obsession withcontrol and his love for his siblings would be genuine. Somecharacteristics of his might remain (since we know nothing of how he was orcould have been), but he would be a far more stable person and even if he wasto become an assassin, he would have more morals. He surely wouldn’t be againstKillua choosing another path in life (hell, he might even want somethingbetter for his little brother) or having friends.

 Chrollo

For some reason, I always feel that Chrollo ends up standing somewherebetween the extremes that Hisoka and Illumi represent and the same applieshere, though it is more about how (little) we know of Chrollo’s life and evenhis ending goals. It is more than we know regarding Hisoka, but not as much as we know of Illumi. While writing this, I found myself oscillating between “yes”and “no”. Out of the three of them, Chrollo at times ends up being the hardestto analyze depending on the subject…

Is Chrollo a born sociopath who is using the unfairness of society as anexcuse to achieve his own personal goals and act upon his own bloodthirst orhas this unfairness pushed him into taking what he considers a necessary attitudedue to lack of any other option?

I think, in the end, there is something seriously wrong withChrollo. The things he has done are far too extreme… Perhaps he is even moretwisted than Hisoka or Illumi.

We know he started the Phantom Troupe but while we can guess the main reasonsfor that, we have yet to actually hear them and also what Chrollo hopesto ultimately achieve with his actions (due to his behavior, it seems improbablehe doesn’t have anything like that and is truly “just” a thief. In a way, itseems to be that this is a means towards a bigger end). We know he came fromMeteor City… And what has been shown of it is pretty depressing. That is not aplace that seems to offer chances of a good life, being basically a “junkyard city”and people there don’t even have official records of existence. It is a way ofsaying they there are also unwanted trash. So, we can assume that Chrollo’slife has not been easy.  

 And with everything we know of Chrollo directly connected to the Spider, it’shard to dissociate one from the other. What has turned him into what he istoday exactly?

Like Hisoka and Illumi, Chrollo has no care for human beings and evensaid he sees no difference between them and a puppet but does care for theother members of the Spider. And when returning home, the Troupe faced theChimera Ants, so the city is also the only other thing that matters for them ina personal level. Regardless of the sort of place that is, it is their home.Other than that, we don’t know of Chrollo’s story, parents or childhood.All we have are our own ideas and the options are many.

Honestly, just living in the Meteor City is not quite enough explanationfor his whole behavior, though: Many people go through harsh lives, awful situations,abuse or torture (be emotional, physical or mental) and do not end up like him. Hell, from what we’ve seen, Leorio came from a poorbackground, saw his friend die (when he could have been saved, just to twistthe knife) and is actually the opposite of Chrollo, someone who wants to save lives.

I’m not saying the misery of living in the Meteor City played nopart in who Chrollo is, let alone dismissing how horrible it must have been!Poverty is hell. Having to chose between buying food and paying the bills,being unable to afford medicine, those are hell enough, imagine how it musthave been in a city like that then! And sometimes, people get to the limit whenthey see no way out but to go to an extreme that they wouldn’t go otherwise.

 What I mean here is that, for what Chrollo has displayed, there may verywell be something more that made him turn into someone who torturesothers with such lack of empathy or remorse. For all we know, he may haveexperienced a traumatic event or loss, perhaps not very different from Leorio’s.

I think most, if not all of the situation, end up related to the creationof the Spider but I’m unsure of how much of it is connected to Chrollo’s personality. Even people from a loving, stable and healthy environment can end up twisted and this is not the parents’ (or anyone’s) fault. You can searchin the lives for the trigger that made them into sadistic killers and you won’tfind anything. Some people are just born psychopaths.

With Illumi and Hisoka is easier to be sure due to the motivations they display, their own desires and attitudes and the information we have onthem. Chrollo’s motivations are intertwined with the Spider, so much that he hasstated that it and what it represents are above his own life. This last detailmakes it hard to consider he is using the Spider as an excuse for hisown goals, but… What if he is lying and manipulating the others? It’s not easyto tell.

Now, personally speaking, I think we need more information about him asa person and of his life before the creation of the Spider to be completelysure… Would he have been better if the circumstances of his life weredifferent? It is very possible. Would he have been a criminal anyway, if onlywith some differences? Also possible.

When he talks about the Spider, I lean towards the first option… But thereare some moments, such as when Gon asked him how he could kill people who havenothing to do with him and how Senritsu reacted to his heartbeat that make meseriously lean towards the second one…

[ljandersen]

(Femshep/Kaidan Alenko, Mass Effect 3, Chapter 1 but works as a one shot)

Shepard’s ribs shrank tighter each passing minute.  Each minute they hadn’t reached the Citadel. When it happened the air had stopped moving.  The only sound she could hear was her own heartbeat. Then he fell limp, helmet lolling to the side.  The reality of it – Kaidan dead – felt like getting torn out an airlock. One moment everything’s safe, your boots are on solid ground, each breath alive with oxygen.  As it should be. The next, everything’s depressurizing, alarming, and you’re sucked into the vacuum of space, spinning and clawing at emptiness, gasping for breath. Like dying.  Her experience of it anyway.  

But he wasn’t dead.  He lay on a metal bed in front of her chair.  The med bay’s fluorescents flickered overhead giving his skin a waxiness she only saw on corpses.  She hunched forward. The folding chair wobbled and tipped her forward. One leg was too short.  It would drive Kaidan crazy if he was sitting here. 

She smiled despite herself.  “You remember the folding chairs, Kaidan?  Our ground team debrief. I’d always set up a circle in the corner of the cargo hold.  And after Feros? You can’t pretend you don’t remember. The wobbly chair. I could see it eating at you the whole time.  Each time you shifted your face would get more strained, jaw tightening, nostrils flaring. You started to sit ramrod straight.  Absolutely still. May have kept the meeting going a little longer than needed, I admit. Began to walk around as I spoke, brush against your shoulder.  Your chair would wobble. About the fourth pass, you started shooting me a death glare every time I came by your chair. Ha.  

"The moment the meeting ended, you smacked the chair upside down and started working at the feet.  I bent down, opened my palm. The missing cap for the back chair leg. Your face! You were all sputtery.  How did I even know where you would sit? I pointed around at all the chairs and dropped a pocketful of caps at your feet.  One for each chair, every back, right leg. Every one but mine. No one else even noticed. It only bothered you. Like I knew it would.”

She laughed and folded her hands on the edge of the metal table.  Bruises marbled his features, dark and growing like a shadow. Her laughter choked.  She cleared her throat and gave him a tight smile.  

“Remember the next debriefing?  Do you remember, Kaidan? You thought I wasn’t looking when you came in.  You exchanged our chairs. You had this cute, little canary-savoring smile when I turned around.  Adorable. But I suspected what you’d do. I even looked away so you could do it. You plopped down, smug smile, and … well, we both know what happened, don’t we?” 

Shepard scrapped her seat closer to him.  “I just meant to bother you, you know. Another wobbly chair, and I knew you’d be checking out the chair’s feet when you came in.  Couldn’t pull the same trick. I just … ha, I didn’t mean for it to break on you. Not completely.  A little too much aplomb in your victory drop onto the seat, I guess.  I still remember Liara yelling, ‘Oh, Goddess!’ and clutching her chest like she’d seen you shot. Garrus had to figure out what the hell happened. He bolted over, flipped the chair over, and found the loose hinge with an ‘ah ya.’  Then there was Ash, tearing up and pounding her leg. If Wrex and Tali had been with the ground team, you really would have had an audience. Krogan laughter shakes walls. You frowned at me, then dusted yourself off with an ‘oh, clumsy me’ shrug for everyone else.  You were so pleased with yourself before your ass hit the floor.  I remember you lurking in the doorway, seeing which chair I sat in. It didn’t wobble on me. Kept all my weight on my heels, pal. I knew your methods.”

He was so still.  For one cold second, she thought he was dead.  She lifted her fingers to his face and felt his breath, soft and faint.  The pressure released from her lungs.  Her fingertips crested over each lip.  Just a second to feel the softness of – She sat back sharply and cleared her throat. , 

“Anyway, you’re a good sport, Kaidan.  Still sorry it broke on you. Said as much when I caught you alone later raiding the mess.”  Shepard worked his gauntlet off and dropped it on the floor. She held his hand. His skin was cool, like his blood was already slowing.  Shepard bit her lips and concentrated on his face instead.  

“Remember how you got back at me?  And don’t tell me it wasn’t premeditated.  I still don’t believe you. It was Noveria, remember?

“They let me keep my gun, then put me through that little security tap and dance number.  I was posing for my dumbass clearance badge, and you cracked that stupid birthing cow joke.  For the record, I was laughing at you, not the joke.  That joke might be a showstopper at a seven-year-old’s birthday party, but uh, you need to adult-up your jokes.  Seriously, as a marine, I’m embarrassed you don’t know more dirty jokes.  Or maybe you do.  You better not have a cache of dirty jokes and still chose to give me the birthing cow one.” 

She traced his fingers.  She remembered his fingers intertwining with hers.  His hands holding her face.  Remembered the way he stroked her hair when Ash died, his face pressed down in her hair, his breath wet and catching.  She worked her fingers between his and squeezed his palm.

“Anyway, stop getting me off topic.  I’m complaining about Noveria.  You told me your damn decalf-einated joke.  I laughed.  At you.  And that was the snapshot they got.  I hollered for a redo, but you tap this sign on the wall.  Then that bitchy security guard started tapping it too.  No retakes.  No retakes!  Like a delete and re-click takes more time than walking over to tap a plastic sign on the wall.  Your picture, Ash’s picture – both serious, stern, soldierly.  Me?  You can see the back of my throat.  Hair in my mouth, one eye half closed.   It’s lucky I didn’t have snot bubbling from my nose.  Now, you can’t tell me that wasn’t premeditated, Alenko.  Maybe premeditated by minutes, the seconds between seeing the sign and dredging up your kid’s birthday party joke, but still.  Premeditated.

“I had to clip that picture to my chest.  Got barked at every time I tried to turn the picture around.  I just acted like it was an accident.  ‘Oh, really?  Turned around again?  You don’t say.’  And the screens, Kaidan!  If their greeting wasn’t a warm enough welcome, they flash my face over every screen in the compound.  A friendly reminder to let everyone know a Spectre was on the premise.  To encourage compliance with my investigation.  You never bought that either, right?  Yeah, no.  I didn’t think so.  Clearly keeping everyone on alert so they wouldn’t comply.  And that lovely security picture?  ‘Spectre Shepard is here.’  The dignified Spectre on all the giant screens haw-hawing, one-eye squeezed shut.  We’d come around a new corner and bam!  Another screen of it.  Then I’d hear the punchline of the birthing cow joke.  You whispering ‘decalf-einated’ at my back.  Ash snickering.  Imagine if the press had a copy of that picture?  You have a copy somewhere, don’t you?  Don’t even answer.  I know you do.”

She pressed his hand between hers and drew in a shaky breath.  His eyelids were blackening, no movement, not even dreaming.  The bruises deepened over his entire face.  She squeezed his hand and forced another smile.  He had changed so much.

“You had a nice trick back there, Kaidan,” Shepard whispered.  “Liara called it Reaving.  Fancy.  Trying to impress me?  You did.  You’re so confident too.  Bearing, voice, no more oscillating, hesitancy.  Good idea with the tram, with the short-range radio, that ambush in the control room.  I’d like to see you on the field directing a team.  Always knew you were special.  Leadership material if you’d only ever make a decision and not hold back, believe in yourself.  I always believed in you.  But you knew that didn’t you, Kaidan?”

His skin swelled across his cheeks and around his eyes.  His face was expressionless.  Vacant.  Because he’s dying.  Her heart twisted.  She sucked in a breath.

“It can’t end like this, Kaidan.”  She touched his jaw.  A light touch.  She didn’t want to make anything worse.  If his face was swollen, broken, and bruised, what did his brain look like?  That sharp, intense mind she missed.  She may have come back from the dead but he wouldn’t.  “The last thing we say to each other can’t be our words on Mars.  I’m not a husk, Kaidan, or the Illusive Man’s puppet.  Against all odds, I’m really, really not.  And I’m alive.  Maybe some new parts.  No one should see machinery glowing through their skin, but I’m still me.  What counts is here.  Right here.”

“Commander?” Jokers’ voice came overhead.

Shepard rocked back in her chair.  “Joker?  ETA?”

“Seven minutes out.  Medical transport standing by.”

“Good.”  Shepard stood.  She brushed her fingertips on his lips and felt the slow breath.  “Keep that up.  The breathing.  Unconscious part?  I’ll allow it for now, I guess.”  She ran her eyes over him.  Scuffed and bloody armor, black and blue face, his hair in disarray.  She touched his hair.  A faint energy crackled across her skin.  His biotics.  Her heart lifted.  It was like feeling the pulse of his heartbeat.  It showed he hadn’t gone.  He had to live.  She wanted to remember him face flushed and alive, not a shell with the soul draining away.

“Seven minutes, Kaidan,” she said.  Something from Mars came to mind, and her lips curve up.  She looked him in the face.  “I’m the person you loved, huh?  Said the same thing on Horizon.  Might have been nice to hear when it was present tense.  Before I died.  I’ll give you a pass though.  I’ve only told my parents that.  So, you got me beat even by putting it in the past.  Is it really so past, though, Kaidan?”  

She brushed his hair back again and chuckled.  “And, just so you know, Major, the hell I will ‘Kaidan’ you again.  You haven’t heard the last of it.  Ha.  And, I’ll mess with your folding chair.  Don’t put it past me.”  She bent down, hesitated – maybe she shouldn’t – she stamped a kiss on his check and pulled back with a snap.  “Five second rule.  So, uh, doesn’t count.  Not taking advantage of you.  If this was a fairy tale, you’d be thanking me right now.”

The med bay door slid open.  Liara swished into the room.  “Shepard, we’re almost there.  We should get him down to the bay.  Is he still …”

“Yes.  He is.”

“I’ll get James with the stretcher.”  She dashed away.

Shepard turned back to Kaidan and squeezed his shoulder.  “Hey, what do you call a cow that just gave birth?”  She rubbed a hand across her face and sniffled.  “I’ll find you some better material, Kaidan.  So … stand by.”

James and Liara burst into the med bay with a stretcher.  Shepard took the end from Liara and angled it next to his bed. 

“Let’s move him out.”

AO3:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/21369139/chapters/50901124  

FF:  https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13428855/1/About-Mars-Mass-Effect

Cover art (my sister): @ande2339 (Instagram)

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Patient

I'm going hiking tomorrow so you get an early update! Hooray! Next chapter goes up June 15th.

FFN and AO3

Chapter 3

After dating Harry Potter for five months, Ginny was able to see the difference between him being suave and him being nervous. At first, she had mistaken his nervousness as a sort of cool aloofness, but now she knew better, like right now.

"What has gotten into you?" Ginny tried not to chuckle as Harry slowly surveyed her bookshelf for the millionth time.

Harry's hands stuck in his pockets, probably to keep them out of his hair. Ginny found that she often needed to find things for her hands to do to keep them out of his hair.

"I was thinking, it'd be rather dull to look at places on my own."

Ginny forced her face to stay neutral as she watched him from her couch. "I suppose it could be."

Harry kept his face blank but his right hand slipped up into his hair, "But I thought if you came with me, it would be less tedious."

"I'm so glad that I'm an assuage to tedium," Ginny couldn't stop herself from cracking a smile. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm trying to ask you to look for a place with me without it sounding like I'm pushing our relationship too fast."

Ginny crossed the small space to Harry's side, gently pulling his hand from his hair. "I'd love to tag along while you look for a new home."

Relief washed over Harry's face and Ginny laughed.

"Thank you, I've been dreading this something awful."

"Really?" She laughed, "I thought you'd be excited to have your own space. The empty nester thing my dad likes to talk about."

Harry was quiet a beat too long as he looked off at the floor.

"Did I say something?" Ginny wrapped her arms around Harry's middle, pulling him close to her as she looked up at him, trying to get him to make eye contact.

Harry avoided her eyes as he spoke, "It's, it's different for me than it is for your dad. I was never meant to be Teddy's parent, but I've thrown my life into being everything I could for him. Now that he doesn't need me, now that I've raised him as best I can, I don't know what's next. Of course, there's still work and whatnot but I don't know what to do with myself." He shook his head and ran his hand into his hair again. "I must sound pathetic."

Ginny's heart nearly broke for him.

"Oh, Harry," she squeezed her arms tightly around him. "Teddy will still need you, just in a different way now. And you absolutely are not pathetic, you're the adult picking up where his life was originally going after taking seventeen years off to raise and care for your godson."

Harry grimaced, "Can I not start right where I left off. I was right hopeless back then."

Ginny pretended to consider his comment and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Enough of you," he tickled her sides and Ginny shrieked as his fingers worked their way under her shirt.

"Stop!" She laughed, "I can't breathe!"

Harry's fingers slowed, but only slightly. "I'm sorry, I thought you were implying I was hopeless."

Ginny managed to catch her breath, but only just. Harry's eyes stared down at her with a gleam that felt intense in a way she hadn't seen before. It left her grasping at the memories of breathing.

"You're not hopeless," it came out in a whisper. She was pinned under his stare, immobile from his eyes more than his arms holding her in place.

One of his hands slid up her side and brushed against her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear. When he spoke, all joking had gone out of his voice.

"I think I am, actually, but in a good way." A small upturn of his lip gave Ginny's heart an electric shock. "I'm hopeless for you Ginny."

It was a cheesy line, but just like that he pulled the little air she'd managed to breathe in right out of her lungs. It was alright though because Harry felt the need to follow up his declaration with a kiss, breathing air back into her.

If she thought his stare was intense, his kiss made it seem tame. His kiss was borderline desperate, as though he needed her air as much as she needed his. His left hand gripped her waist, holding her as close to him as possible, while his right hand cupped the back of her neck, controlling this kiss in every way, and Ginny surrendered. She responded with equal fervor. Her fingers found his hair of their own accord. Then one hand was couldn't resist the magnetism of his chest and slid down to run slowly over his shirt and then crawl back up under it.

Ginny needed him to know, to feel exactly how much she cared about him, how much she…

She didn't want to say it first, it was a thing she had. She never said it first in her past relationships. Some stupid book she read forever ago and couldn't even remember the name of made it out to be better to wait for the guy to say it, and two decades later she was still influenced by the stupid thing.

But tangled up with Harry at this moment, Ginny wanted to say it. She wanted to breathe it into his ear before pulling back to see it in his face and hear it fall from his lips. She wanted him to know that she had fallen in love with him, and she wanted to know he loved her too.

And somewhere in those thoughts, actions played out in reality and not in her head.

Harry stiffened and pulled back to look down at her. "Did, did you just say…?"

Ginny bit her lip and cursed her inability to control her tongue in the moment, well in the moments with Harry. There was no going back now though, she'd obviously said it out loud and he'd most certainly heard her. She might as well own it.

Ginny swallowed and nodded, "I love you."

Harry's smile rivaled the sun as it lit up his face. "Good, because I love you too."

If Ginny thought the kiss before had been desperate, she was quickly shown how much Harry Potter could outdo himself. Ginny's senses were overloaded. Harry's hands and lips were everywhere, his voice was oscillating between growls and quiet whispered 'I love you's that sent her heart rate skyrocketing. He spun her into the wall and pressed his body against hers, as though if he tried hard enough they'd become a part of each other, a part of the wall pressed against her back.

It was heaven, and Ginny never wanted to come down.

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

"You're picking me up right at noon, then?" Ginny looked down at her schedule while she listened to Harry's reply.

"A bit after, we'll meet the estate agent at her office and then she'll drive us to the three homes she could arrange today before dropping us back at her office." Even with the promise of Ginny helping him find a place it had still taken two months for Harry to get his act together and get an estate agent.

"Perfect, then I'll be able to spend the rest of the day convincing you to pick my favorite one."

"What if you don't like any of them?" Harry's laughter made Ginny's heart sing.

"Then this poor woman will have to drag us around again." Ginny grinned as she spoke into the phone, "Because I'm pretty taken with the idea of making you pick my favorite home in exchange for assuaging the tedium of house hunting."

Harry laughed again. "I love you."

Ginny tried to keep her swooning to a minimum. Two months into saying it and she still felt her stomach dance every time Harry uttered the words.

"I love you too," Ginny sighed, "but you have a meeting in five minutes so I should let you go."

Harry chuckled, "How do you have my schedule memorized? If I don't have alarms going off on my phone I forget everything."

"You forget that my job is just an over glorified calendar keeper," She was joking, but Ginny couldn't help but smile as she looked around her office. "I'll see you in a few hours."

"I love you," Harry's voice was warm and Ginny wished she was sitting on his desk instead of in her office.

"I love you too, now get to work."

They disconnected and Ginny sighed happily as she took in her office. It felt like she'd been in it for years and not barely eight months. And as much as she hated admitting it, she was starting to like wedding coordinating. She was realizing how much she hadn't understood about the position before taking it on. She didn't need to pretend that every couple was going to live a fairy tale, she just needed to remember that they were happy now and that was what really mattered. Ginny especially liked that no bride was a client for longer than 12-18 months. She'd never have to deal with a Umbridge-like-nightmare for years on end again. It was true, she had told Emily that she was going to bail the moment Vic's wedding was done and she had another position, but Ginny was finding that the desire to find that new position was fading fast.

She'd never admit it out loud, but Ginny loved being a wedding coordinator, and admitting it to herself left a smile on her face all the way through to Harry picking her up just after noon.

"I missed you," Harry pulled her into him and kissed her.

"You saw me yesterday."

"We've already established that I'm hopeless for you," Harry pressed kisses along her jaw up to her ear.

"And we've also established we have an appointment to keep," Ginny chuckled but her body still melted against his.

Harry groaned but pulled back to open the car door for her, "Yes, dear."

Ginny looked up into his face, "I think I sense the tiniest bit of sarcasm in your tone, sir."

Harry grinned, "You really don't need to call me 'sir,' Gin."

Ginny laughed and shook her head as she climbed into the car. "You're absolutely ridiculous, you know?"

"Only for you," Harry winked at her.

The estate agent's office wasn't very far from Ginny's office and within thirty minutes she'd been introduced to Kelsey and they were sitting in Kelsey's car, Ginny in the front seat at Harry's insistence, as they made their way to the first home.

"I've found some really beautiful houses for you two," Kelsey said to Ginny.

Ginny grinned at the thought of Kelsey thinking she and Harry were buying a home together. She decided not to correct her, Harry could do that if he really wanted to. Ginny's heart did a little dance when he leaned forward and nodded in Kelsey's direction.

"We're excited to see them."

"Buying a home is an exciting time, and I'm going to do my absolute best to make it a painless process."

"We'll get along well I think," Ginny laughed, "I'm a wedding coordinator and that's exactly what my job is, just with weddings instead of house hunting."

Kelsey smiled at her, "This first place is smaller, built right after the war, but it's on a sizeable piece of land so lots of room to expand and grow, and I think it's magical."

Ginny forced herself not to laugh. This had to be exactly what she sounded like as she took brides around. She glanced back at Harry who smirked at her. Yep, she sounded just like Kelsey.

"And here we are," Kelsey pulled in front of a small home.

Ginny looked out the window and realized Kelsey was right, this place was magical. The house looked quite a bit like Ted and Vic's home actually. The same sort of wrought iron fence blocked off the front garden, but rather than the two stories of Harry's current home it was a single story home.

"Let's go inside," Harry stepped out and opened her door. "I want to know what you think."

The home was cozy, and at first, Ginny really loved the idea of Harry having a home that was like the one he lived in currently. But the more of the house they saw, the more she noticed Harry's disinterest.

"I want to see the back garden," Ginny grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him through the back door, shutting it behind them.

Harry quirked a brow, "Gin, darling, I am positive Kelsey can still see us."

Ginny rolled her eyes, he could be such a boy some days. "Do you not like the house?"

Harry blinked, "It's fine."

"Really? Because you look like someone is trying to sell you an insurance policy on your telly."

Harry laughed, making Ginny break into a smile. "Alright, you caught me, I'm not really into the house."

"Then tell Kelsey," Ginny pointed back at the door.

"But you're having fun," Harry looked confused. "Why should we stop just because I don't like the house?"

"Because you're the one buying the house, dummy."

"Oi!" Harry poked her side and Ginny jumped closer to him, laughing as he capitalized on her proximity to tickle her sides.

"Fine," she cried, "you're not a dummy, you're a sexy, intelligent bloke who needs to pull his head out of his arse and tell Kelsey you want to see the next house."

Harry's fingers stopped tickling and pulled her against him. He held her a moment before sighing. "Alright, let's go tell Kelsey it's time to move on."

And on they went. The next home was a bit better, built within the last ten years and had all the modern upgrades. But after some prodding by Ginny, both figuratively and literally, Harry finally admitted he was hoping for something with more character.

"I think you'll love this last one then," Kelsey nodded as they climbed back into the car. "It's a Georgian style home but the owners have completely updated it. It's a treasure."

Ginny smiled, "See, love, all you have to do is speak up and Kelsey can work her magic."

Apparently, Kelsey specialized in black magic.

Ginny didn't realize it until she got out of the car to see the last home. It was beautiful, the brickwork shown like it had just been laid, and the simple garden was well groomed. But as she turned to comment to Harry, he sat stone-faced in the backseat of the car, staring straight ahead.

"Harry?" Ginny shared a confused look with Kelsey.

"I'll just go get the door opened and meet you inside," Kelsey fiddled with her phone.

"Thank you," Ginny gave her an encouraging smile before turning back to her boyfriend-turned-statue in the back of the car.

"Harry," she opened the door and peered at him, "what's going on?"

Harry continued to stare straight ahead like his life depended on it.

"Harry please say something, you're worrying me."

"This was my parents' home." His voice was tight and he sounded angry, but his words fell like lead weights on Ginny's heart.

She stared a moment, not sure what to do. Part of her really wanted to see the house, to see this part of Harry that he never talked about. But the other part of her wanted to do the right thing and tell him they'd leave now.

Harry spared her the decision.

"You should go in. I'll wait here."

Ginny hesitated, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, you should." His voice had lost the anger it held before and now sounded dead, devoid of any emotion at all.

Ginny bit her lip and looked back at Kelsey waiting for her at the door.

"I'll just take a quick look around and then we'll head back."

Harry nodded but still wouldn't look at her. Ginny shut the door and then hurried to Kelsey.

"Harry's feeling a bit dizzy at the moment. He'll join us if it gets better."

Kelsey frowned. "We can come back another day."

"Let me take a quick look, and then I can describe it to him. Along with that and the listing images he can decide if this is one he wants to see himself."

Kelsey nodded and stepped into the house, guiding Ginny in with her.

It took Ginny's breath away. The entrance was grand, the normally cramped entries to these homes had been blown out into an open concept, rising the full two stories of the house; the stairs leading to the second floor were beautiful and Ginny followed in a daze as Kelsey took her on a quick tour.

Everything was brand new and exactly what Ginny would have picked out if she'd been asked her preference. The back garden was a child's dream with so much space to play, a treehouse, and a large playset. The kitchen opened to the back patio, creating the illusion that the house didn't actually end with the outside, the outside was just the next room.

Kelsey led her up the beautiful staircase with a continual narrative on all the current owners had done to give the old home a modern update. The master suite was luxurious and walking into the other bedrooms gave Ginny the feeling that little children would come bursting behind her at any moment to jump on the beds. She could see herself here, she could see her family here, she could see her life here.

It was perfect.

It was heartbreaking.

Ginny kept catching glimpses in her mind's eye of a little Harry running about with his mum; of teenage Harry kicking a ball around in the back garden with his dad; of Harry and his mates in the treehouse; of Harry waking up in one of these rooms; of Harry going to bed in one of these rooms; of Harry waving goodbye to his family from the front door for the last time.

"This is lovely," Ginny forced a smile for Kelsey, "I'll talk with Harry about it and we'll let you know if he wants to come back."

Ginny wanted to come back. Ginny wanted to come back with all her belongings and never leave.

"Of course," Kelsey's smile was far more genuine than Ginny's, "and the owners aren't living here, it's all staged, so we can come back any time that's convenient."

"Thank you, Kelsey, you've been wonderful."

Ginny braced herself as they walked back to Kelsey's car. Harry still sat in the backseat, his elbows now resting on his knees, his head resting in his hands.

"Poor bloke," Kelsey shook her head before very carefully opening the door.

"Harry," Ginny opened the back door, "let me sit next to you."

Harry gave a shuddering sigh before scooting over, his position not changing enough for her to see his face as he moved to make space.

The ride back to Kelsey's office was awful. Kelsey kept glancing back at Harry, not budging from his melancholy position, and Ginny was left to sit next to him with a hand on his shoulder like it was enough.

It wasn't.

It absolutely wasn't enough.

When finally they arrived back at the estate office, Ginny pulled Harry into his car, took his keys from his pocket, and drove them home - well, technically Ted and Vic's home, but she didn't give a damn right now whose name was on the house. That drive was not only quicker because she was focusing on driving rather than how powerless she felt, but also because Harry finally straightened upright and she could see his face. She wasn't sure which was worse though. In Kelsey's car Harry seemed to be in anguish. In his own car, he seemed dead. His face was devoid of any emotion, like a statue, beautiful but lifeless.

When she parked in the drive, Harry finally spoke. "I'm going for a run" He stepped out of the car slowly, his movements rigid.

"Alone?" Ginny couldn't keep the panic from her voice. She didn't fully understand what was going on with him, but she did know Harry wasn't himself and she didn't want him off on his own in his current state.

Harry paused and looked at her, his face remaining statuesque, but his eyes started to show a small spark of himself. "On the treadmill, in my room."

Ginny released the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. It came out in a whoosh of relief and left her feeling a bit lightheaded.

"Ok, I'll make dinner when you finish your run."

Harry nodded, his eyes losing their spark as he started to turn from her. Why was he closing himself off to everything? Why wouldn't he trust her to help him? Why was his grief still so fresh?

Ginny wasn't a stranger to watching people mourn, her mother had lost her twin brothers while they were serving in the military. And her mum definitely had a day or two during Ginny's childhood where it affected her like it was yesterday even though it happened before Ginny had been born, but it was different with Harry. Her mum could laugh about the good times she had with her brothers. She smiled at the similarities between her brothers and her own twin sons. She was happy to have been with them for the time they'd been able to have.

Harry didn't do any of those things.

Harry clammed up any time his parents or Ted's parents were mentioned, and Ginny kept forgetting there were godparents because Harry would never speak of them. She hadn't even seen pictures of them. None were in the house that she knew of. Something was off in how Harry handled his grief, but Ginny wasn't sure what the cause was. The evidence of it was everywhere around her as she stood in the living room, listening to the thump, thump, thump of Harry's steps on the treadmill above her, looking for pictures of Harry's family. What wasn't evident was the root of the problem.

"Aunt Ginny!"

Ginny spun just in time to catch Vic's hug.

"How'd house hunting go?" Ted waggled his eyebrows at her. He'd been just a touch pleased with himself when Ginny mentioned she'd be helping Harry pick out his home.

Ginny sighed and shook her head. "Fate is a fickle mistress."

Ted's eyebrows lowered and his forehead creased with his frown. "What do you mean? Did it not go well?"

"We looked at three places today," Ginny looked around the room again, looking for pictures that would not appear, "and the third, by coincidence, happened to be Harry's childhood home."

Ted let out a low whistle. "I'd love to see that."

Ginny looked up sharply. "You've never seen it?"

Ted shook his head, his bitterness seeping into his frown.

"Where are the pictures, Ted?" Ginny looked at him closely. "Where are the pictures of your parents, of Harry's parents, of his godparents?"

Ted shook his head and huffed, "I've got all the pictures of my parents in my room."

"What about their things? Your mother's jewelry, your father's watches, where are those?"

Ted more or less fell on the sofa and threw his head back, looking up at the ceiling. He didn't look almost twenty anymore, now he looked so much older as the strain and stress pulled on his features.

"I have everything that belonged to my parents and grandparents, Harry made sure of that. A lot of it is in boxes in the attic, but he told me it's all there. I don't know about his parents or godparents. I'd like to hope they're somewhere in the attic too, but trust me, there's no point in asking."

"We could show her your boxes," Vic sat next to him on the sofa, taking his arm and pulling it around her shoulders. "You said looking through the pictures helps sometimes."

Ted held Vic for a long moment and Ginny envied her niece, envied that she could do something, that she could help, that Ted would let her help.

Finally, Ted looked over at her and spoke, "You alright getting a bit dusty?"

Ginny chuckled, "Absolutely."

Ted first took her and Vic to his room where Ginny found two full walls plastered with pictures of a beautiful woman with bubble gum pink hair and a rugged looking gentleman with a smile that was so full of mischief it made him look fifteen years younger. It also happened to be the smile that Ted had inherited.

"I like to think, with their pictures here, that they can watch over me." Ted's voice was quiet and there was a small sad smile on his lips.

"You should put some of these out in the other rooms."

Ted didn't look at her, just shook his head and stood and headed for the attic, beckoning them to follow. Vic gave Ginny a sad smile before following her fiance.

Ginny's frown was set in place as she climbed the ladder Ted had pulled down. Ted had already started opening old cardboard boxes when she made it up behind Vic.

"This one has all the pictures that were in albums of my folks and me." He touched a box with his foot. "And all these here have my parents' and grandparents' things."

Ginny peered over Vic's shoulder to the album she held and smiled at an engagement picture of Ted's parents. A large lump formed in her throat when she noticed that the ring on Vic's hand was the same ring on Ted's mother. Then Vic turned the page and Ginny stared in wonder as she looked at a picture of a man who had to be Harry's dad.

They were identical in appearance, except for their eyes.

"That's James," Ted pointed to the man Ginny had been staring at. "And that's Dad," his finger moved to the next man in the picture, "and that's Sirius."

Ginny smiled at the trio. They looked like they would have been the best people in the world to know. The picture looked to be from Ted's parents' wedding, based on the tuxedos they were wearing.

"Here," Ted reached over Vic and turned the page. "This is Lily, Mum, and Marlene."

Ginny's eyes went wide as she looked down at the woman who gave Harry his captivating green eyes. Her hair was red, but a much darker shade than Ginny's own. And her smile was wide and full of happiness. Ted's mum looked like all of the brides that Ginny had coordinated weddings for, joyously and superbly happy.

Vic continued to turn the pages of her in-laws' wedding album, but Ginny was scanning the poorly lit attic. Ted was right, if Harry kept anything from his parents and godparents, it would be up here. Slowly she moved through the space, reading Harry's handwriting scrawled across the boxes. As she moved to the furthest, darkest corner from the attic opening, she pulled out the flashlight on her phone to better read the writing on the boxes. She had to brush the dust off, the layer at least a couple of centimeters thick, but she felt her heart rate pick up at what she had found.

The box simply said "Mum and Dad." Ginny brushed off the dust from the next box and the next. Each had "Mum and Dad" written across the top. She found ten medium sized boxes that all apparently held Harry's parents' personal items and eight boxes that had one word written across the top "Black."

Ginny fought within herself. She wanted to pull the lid off of every box and lay everything out on the floor, inspect every single item. She wanted to find the Potter's wedding album. She wanted to find Harry's baby album. She wanted to see pictures of Harry growing up, of his friends, of his primary school, of him being awkward in A-levels. She desperately wanted access to this part of Harry's life. But if he wanted to share it with her, he probably would have already. She knew he hated to talk about anything that happened before he became Ted's sole guardian. And she would bet her next paycheck he'd be upset if she went through them without asking.

Her hand rested against one of the boxes, waiting for her brain to make a decision.

"Gin."

Ginny bit her lip and tensed. She hadn't heard Harry come into the attic with them, and apparently, Ted and Vic didn't think to announce him.

"Gin," his voice was tight, and at first Ginny thought he was angry. But when she turned to look at him, there was nothing angry in his expression; there was only fear.

"Sorry," she dropped her hand from the box.

Harry reached for her hand as it fell, pulling her back from the dark end of the attic toward the ladder. Vic and Ted watched them silently, but Ted's eyes betrayed his pain.

"You're taking those with you when you move out." Ted didn't look up from his parents' wedding album as he addressed his godfather.

Harry didn't respond, he didn't even look at Ted, just climbed down the ladder and offered Ginny his hand. Ginny stared down at him, feeling a mixture of confusion, sadness, and frustration.

"I'll get dinner going," she smiled at Vic who was watching with a bit of apprehension in her face. Vic nodded but watched Ted like he might be a ticking time bomb. Ginny didn't blame her, while Ted's face was as calm as Harry's had been when they made it home, his voice lacked that dead quality Harry's had taken on. Ted was not happy, he was not indifferent, he was hurt and he was upset.

Ginny climbed down the ladder, taking Harry's hand. She started for the kitchen, but Harry pulled her again, heading for his bedroom. Ginny followed, still too caught up in her own emotions to really know what she actually felt about the situation. Harry quietly shut the door behind them. He released her hand and walked to the window, leaning against the frame and looking out into the back garden.

Ginny sat on the bed, trying to collect her thoughts.

"What did you think?"

Harry's voice pulled her back out of her head. She tilted her head trying to guess what he was referring to.

"The house," he clarified, seeming to catch on to her confusion.

"Oh."

"You didn't like it." It wasn't a question.

"No!" Ginny tried to keep the panic out of her voice. "It was perfect! I loved it!"

Harry continued to stare out the window. "So you want me to pick that one?"

Ginny shook her head, "I'd never make you do that."

"What did they change? Kelsey said it's been updated."

"I don't know what's different."

"Then tell me what it looks like now."

Ginny wanted him to look at her. She wanted him to seem alive again, because aside from his pulse, he was no more alive than the family he buried nearly 21 years ago.

"Harry," she hedged.

"Did they restore the hardwood floors?"

"Yes," she huffed.

Harry waited, silently staring out the window. Ginny sighed and shook her head before telling him how absolutely wonderful his childhood home was, how everything was exactly what she would want.

How it simply felt like home.

Harry's expression didn't change, he didn't even shift his posture. When Ginny fell silent, Harry took a deep breath.

"I'll ask Vic and Ted to get you back to your car. I have a client who needs me for a meeting tonight." He pushed off the wall and took Ginny's hand, pulling her to her feet. He slowly brought his lips to hers, his hands cradling her neck and face.

Ginny threw herself into his kiss, trying desperately to pull him back to her, to bring life back to his eyes, his expression, his voice, his being. Harry's kiss was slow, savouring each second as it ticked past.

"I love you," he whispered against her before pulling back entirely and walking to the door.

"Harry," Ginny called out. He paused but didn't turn. "I love you too, no matter what."

Harry's shoulders dropped and he walked out the door, leaving Ginny standing in the middle of his bedroom, more confused than ever.

[pterawaters]

Cardinal Inc OCs

@boazpriestly here they are!

Helen Freeman is an ex CIA operative, and before that she was an Army intelligence officer. She’s badass, very tactical, and has trouble letting people help her, even when she really needs help. She’s in her late 30s, and is white with red hair. Cardinal was her nickname in the service. She speaks in short sentences, to the point.

Wallace Creed is a retired Green Beret (Army Special Forces). He and Helen have known each other for years. He’s usually pretty quiet, but when you talk to him one-on-one he has OPINIONS. He’s about the same age as Helen, late 30s. He’s black, a little short in stature, but stocky and strong. He’s very into classic cinema, and will do anything in his power for puppies and small children. Has a great smile.

Karrie Hoff made a lot of money as a very young adult by writing predictive algorithms for a Wall Street firm. She helped build the infrastructure that the most modern banking protocols run on, and thus knows the back doors into everything. She’s very good at figuring out what money to take from whom without getting caught. She loves sweets, bright colors, and angry music. Late 20s and Latina. Speaks Portuguese fluently, and a little bit of Spanish (with a Puerto Rican accent). Talks a lot, all the time, and at very high pitch when she’s excited. She hates bullies and loves sticking it to the man!

Bert Hargrove (or at least that’s the name he’s going by now) has been pulling cons since he was a smart kid with too much time on his hands and not enough supervision. Eventually he got swept up into working for an organized crime organization. He didn’t have the stomach for their methods, so he turned state’s witness and went clean in a new state with a new name. After that, he was recruited by the CIA to run an undercover op here and there. He’s very even tempered, chill and languid. He hates being rushed anywhere for any reason. He loves wine and sex. Bert pulls numbers out of the air that are more often correct than not. When you point this out to him he insists that he can’t do math and is merely guessing. Mid 30s. Ambiguous ethnicity (doesn’t get much info ever from either of his bio parents), but white passing. Worked as a casino magician for awhile, before they found out he’d been picking chips from patron’s pockets. Has a hard time communicating to people that he cares about them.

And finally, Alex Rhodes is a master at sleight of hand. They are gender fluid, oscillating between masculine and feminine, and somewhere in between (with pronouns to match). The same body control they’ve developed to appear masculine or feminine they use in being a good thief. It started as a party trick, until the wrong person found out what they could do. One coerced job turned into another, until it became a job that Alex couldn’t allow. They went to the police and turned in the people coercing them to steal. They became a security consultant, in a new city with a new name. Early 30s. Biracial (Japanese/White). Loves the ocean, coffee, fashion, and dogs. Hates bigots, high pitched noises, and the dentist.

So yeah, those are my OCs for Cardinal, Inc! Getting them together into a team, and then a family is going to be fun!

[miikkasakari]

20

And then, at some point, it became apparent that Scott Lang was one of my favourite characters in the MCU, and the fun ride that was Ant-Man and the Wasp helped drive it home.

Ant-Man probably should not work on the big screen; it does largely because even despite all the wacky science it keeps itself grounded. The interpersonal drama is relatively minimal; by the time we’re at its sequel, it’s mostly gone. I mean, yeah, it’s there - Scott betrayed Hope and Hank - but he also has his unconventional family’s full love and support, and when he gets reunited with Hope, it doesn’t take her long to warm back up to him. Because ultimately, he’s still a good, well-meaning person, and she can’t distance herself from him as a means to an end.

It’s Scott being so likeable that makes the entire thing click. His goal is pretty simple, as it has been in most moments we see him: be there for Cassie in whatever way he can. While Maggie and Paxton weren’t trusting of him in the first movie, by the time the second one comes around, even though he’s technically done something so much worse they fully trust him; it’s because he’s made it clear Cassie is his world and he would do anything for her and to ensure her safety. Paxton saw it with his own eyes in the first one. He didn’t just magically get everyone’s trust - he had to earn it back. With his family it was off-screen; with Hope and Hank, it was on-screen.

I really, really love how quickly they’re able to come back together. And one of the highlights of these movies is how unique they can get with battle sequences - and though Ghost’s abilities limited any real battle sequences with her, the effects were extremely cool - and a big part of that is how flexible Scott and Hope can be while teaming up. It’s fun and adds an extra dynamic, both to their relationship and to the overall direction. And I really can’t emphasize it enough: the way they’re able to so quickly fall back into how things first were between them is a genuine delight. They’re partners.

There’s also the whole “Scott is the only good dad in the entire MCU” thing which, really, he is; a great deal of his emotional core focuses on parenting and him acknowledging how he can be a better parent. Cassie adores him and while he’s able to give her as much time as he can he’s also capable of recognizing what it is to be an adult and restrictions he may have to impose on her as an authority figure (i.e. telling her he’d be a terrible parent if he let her go out superheroing at 10). A lot of Scott’s character is played as a joke, but it’s a reminder that he’s an adult and a character who’s more than one-off comedic relief. It’s all through the heart of the movies and it all works so well.

Scott is just such a good, loveable character. That’s also part of what makes the post-credits scene as tragic as it is - because in all likelihood, he’s going through a lot of trauma, too. Who knows what Janet went through while stuck in the quantum realm for 30 years; we don’t yet know how long it will be for Scott but it has to be a combination of abandonment, hopelessness, betrayal, and fear, all oscillating as he has no idea what’s happened. Seeing everyone get dusted in Infinity War was tragic (and the real world implications of it were driven home in the second post-credits scene, it was haunting); seeing a terrible fate befall just one person connects so much more strongly. I was more excited for Endgame after my first showing of Ant-Man and the Wasp than I was after Infinity War precisely because of that end credits scene: I want to know how Scott is affected. I’m sure some of it will be played for jokes, but some of it won’t be. And he’s such a loveable, wholesome character; I want to know how he’s going to deal with all of it, specifically. Everyone else too, but he’s going to be in such a unique situation. The superhero name is silly, but what he can add is massive - and I’m really looking forward to seeing him in a more serious tone, something we haven’t quite had the chance to yet. (There have been moments in his films but the overall tone of them has been joyful, and I love that, I love feeling happy watching them, but hey, something else isn’t bad.)

Speaking of being stuck in the quantum realm: I really appreciate how the MCU has chosen to handle Hank. They’ve completely side-stepped the domestic abuse because it wasn’t possible in this universe, but they still made it clear he’s still Hank: the only people who can stand to work with him are his family (and Scott). The fact that he’s a controlling dick still completely comes through, especially in his arguments with Bill. It’s easy to see why he would get completely on everybody’s nerves and alienate everyone around him; he’s brilliant but who wants to be around that? How does anyone tolerate it? He’s not a bad person but you can see how he could have been.

But I also love how much Hope will always stick by him. She’s very family-oriented: she lost her mom at a young age; she’s not going to lose her dad. And she sees how Scott treats his daughter, probably sees a bit of herself in Cassie, and it helps their relationship as well. When Scott is pleading with Hope and Hank that he has to leave the lab and make sure he’s still at his place when the FBI shows up she’s obviously distraught for a number of reasons but she isn’t going to argue with him having to leave, and I’d think that’s partly because she’s more stressed out about her own situation but also because she’s thinking of Cassie, too. That they all got to have a movie night together at the end was the perfect start for a new, extended branch of this family. The amount everyone in this movie cares for one another - to the point of taking action of making sure that Ava will be okay (and that Ava’s motivation was understandable and they didn’t make her a full-on villain, but really worked well to ensure a grey area with her) - is really touching. The only major conflict was with a corrupt businessman, which we can all agree, yeah, fuck that guy.

Oh, and the constant cat-and-mouse feel of the movie, culminating in a massive three-way chase climax? So much fun, and different than yet another final battle. I don’t even know how long it takes because I don’t feel the need to check the time, it doesn’t drag at all; watching three different parties with warring interests fight over a box is awesome.

But back to Hope for one more point: her fight scenes are the best. Yes, her with Scott together, but also just her. She has a gimmick of course, but she also isn’t super-powered, and that makes them even better to watch. Here’s the first time Marvel has bothered to put a female character in the title of one of its movies, sharing equal billing with a man, and she more than pulls her weight, both in terms of character and action. She’s a woman leading in a comic book movie and she fits in so seamlessly. 

Other than the importance of family and helping people there’s no real underlying message. But the movie manages to juggle so many different plot points - six different directions, with Scott vs. the FBI, Jimmy vs. Scott (and I didn’t even get into Jimmy! But he’s hilarious and it’s the perfect fit for a bit conflict amidst everything else that goes on in this movie), trying to get Janet back, trying to heal Ava, dealing with Sunny, and Luis trying to get his business up and going (and there’s the brief political moment - “do you know how hard it is for ex-cons to get work” - and I’d really love to see how these movies could turn out if played totally straight, because somewhere out there, there’s a version of it that works) - and it never once feels overstretched or too complicated. A bunch of crazy shit happened to four different groups of people all at once and everyone’s dealing and it’s wildly entertaining (not to mention, occasionally, truly hilarious - Scott channeling Janet [and their first meeting! Kind of! Was so sweet!] and Luis’ narration coming back into the fold two of the major highlights).

It’s fun. After all of the surrounding drama, it’s just so much fun. Which is what made the post-credits scene such a shock - of course the movie itself had to stand alone from Infinity War, but there also had to be some kind of connection there - and brought it back out from its own isolated pocket of the MCU. But it’s such a good pocket that it’s going to be really wonderful to see it immersed with everyone else, even if the tone shifts with it.

[swyllh]

[junhao] at dusk, the last bird’s cry

title: at dusk, the last bird’s cry

premise: [ghibli-esque] junhui is a young boy from the city; minghao is a young boy from the sea.

genre/themes: slow burn, coming of age, environmentalism, magical au, rural-urban issues.

warnings: implicit violence, somewhat unhealthy parent-child relationships?

word count: 14 661

-

between burning tarmac and bleached sand is an equally pale, peeling post. it reads: we com  to l gh  bay.

jun unsticks his knees from the blistered back of the driver's seat with a sweaty, loud whap. the car, startled, clambers testily over another road bump. through the dusty window, jun sees - squinting - the feathered strokes of sky and sea tethered to the edge of his vision by remnants of a white fence.

the picture sighs into another blurry mirror of whites, overexposed and exhausted.

"sit properly," his father says tautly, unwilling to spare another gasp in this wilting weather.

jun complies, pulling against the moaning adhesion of the seat and yanking himself into a slouch against the door. even the glass is hot - moist, now.

"it's so hot," he whines softly.

the cases jiggle haphazardly beside him. a clattering mess - the photos from dad's work spilling frothily under the seats. jun makes a bare attempt to stamp on one of the negatives before it slips away into the carpeting.

"yeye's cottage is by the sea," his mother says breezily, despite the parched volume of her musical whisper. "it'll be cooler there."

jun sighs, pressing his cheek against the upholstery. "okay."

his mother glances back, twisting her head over the pretty lace collar at him. with a smile, she reaches into her bag and tugs out a flashy striped rectangle. the packet spills open to reveal a couple of melting sweets. jun leans forward, unsticking his arm from the side of the door and plucks at one.

"thank you," he says, shuffling hotly into the web of shadows.

"you want some?" mother says to father, her breathy whisper eclipsed by the shaking of a yellow charm on the rearview mirror.

again, the car stutters, clanking ungracefully. the beach outside thins into a fine line, and a sudden, feeble burst of colour flashes past. blues and pinks and greens are stripped down to a whirl, with the occasional red-and-white parasols or chalkboard.

jun jams his elbow against the window button, and hauls himself up for the festivities. there are houses and shops or doors scrunching up so close to the road, teetering over cobbled streets and hasty wooden chairs. the flowers from an overcrowded store panic as the car drives by.

"it's so," jun fumbles, eyes wide. "crowded."

his father snorts.

his mother gazes warily into the mirror. "yeye lives just a bit away."

"right," his father concedes, meeting her round eyes. "just a few more minutes."

jun's still pressed up against the car door. "no one's open yet."

"it's a sunday morning," his mother says, turning to face the winding, climbing road ahead. "sit back down, jun. there's a slope."

jun doesn't, and is slammed back into place when the car zooms vertically. his father rolls the windows back up, and ends any lingering doubt.

-

jun loves his grandfather. he loves the cottage especially - with its red bricks and triangular roof and tinier roofs above the roof. there's a narrow trail of smooth pebbles leading up to the door, lined with white mushrooms and blue flowers he has yet to name.

there's even a small fountain, or more accurately, a bowl made out of a brown-beige thing. it's speckled with little red dots or white, and there's usually a steady puddle of water swirling around in it.

jun hops out of the car and its starched-blue heat, lifting his shirt by the hems to feel that cooling whiff. the car creaks, and his parents are talking in hushed whispers again.

ignoring them, he runs forward, pushing the gate free from its tangled flowery mess. the mailbox is full, however, so jun backtracks hurriedly and tugs the huge envelope out. it crinkles easily, but manages to stay in one official piece.

"magpies," jun mutters, tracing a finger over the glossy stamp.

he breaks into a run immediately, stumbling up the trail and into the modest shelter of the veranda. the paper lanterns he made last summer are still here, swinging listlessly in an effort to be welcoming.

"yeye!" jun shouts, shifting the envelope to the other arm and reaching for the doorbell.

he's still too short though, and so resorts to banging uselessly on the door. his mother comes along, juggling a few cases in her arms. she sets them down, and presses the bell. a faint buzz travels from inside, followed by a muted exclamation.

"oh," grandpa says, eyes darting from jun's mother to jun and then to the cases on the floor. "come in."

jun likes the sound of that, but pauses before hastily removing his shoes. "hello yeye!"

grandpa crinkles his eyes - the lines sinking in deeper - and smiles. "hello jun. how are you?"

his parents have slid past grandpa into the living room, hoisting those thick black leather cases with them. but grandpa's attention is solely placed on jun. the thick black glasses perched on his nose bridge slide down a little, revealing a set of wise, brown eyes examining the boy before him. grandpa winks.

that's what jun likes best.

"very good!" jun says, puffing out his chest.

-

the envelope finds its way to the slanted dining table, perched unfairly over a set of well-worn books. mother tiptoes to tug on the pull strings, catching the sheer lamp shade in mid-oscillation. behind her, father is sprawled out over the dusty couch, switching between news channels forecasting the same static white noise.

jun rushes down from the creaking stairs, tiny feet padding across the room. he reaches the stained silver kettle before it begins to whine, hastily turning the knobs on the stove. it sputters useless puffs of smoke, turning a singular panel of the kitchen window grey.

setting down his new froggy thermos flask on the countertop, jun paces over to the fridge and takes a stool out from beside it. its red coat and printed flowers are fading, and there's a missing spot where a forgotten mushroom sprouted.

jun steps onto the stool, and still on his tiptoes, heaves the kettle with controlled grunts. he's gotten a lot stronger since his tenth birthday. the kettle scratches unpleasantly against metal grids, but budges just enough for its spout to line up against his bottle.

"jun!" his mother shouts, glancing up from her scrutiny of the envelope. "that's hot. i'll do it."

jun frowns, face pulled into a sore look of determination. and then there are adult hands relieving him of its weight. she expertly opens the bottle with one hand, and tilts slightly to the side to guide the stream into froggy.

"i could have done it," he complains half-heartedly.

his mother purses her lips at him, but sighs and turns back to the task at hand. "when you're older."

froggy's head is quickly screwed on, and jun all but snatches it from her. he jogs towards the porch door, and then back towards the stool. carrying it under his arm, he places it back beside the fridge, and then zooms back out the porch door.

beyond the porch door is a brighter expanse of green and blue. grandpa is seated in his rocking chair, hands folded over his stomach. the wind chimes tinkle lazily in a breeze, sparkling pink and silver in the sun. jun walks slowly over to grandpa, watching his chest rise and fall evenly.

the black glasses are still perched on his nose. there could be imprints beneath them by now. on further inspection, the skin around and below his eyes are paler than the rest of his face. jun giggles, hugging froggy to his chest.

and then grandpa is blinking an eye open at jun. his lips - cracked and dry - lifting into a kind smile.

"ready?"

jun nods eagerly. "yes!"

with much effort, grandpa pulls himself to his feet and steps over the rocking chair. he offers a wrinkly hand to jun, who grabs it, and runs a thumb over jun's knuckles.

they begin the walk to the sea.

-

the path taken is exactly as jun remembers it. the trees above arch into a covering, respite from the baking sun. jun marches on clumsily, stepping too harshly on the leaf litter and scattered stones.

"can we get ice cream later," jun says.

grandpa is a little more quiet than he remembers. "sure."

"can we also get cola?"

grandpa ruffles his hair kindly. "sure."

pumping his fist into the air, jun laughs, skipping over a small stream of water running under his feet.

light filters into the covering, highlighting the edges of wrinkly tree barks and beady, beaming beetles. jun tilts his head up, and then lets it fall all the way back to marvel at the lattice coursework of leaves against a bright blue sky. somehow he stops walking, leaving his grandpa's older, sunken steps to echo alone a little away.

there is always something magnificent about the smallest detail; this is wonder at the world for existence we have come to deny - gratitude is a spell to break the curse of time.

jun blinks, and glances back down. they are close to the sea now - he can taste the salt in the air.

something beckons him to the right. he turns in the direction, and finds another cottage hidden in the trees. there's no smoke coming from its chimney, and everything is covered in moss or vines. jun frowns. it's a new cottage to his memory, but everything about it screams old and abandoned.

for some reason, he feels like it's not the first time he's seeing it. captivated, jun finds his shoulders turning along with the rest of his body, and

"jun!" his grandpa calls.

the spell breaks. jun tightens his hold on froggy, and sprints back to where grandpa is.

"who lives there?" jun asks, finger pointing to the trees.

grandpa squints in the direction, considering. "it used to... probably no one lives there now."

jun nods. "oh. it's covered in wild plants."

grandpa looks down at jun, and smiles. "come on, or we'll miss most of the boats."

jun grabs grandpa's hand, and marches towards the clearing. the mess of trees and bushes and clacking cicadas give way to soil, and then wash out into clear bright sand.

-

the house is less exciting at dinner time. his father sweeps the books off the table and onto the coffee table. there are cracked porcelain plates and mismatched metal cutlery by the side, still dripping from the rinse. his mother is stirring a wooden spoon noisily, and the taste of salt wafts through the door when they enter.

"you're back late," his mother chides absently.

jun nods apologetically, but turns to share a smile with grandpa. at his father's glance, he hides his sticky fingers behind his back, wrapped around froggy. the corner of his mouth still tastes like chocolate and vanilla.

"go take a shower," his mother adds. "give me the bottle."

"i'll wash it myself!" jun pipes up.

his mother raises an eyebrow suspiciously, her proffered hand waiting. jun bites his lip, but pulls froggy out from behind his back and delivers it haltingly into her hand. froggy's guilty, stained face stares back up at her.

to grandpa, she says, "you shouldn't let him eat ice cream before dinner."

he shakes his head, placing warm, steady palms on jun's shoulders. "it's hot outside. go shower."

jun nods, scurrying up and away from the rising foam of an argument. the stairs don't carry weight well, and groan every time he runs up them.

the second floor unfurls into darkness, and only comes into view when his eyes have adjusted. blurry outlines of furniture sharpen immediately when he presses a switch somewhere above his head on the wall. the pencil lead he'd pressed into the wallpaper is still there from the previous summers, decked just above the printed lace.

jun grins at the mark, comparing it to his current height. a gap, surely. a sign of growth - maybe he'll lose his baby teeth by the end of this summer.

at the end of the hallway is another window. at first, he wonders if the blinking light is a reflection of the kaleidoscopic lamp he and grandpa painted. but upon closer inspection, the light is bright orange and small and desperate.

"a light?" he cups his hands over the glass.

it's coming from beyond the arch, somewhere in the middle of all the trees. jun thinks back to the cottage from the afternoon.

"maybe there is someone living there," jun whispers, breath fogging up the window.

there are sudden steps rising up the stairs, so jun flees into his room and begins to gather his clothes hastily. he yelps and ducks into the bathroom right opposite his room just in time, slamming the door too loudly.

-

the next morning is awfully quiet, save for the twittering of birds. with easy, cautious steps, jun descends from the stairs, fingers pressed close to the wall.

still air stirs drowsily where the light hits, exposing specks of dust orbiting around the dining table. behind that, there's a short little mug by the sink, waiting. when jun skids towards the counter he finds it to be a red herring; no one else is awake to share this peace.

froggy lies in two halves, uncapped, on a towel. it beams a golden shimmer at jun. outside, the garden is roused, and the flowers are swaying precariously by their stems. the greenery extends as far as the eye can see, closing into a darker shade past the arch.

the owl clock on the wall behind him ticks meticulously. he'll still have a bit of time before they wake up for breakfast. maybe. if he's fast enough.

seizing the momentary shiver in his chest, jun waddles to the door. and then back, to froggy. he picks it up, fills it with water from the tap, and caps it again. froggy smiles reassuringly despite its missing right eye. jun traces a thumb over it.

mother must have been angry, or distracted last night.

and then he's off, pushing the door open and balancing his weight on the other side so it doesn't shut too loudly. his shoes from yesterday are still beside the pillar. jamming his feet into them proves to be too much of an effort, so he puts froggy down and tugs on the collar of his patched sneakers hurriedly.

it's a little crumpled, but now that he's fully clothed in intent, he has to make his getaway. with a friend in hand, jun sprints. past the arch, blurring past the trees, edging closer to the brush of leaves and branches. the forest is alive, thick and sweet with morning secrets.

his laughter strings him along, winds him up till the small stream of water under his feet. stopping immediately, his arms flail back and forth, grasping at air.

there.

the cottage is still there. it's weathered and listless among this lush scenery. jun walks towards it anyway, pushing away long stalks of grass and trudging through soft soil. it feels gross, but curiosity wins out, and his eyes never leave the mysterious cottage.

there is something beautiful about the ruins - the cracks of windows run like cobwebs, and the chipped off paint is a spotted pattern running along the walls. even the metal of the door is rusting, gleaming bronze-brown in the light. the moss has outdone itself.

all in all, a fantastic discovery.

"who are you?"

jun spins around. it's a boy in a wheelchair. he's scrawny.

and a little irritated. with a scowl, the boy repeats, "who are you?"

jun grips onto froggy. "i'm jun. this is froggy."

the boy pats his threadbare blanket. "froggy?"

"this is froggy." jun raises his flask, and then pulls it back down behind him. "who are you?"

"minghao," the boy says slowly.

jun nibbles on his lower lip. he doesn't really know what to talk about - there's one thing he'd like to ask, however. but that would be rude.

minghao ignores him and wheels determinedly towards the cottage.

"do you live here?" jun says, awed when minghao procures a key and jams it into the doorknob.

minghao doesn't bother looking at him. "yes."

"yeye said no one lives here!"

minghao doesn't reply him, but leaves the door open anyway. jun takes a quick glance around the cottage, and zips right in.

there's no mat on the ground, and the shoe rack looks halfway obliterated, so jun kicks his sneakers off to the corner. minghao doesn't seem to wear any shoes though.

"where are your parents?" jun asks, standing awkwardly at the door.

minghao's pushing himself into another room. he doesn't answer. there are a lot of things he's not telling jun, and it's kind of frustrating. maybe jun shouldn't ask so many questions.

he continues to stand at the door, craning his neck to see the rest of the living room from his position. there are white, moth-eaten curtains hanging limply by the windows. the couch too seems old and unused. several black frames of old, yellowing photographs are hanging on the walls, and there's even a calligraphy scroll draped next to the cabinets.

"what are you doing?" minghao says, wheeling past the doorway.

he looks irritated, but that look is bolstered by something else - his mouth's turned down in a frown, and his eyes are wide. minghao looks scared, like jun's going to run off.

jun scratches his cheek. "i'm coming in."

"then come in faster," minghao says, and zooms off towards the couches.

jun takes the offer. the house expands into a quaint, angular space with hallways on either side leading into dark spaces. there's a dream catcher and a string of iridescent shells hanging from the ceiling. as jun enters the room, the green on one of them morphs into a sparkly blue. amazed, he stumbles backwards - it turns green again.

"wow, these shells are pretty," jun says. "did you pick them yourself?"

minghao lights up. "they're from the sea."

jun nods. "you are good at choosing."

minghao takes a careful sip of his water.

"have you been to the beach?"

minghao hesitates for a moment, and shakes his head. "no."

"but there are a lot of shells there," jun exclaims, and then shrivels up when the glint of minghao's wheelchair catches him by surprise.

minghao scowls. "i know."

quietly, jun shuffles to a couch and plops down into its fluffy, scratchy surface. it wheezes heavily. in front of him, minghao has placed two glasses of water on the table. jun carefully sets froggy down beside him, and the traitor rolls away into a dip in the sofa.  

"how long have you been here?" jun asks instead, patting the condensation away from under the glass.

minghao tilts his head. "a few days."

"that's why i haven't seen you before," jun says.

minghao doesn't say anything, only continuing to drink from his glass. jun watches, eyes sharp and bright - something about this is extraordinary, like a dream. questions race past his mind in a flurry of excitement, skipping from one assumption to the next. he tries to say something, but can't find it in himself to break the silence.

instead, he looks past minghao's nonchalant face and out the other window where the curtains are. his eyes slide over the tinted greenery and up the wooden carvings of the walls, then down to the covered dresser and the tiny clock perched on it. it's red and black, spotted like a ladybug.

"ah! it's eight-" he squeals, and minghao's eyes grow wide.

jun jumps to his feet, just as minghao says, "eight?"

jun nods, running to the doorway and tugging his sneakers on. "i've gotta go, sorry, minghao, i'll come back later! bye!"

with those butterfingers, he crosses and recrosses uncooperative laces around his shoes. finally, with a pinched groan, he leaves the laces untied, and pushes the door open, stumbling out into the light. a quick glance into the house tells him that minghao hasn't moved - jun shakes his head, and begins the sprint up towards grandpa's house.

-

grandpa takes him to town immediately after breakfast. jun stares blearily around the area while grandpa pauses to talk to a storeman. the entire place is narrower than the city, with only one road in the middle and no stop signs or speeding limits.

the railings closest to him are spotty and dark green. jun blinks again, and tugs at the collar of his polo shirt. it's dark blue and heavy and the material feels harder than any of his cotton shirts. frowning, jun turns to stare down the road. it dips and winds and curves uncertainly, lit so bright and vulnerable to the rays from the sun. even its shadows seem to murmur conspicuously, the whole scene blurring unfortunately like someone'd spilled water over its colours.

a tabby cat stretches, arches moodily, and then springs off across the street. somewhere above him, behind him, a bell rings, and a door closes. jun closes his eyes too, tries to dissect the living gasp and sigh of everything around him, tries not to put a name to these actions - something whining, then of wood swinging to a thud, followed by the jiggling of glass. a door, then.

the conclusion finally satisfies him, so jun opens his eyes again - squeezing them shut at the light, and then gingerly opening them.

"...that your grandson?" the storeman asks, tugging out a wrapped chocolate treat from her pocket.

grandpa ruffles jun's hair. "yes. jun, greet the sister."

jun bows slightly. "hello, sister."

the storeman laughs and hands him the treat. "so obedient. how old are you?"

"ten," jun says. "thank you."

the storeman nods, and turns back to grandpa. "nowadays the kids are moving to the city."

grandpa sighs. "everyone's moving to the city."

at this, jun perks up. "why are they moving to the city?"

the storeman gives grandpa a look, and then lowers herself - she's not quite a figure, but she's broad around the shoulders and her tan head is covered by a flimsy straw hat. she looks jun straight in the eye, and then right past him to the street around them.

"you're from the city, aren't you?" she says suddenly, flicking jun in the forehead and then chuckling.

jun clutches his forehead and stumbles back. indignantly, he cries, "but i like being here with yeye!"

the storeman and grandpa share a laugh. jun's face flushes, and his eyes narrow. he doesn't like being ganged up on. but before he can protest, the storeman is drawing herself up to her full height again.

"they're not going to stop the construction, you know," she says to grandpa. "this place is an important harbour."

grandpa looks into the storeman's face. "are you moving out too, shun?"

the storeman meets his gaze resolutely. "yeah. i've found a place in the next town. small, but bigger than here."

the severity of her tone dips a few notches when she stretches her arms behind her head. "well, they're always herding us folks inwards."

grandpa nods, sighing. he pats the storeman on the shoulder, and tilts his head towards the road. "right. we'll get going then."

the storeman tips her straw hat, and smiles back at grandpa. she gives jun a wink, too, at which jun hurrumphs and whips his head away. he curls his fingers around the chocolate candy, annoyed.

"have a nice day, mr wen!" the storeman says, waving. "you too, boy."

jun pouts, stomping on gravel and kicking at stray pebbles. his grandpa indulges him by staying silent, only pointing out pigeons or waving to other rare passers-by along the street.

"who's she, yeye?" jun finally says.

"shun - she's an old friend. honest; a good lady." grandpa says. "she's been taking care of all the old folks here for a while."

jun glances up at grandpa. "even yeye?"

grandpa smiles. "even me, jun."

at that, jun bristles. he turns his head back to where the shop is. from this distance, the street is warped by the heat into an inconsolable mess of faint shapes. he can barely make out the wooden board sticking out from the front door.

"i'll take care of yeye!" jun announces.

his grandpa smiles, unfolding a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his dotted face. its crisp, folded lines seem to wilt under the weight of this damp humidity.

for a long time, he doesn't reply. jun looks forward, and continues marching down the road. a pinwheel perched in the flowerpot by the lamp post surges with a temporary vitality. then it droops, heaving itself up and failing to spin over. jun squats down and blows at it. the pinwheel, ticklish, gives a shy whirl.

"i'm not moving to the city, jun," grandpa says finally.

the answer comes easily to jun. "then i'll move in with yeye."

-

a slab of fish steams blue and quick-silver on the plate. when jun tilts his head, the scales sparkle coyly, shooting electric green flashes before turning grey once again when he looks away. its eye, round and white, stares unflinchingly up and away.

father's fingers interrupt the scene, gruffly pinching at a lime and squeezing the orb into harsh halves. jun carefully adjusts his wooden chopsticks, hooking his ankles and hoping the quiet, tight-lipped glares don't mean anything.

grandpa sits down to his right, at the head of the table. he's not smiling, even when mother places a bowl of rice before him. she hurries back to the pot. jun looks out the window, past mother's stiff back and towards the covering. now, however, it's only black and creeping, with the floating reflection of his mother's furrowed brows and the incomplete dining table. the fish, glowing sinister and sepia, swims with disembodied merriment every time jun moves.

when mother sits down, jun starts to greet everyone. his voice trails off even before he gets to his father.

"alright, let's eat," his mother ushers a slice of fish into his bowl. "before it gets cold."

jun glances at grandpa from the corners of his eye. grandpa slowly picks up his chopsticks, and shovels more vegetables into jun's bowl. carrots and peekaboo mushrooms tangle between leafy greens, soaking his rice with a thick, golden sauce.

for good measure, jun whittles a smile at grandpa. grandpa winks back.

only then does jun bring his bowl up to his face, breathe in the sweet, viscous warmth, and begin to eat. the dull clank of cutlery continues for a few moments. jun tears his face away from the comforting darkness of his bowl, if only to pick up more food.

"eat slowly," his mother says, just as

his father turns to grandpa. "come back with us."

the kind smile slips off mother's face. she turns her head, almost imperceptibly, towards father. jun cleverly puts his chopsticks down, shifting forward in his seat, ready.

grandpa pretends not to hear anything. he places more mushrooms in jun's messy bowl.

"come back with us," his father says again. "they're evicting you-"

grandpa sets his chopsticks down firmly. sound drains out through the slit below the doors, and time slows imperceptibly to a torturous, ticking halt. jun doesn't dare lift his eyes, tracing the wavy patterns on his bowl instead. there's a ring of light on its glazed red surface, flickering. if he concentrates, he can see puffs of steam from the rice, still.

"why are you so stubborn?" his father asks, ignoring his mother's hiss.

grandpa doesn't reply.

"the whole town's going to pieces; they're going to build the port and you can't change anything." his father's voice is rising steadily.

jun shrinks into himself, just as grandpa slowly gets to his feet.

something snaps in father; he slams his palm on the table. "you can't change anything!"

grandpa, in a trance, hobbles out of the dining room and up the stairs. jun doesn't remember the stretch of time - doesn't know exactly what he's done until the scratching of a chair against the floor and clattering of a door catches up to him midway in the hollow of a forest's sigh.

his sneakers, untucked and unlaced, crinkle around loose leaves. an owl's haunting hoot echoes from somewhere above. jun pants, crouching in on himself, grabbing at his knees.

the darkness of the forest unfurls around him, tempting with feather-light breezes and an unsettling feeling of being touched. he retracts his arm into his chest, blinking. his heart races against his fist, aching bitterly.

jun wipes at his cheeks, and tries to look for moonlight. there's rustling, and then a couple of concerned shouts from behind. jun tenses, glancing back into the vague, white outlines of the cottage. he should go back.

but - the blinking orange light, now bigger and gem-like, catches his eye.

"minghao," jun whispers.

the light wheezes in and out of existence, becoming fainter. jun makes up his mind. he stumbles forward, toeing with sheer faith and memory, pushing past shadowy branches.

the stream sighs under his feet, damp and cold.

-

the cottage stutters into existence, unwittingly transformed. in the faint moonlight, jun can barely make out its silhouette. the only thing certain is perhaps the jotted outline of a door and a yellow, shaded window to the side.

"minghao!" jun whispers, leaning up against a tree trunk.

something rustles behind him. jun tenses, almost glancing back, but steels himself just in time -

don't look back, don't look.

"minghao," he tries again, courage trapped in a coarse whisper.

there are no answers. jun steps out of the foliage, and then breaks into a run up the slotted slabs that lead to minghao's cottage. the door, gaily ajar, teeters on edge. his fingers come up to its cool, indecisive surface, and pushes, hard. light showers his fingers in bright, geometric gold.

"i'm coming in!" jun announces, peeling his sneakers off.

nothing. jun frowns, hopping as he proceeds to tug his other shoe off. a quick survey of the floor reveals no other shoes present at the doorway.

"did he go out?" jun wonders.

as he enters the living room, previously unnoticed details surge to the eye - a keyboard hidden carefully amidst stout cabinets, a lace doily draped over it, a tiny cylindrical vase standing purposefully above it. his eyes trail over to the keyboard, and then to the tattered books behind its shadows.

jun squats down, carefully pulling the books out. he plops down to sit instead, eyeing the spines of each weathered series. they're full of symbols he doesn't understand, and some of them are proper words interlaced with odd curves or shapes.

unlike the keyboard however, these books aren't dusty. they're sandpapery and thin like butterfly wings between his fingers - old, but not abandoned.

"does he read these?" jun mutters.

he puts them away and pushes himself up to his feet. the keyboard is almost as tall as he is, slanting matte and unhappy in its corner.

a gust of wind sobers him, and the lace doily sprawls out to better cover the keyboard. this is not his house. an unwilling heap of emotions and events from earlier come tumbling down onto him, now that the imagined danger has passed. jun shuffles over to the couch and lies down, curling into himself. he'll just wait here until minghao comes back, or until morning comes.

-

he wakes up to the rustling of fabric. someone's tucked a blanket around him, an imprint of warmth still lingering on his shoulder. jun sits up, letting the blanket fall.

"...hao?" he mumbles.

it's navy blue and black now; the place is emptier when everything has morphed into shadows and almost-faces. but jun isn't scared. there's more to this darkness. the moonlight falters, shifts surreptitiously, swimming on the floorboards.

"water?" there's a trail of it, darker and shimmering. it leads down the hallway into a rhombus of ochre light.

jun gets up. for some reason, he knows that this is minghao -  or at least, the way minghao went. there's something inexplicable about that blinking orange light at the end of the hallway, something so close and yet still far away.

come, it says, breezing through his thin cotton shirt.

jun supplies the rest. his hesitant pace changes into a quick run when the light winks a final time and fizzles into the darkness.

"wait!" jun shouts. but his voice is trapped in like a jelly, muffled and viscous. "waitwaitwaitwaitwait!"

panic stirs in his chest. it's bright sparks and spooky branches in his face and the overwhelming chill of the leaf litter between his toes.

he knows this is minghao. he knows minghao needs someone. needs him.

the ground breaks into sandy, pebbled grounds, and then the blur of black trunks is swept away by the vast exhale of a sky. the moon disappears between grey cloud streamers, and the only sound left is the rush of waves frothing against the beach.

come, it says again, still and salty against his cheeks.

from the depths of the inky sea, an orange orb rises. it's bright but not too bright, wobbling in the thick pull of currents. like a dull sun. or a special moon.

jun climbs up the narrow pier, placing one foot in front of the other, crouching as close to the water as he can.

it's bubbling. the sea feels agitated somehow. there's an incessant vibration or swirling that's buzzing against the wooden planks of the pier. like something's about to break through.

jun wraps an arm around the bottom of the column and lowers himself, his free hand skimming the surface of the ocean. it's not cold - the currents are gentler than they seem, barely flinching when the tip of his fingers trail against its hurried facade.

it doesn't feel like water at all. just a strange, heated calm.

the orb is just out of reach. if he'd just stretch a bit more... jun hisses when the uneven dip of the column leads to a coarse, splintered patch. he doesn't let go, though.

just a little bit more...

and then he does.

the resulting splash is swallowed by a glutinous heat, wide and generous around him. jun strains to keep his eyes open, strains to catch a glimpse of another string of blinking blue-green lights in the distance.

like a tail, his mind supplies. it flickers lazily and then fades into the gulf.

the orange light captures him in its translucent palm, and lulls him into a soundless sleep.

-

jun wakes up. "minghao!"

he's back on the couch again. the blanket is pooled around his legs, tangled, like he's been struggling among them.

the sun's up. everything is well-lit and defined. there's a tangy sort of warmth on his arm where the rays are hitting. behind the couch, the curtains waltz without rhythm, swinging back and forth listlessly.

jun wipes the sweat off his neck. it's cold.

the hallway before him leads to a dead end. the floor is dry. everything is stale again.

beside him, froggy stands protectively on the coffee table.

-

he's on the porch with yeye again. only this time, they're folding cranes and windmills.

jun doesn't mind origami. there's a quiet reverence for perfect folds and pin-pricked precision he holds. that, and anyway, at the end of each routine, he finds a sense of wonder in each petite creation.

cradling his latest pet, he pinches it by the tail and sets it next to froggy. the pink crane flops on its side as soon as jun lets go.

"yeye," jun says. "is mom still angry?"

the comforting creak of grandpa's rocking chair doesn't falter. he's still folding tiny squares into familiar shapes with his eyes closed. jun looks down at his hands, and then picks up another leaf of origami paper.

grandpa's the only one who hasn't asked him where he went. in the midst of pinched nose-bridges and huffy sighs or condensed yelling, grandpa had carefully slid out of the kitchen and winked at jun to leave his parents to argue over themselves.

it's a secret jun wants to keep for himself.

"if you fold a thousand, you can make a wish," grandpa says, leaning forward in his rocking chair to place a lithe blue crane on the ledge.

jun nods. he unwraps the origami paper and begins folding a windmill instead. because of all its previous folds, the windmill comes out creased and wilting. "okay."

grandpa shuts his eyes again. "come back before dinner."

jun turns to grandpa. his hands are interlaced over his stomach, and his shoulders are rising evenly. for a moment, jun thinks grandpa's fallen asleep. but then, he opens an eye and smiles ever so slightly at jun.

jun whirls back to see a quiet, unmoving interior through the kitchen window. then, easily, he grabs froggy and his shoes, and sprints down into the clearing.

grandpa continues rocking his chair. the paper crane by the ledge drifts down, tumbling towards the rest of the coloured, unmade squares.

-

sitting across minghao feels surreal. the same cottage is decidedly more humane now, and jun belatedly recognises the blanket across minghao's torso as the one around his last night.

minghao raises an eyebrow at his staring. "so?"

"um?" jun pipes up. it's more of a squeak than anything.

"why are you here."

jun wraps his fingers around froggy's cylindrical body. "you weren't here last night."

minghao blinks up at him. "yes."

"...thank you. for the blanket." it shouldn't be so weird, but he figures that rather than explaining the whole dream-like sequence of lights and waters, this is easier.

minghao flushes slightly. "it's alright."

"um!" jun says eloquently. "do you want to go to the beach?"

behind the rim of his teacup, minghao's eyes sparkle. he hums noncommittally, and then sets the ceramic cup down on its saucer.

"i can't stay away from the cottage for too long," minghao answers softly.

jun tries not to let his face fall. "oh."

there's a bit of a silence as minghao toys with the handle of his cup. he seems less guarded than he did previously, but the furrow of his brows are telling of some deep concerns.

jun fumbles with a suitable activity to occupy their time with. he searches his pockets, and comes up with little leftover squares. they're a little dog-eared and soft, but still.

"do you know how to fold cranes?" jun asks, sliding the papers onto the coffee table.

minghao scrunches up his nose. "fold cranes?"

jun picks one and deftly demonstrates. minghao leans in, hunching over the table to look.

"see," jun says, tweaking the head a little and placing it in minghao's small hands. "a crane."

"wow," minghao says, and the awe makes jun preen a little.

he's careful with the paper crane, tilting his head side to side in dedicated examination. then minghao smiles. it's a nice departure from the usual stony look he gives jun, like he's assessing his worth or whether he's going to run off.

"you can have it," jun says eagerly when minghao turns back to look at him.

"really?" his smile broadens.

"yeah! we can fold more!" jun says.

minghao places the delicate little thing on the table, his eyes following after its quaint shape. "teach me."

jun does exactly that. his hands are slightly larger than minghao's, but surprisingly, more meticulous and practiced. minghao sticks his tongue out, concentrating on the perplexing geometricity of a simple bird. his first crane comes out war-torn and crumpled, with an uneven wing span.

but that's no matter. minghao treats this bird with the same respect and adoration as jun's, and allows it to cling to the first crane's side.

they run through the stack of origami papers, and soon minghao's cranes are slightly less droopy than his first attempts. when pink finishes, there's orange.

"are you always with froggy?" minghao asks.

jun nods. "he's my friend."

minghao's cheeks blush, and he peeks up at jun. "like me?"

"yeah," jun answers quickly.

minghao smiles down at his crane. jun slides more squares towards him with a shy smirk.

"yeye says if we make a thousand, we can make a wish!" jun chimes.

minghao's eyes widen. "a wish?"

jun nods. "i think i'm going to wish for... staying here! what about you?"

minghao takes a piece of paper. "hmm, i don't know. and anyway, if it's the two of us, won't it take two thousand?"

"whaaat," jun groans, and then turns bashful at his display. "but we're not adults, so maybe our wish is half an adult's wish."

minghao bows his head. "is that so."

jun pinches his own crane into sharpness. "do you want to? make a thousand?"

"sure," minghao says, without thinking twice. his hands are already cramping up.

jun knows it. he grins at minghao, toothy and bursting at the seams. somehow his face feels alight, glowing and giddy. minghao mirrors his joy, and the two of them return to folding more cranes, hope pulsing through their fingers in a circuit between their hunched, lowered heads.

-

dinner is a quiet affair. they have fish again.

mother tucks him into bed. the quilt is puffy and cool against his legs. she looks tired, and her shoulders gripped by a fear of inactivity.

jun peeks out from under the quilt, fingers curling around its ends. "mom?"

"yes, jun?"

"are you angry?" he says.

she places a hand on the quilt, and sighs. "no."

there's a thought running through her mind. he can see that in the unfocused glaze of her eyes and the pursing of her lips.

"why did dad raise his voice?"

she blinks. "hm?"

"at the dinner," jun mumbles. "he was shouting at yeye."

she pats his head. "your grandpa is very stubborn. we want the best for him."

"to move in with us?" he can't imagine yeye stuck in the aloof, minimalist corners of their high-rise apartment.

she smiles, small. "yes. wouldn't you like that?"

he would. but it's off. jun struggles to explain himself, the concept twisting in and out in his chest. the paper ornaments overhead agree.

"what's 'eviction'?" he asks instead, remembering the word.

she sighs again. "will you sleep if i answer this?"

"yes," he says; she looks pained.

humming listlessly, she pats his head gently. "remember the fish we ate for dinner?"

"mmhmm."

"was it good?"

"yeah."

"well, to catch these fish," she says slowly, "we have to make a fishing harbour. and to do that, we need to change up the area around the sea."

"change up?"

"build roads or markets for the fishermen who catch the fish," she says, lines growing on her forehead. "and grandpa's house is in the way."

"oh," jun says. he doesn't know what else to say.

mother exhales again, and puts on a kind smile for jun. reaching over, she presses a kiss to his forehead, and tugs on the cord of his bedside lamp.

"goodnight," she says.

"goodnight," he whispers, watching her silhouette leave the room.

she takes care to shut the door gently, leaving the cool blue moonlight to shape parallelograms on the floor instead.

-

for some reason, he's in minghao's wheelchair now, and in minghao's cottage. he starts to wheel himself past the couch, and for the smallest fraction of a second, jun thinks he might just wheel himself down the hallway and past the wall. it's a strange thought; its strangeness amplified by how naturally it occurs to him.

but everything's still the same - the lace doily, the curtains, and ladybug clock, and the dead end at the back of the hallway. jun rubs his eyes.

cold, salty air gushes past him, sending him reeling back. the wheelchair is gone now, and the blanket falls from his legs like a second skin shredded. it escapes into a multitude of iridescent shells, fluttering in the wind. when jun picks them up, they unfold into tiny squares with uneasy creases.

come, the voice beckons.

he looks up. minghao's beaming face bobs up and down on the coastline. so he goes.

it's easier than he'd imagined - but then again, this is all in his head - to weave through the currents. minghao maintains a safe distance however, and the grin wanes into a coy, apprehensive look.

"where are you from?" jun asks.

minghao dives into the waters, and resurfaces slightly closer. "are you coming?"

"where?" it's getting harder to stay afloat; his arms are useless when he tries to paddle.

minghao's face sours, and then breaks out into a panic. "no- you have to get out of here!"

"what?" jun shouts. "why?"

behind him, the bellowing of horns and grinding gear echo. he turns to see towering shadows against a mist. ships.

there's a burning red glow from under the sea. it's hot, and heavy, and suddenly the water is too thick. jun flaps his arms, kicking with all his might.

"get out of here!" minghao's yelling. his voice is too far away.

the red glow blazes on, corrupting the waters and turning them into oiled black lacquer. jun raises an arm, and sees his fingers begin to harden, taking on the morbid shape of a crisp, clean triangle. a wing.

"jun!"

-

he sits up, panting. his fingers are still clammy.

thank god.

with a sigh, he plunges back down onto the bed.

-

"yeye, are mermaids real?"

he's toying with the paper windmills on shun's store windows.

grandpa perches on the chair that shun had brought out earlier. his tea sits untouched after the customary first sip. shun's bustling around in the store, shifting boxes here and there.

grandpa's eyes twinkle. he uncrosses his legs and leans in, ready to listen. "did you see one?"

jun frowns. "i... think so?"

he dreamt it, but the distinction hardly matters - it's a truth that settles snugly in the corner of his chest. maybe he's being stupid. the awareness of what his parents would say, what his mother would chide, stings uncomfortably on his tongue.

but grandpa, and this store, exist outside of that. down here, everything is drawn in chalk and pastels and a sort of quiet that never questions its own silence. these are the two worlds jun has grown up in, an inside and an outside that he must inevitably navigate without offending either boundaries.

"we were in the water. he was," jun begins to say, finger just missing the tip of the windmill. "telling me to go."

and then, faintly, he hears himself mutter, "i think he's hurt his tail."

the door chooses to open now, sparking off a cacophony of tinkling. an old lady hobbles in, exchanges hushed greetings with grandpa, and then moves deeper into the store where shun is. the shuffling of cardboard and paper pauses briefly.

"jun," his grandpa says seriously, "do you know where we get our fish from?"

"mom says they're building a harbour for it."

a shroud of something comes over grandpa's face. the corners of his mouth tighten.

"she's right," he says. "but the sea is bigger than any harbour."

the old lady from before hobbles back out the door. jun's eyes follow her aching back before trailing back to grandpa. mint-green triangles wink against wrinkled skin, courtesy of the tiled wall beside them. it's an old design, the juxtaposition of colours from an era where cheer was luxury and poverty was abundant. shun takes a break to join them, pouring herself some tea.

"they're performing a ritual later, are you coming?" shun says, dipping her biscuits into the tea.

jun blanches. the storeman merely bites down into her soggy snacks and chews obnoxiously. jun shrivels in his seat.

"the gods will not be happy," grandpa sighs. "it's a mess."

"the office'd send them an eviction notice if they could," shun says lightly. "nowadays a prayer is a joss stick and a fire."

"gods?" jun echoes. he knows of those - in huge, furnished temples, or hanging off crucifixes.

"ya haven't heard of them, city boy?" shun jokes.

she wrestles his scowl into submission, ruffling his hair and pinching his nose harshly. jun winces, and shakes himself loose. she chortles, digging into her pocket to retrieve a chocolatey apology. he takes it grudgingly and thanks her anyway - if only because grandpa is watching.

"he says he's seen a mermaid," grandpa continues, as though this is a common sight.

"yeye!" jun almost shrieks. he does not shriek.

to his shock, shun doesn't take the bait to tease him. in fact, the entire exchange seems as normal as discussing the weather.

without missing a beat, shun turns to him. "how much do you know about mermaids?"

"i- i don't know if he's one," jun mumbles.

shun rubs her chin. "well, they usually have tails. though there are definitely accounts of mermaids who can walk, breathe and all on land."

"mi- he can't walk," jun says. "he's in a wheelchair."

"a wheelchair?" shun echoes, incredulous. she turns to grandpa. "mr wen, this isn't good."

grandpa presses his lips together in a tight line.

she shakes her head, scratching her scalp. to jun, she says, "you know, if the ocean's dirty, the fish die. if that mermaid of yours is hurt, whatever hurts him is still out there."

"the ships!" jun exclaims, before promptly slapping a hand over his mouth. "do you think the ships - they're building the harbour, mom said."

shun softens. "he's your friend, no?"

to that, he nods.

shun continues, exchanging a careful look with grandpa. "you better tell him to leave."

-

the ritual takes place on the beach. a couple of adults in polo shirts and khaki pants and work belts shift their helmets to the sides before standing in line. they've got silvery cans with them and joss sticks in the other hand. jun learns that the drink fizzes, and reeks of a sour, musky stench.

"what's that," he whispers to grandpa, pointing at the cans the workers are pouring into the sea.

"beer," grandpa says curtly. "offerings."

one of them flicks open his lighter, snapping it irately thrice. the joss stick finally catches on fire, but is immediately extinguished by the swing of the worker's arm.

it still glows, though. orange. jun turns to the sea, calm unlike his dreams, and shudders. grandpa's hand is on his shoulder immediately.

the workers nod a couple of times, raise their joss sticks to the sky, and bow down. before he knows it, the act is complete, and they end up tossing the joss sticks into a plastic bag. the cans, they hold over their gaping mouths, sucking around its rim for a final quench.

"...nothing left, hah," one of them says gruffly, and jams it into the plastic bag.

"you emptied the entire thing," the other says, knotting the bulging bag.

jun waits until they leave before falling to his knees and belching. nothing comes out, which is just as bad. his throat scorches, and there are tears in his eyes that aren't purely just discomfort. the sand is granular and prickly between his fists, and the sea sweeps a broad sigh into his ears.

"i don't feel good," he manages to mumble.

grandpa pushes his bangs away from his sticky forehead. shun jabs at his back in an attempt to be comforting.

far away, a voice bids his name. the word crinkles and creases neatly, tucked under the muffled echoes of each wave. it doesn't fade away even when he sleeps.

come.

come.

come.

"where?" jun says, the words slurring into the hollow. "where do i go?"

he sits up. the sweltering chill of blankets tangled around his limbs suddenly feel like nets. he jerks his feet away from them, flinging his arms out and rolling to the ground.

his bum hurts. "ouch."

gentle kneading his knuckles into his back doesn't help, so he gets up, and puts one foot in front of the other. in a drowsy haze, he makes it to the windows where three cream shells are leaning.

they're brittle, but hard. between his thumb and forefinger, each whirl or twist seems like an inexplicable impulse of god, even and well parted at shapely, minute distances. a restless ringing shivers through his chest, and then down to his toes. he brings it up to his ear, cupping it close.

the sound of the sea is bare. it's small, so jun places the shell back down. and then he looks out of the window.

the orange light is blinking in the woods again. jun bites down on his inner cheek, hand hovering over the small shell still.

-

his indecision leads him off the path, just as the orange light whizzes in and out of sight between shards of the forest. he presses on, unsure if this is a dream, or if the silence is a silence of his own, draped over his heart.

the light vanishes when he reaches a kissing gate. it's no longer teasing, no longer coy. instead, he's left with a pallid blue fence, showered in dew droplets and fallen leaves. jun looks up, finds no answers in the complicated weave of leaves, and then around him. save for the kissing gate, there are no markers.

but somehow he knows. this is the same darkened cove of trees he sprinted past, out of minghao's cottage. if he turns, he will see the bright golden rhombus that leads past the hallway into minghao's living room.

the ground beneath him is cold and wet. stray scales line the path with twinkling eyes, flashing blue and green, blue and green.

he turns away from the kissing gate that will lead to the beach, and follows the ground. mud squelches with every step, sticky and benign.

one of the scales is pierced on a stray blade of grass. in the vague moonlight, it looks almost translucent and precious. he leans down and tries to pick it up. it shatters. blinks into blue sparkles and extinguishes.

jun keeps moving. soon he reaches the cottage, where it's more damp and the trail marks are more obvious. the scales are still clinging onto the side of the path.

when he rounds the house, minghao's wheelchair is abandoned. there are more scales on the seat and wheels. jun squares his shoulders. the door is ajar this time too, paused in motion as though offering him a chance to turn away.

he doesn't.

the trail of water and scales lead down the other hallway to an open bathroom.

the tail is first, limply dangling along the edges of the bathtub. the next is an arm, stretching out into milky fingers combing through luminous scales.

minghao glances up at him blankly.

the questions desert him. jun paces up to the glittering shock of minghao's face, and takes his hand. it's wet and clammy, but jun holds on tight.

-

minghao lets him play with his scales. these don't fall off or break or vanish along with the rest of him.  

"i'm the only one here now; everyone left when they heard that the humans were coming with their ships," minghao explains. "they thought it wasn't safe anymore."

"what about your parents?"

minghao shrugs. "i don't have parents; mermaids don't have parents. we come from the sea. and besides, there are humans everywhere."

"shun says you should leave," jun mutters. "they're going to build a harbour!"

minghao scowls. he knows that. "i don't want to leave here."

"but it's not safe," jun says.

minghao sulks. "why do i have to leave? i didn't ask for humans to come here."

jun flushes. he's a human, and the thought of having watched the workers' rituals feels incriminating.

"yeye has to leave too," jun says finally. "i - i wish they didn't have to build the harbour."

minghao gives him a look. "then they'd build it somewhere else."

"they won't - if they saw how beautiful it is, how beautiful the sea is," jun stumbles, hands curling into fists in his lap. "if they stop fighting and just saw!"

minghao is silent. he picks stray bits of dust from his scales, and swats at the air with a loose wave of fingers. there's a grimace on his mouth, stretching comically up towards a wrinkled nose.

jun hands him a sponge. his hand misses, and the yellow, spotty thing plops into the water with a tiny splash. it bobs up and down, stumbling under the weight of its tantrum.

"i was scared to leave," minghao says, drawing jun's attention. "the sea was telling me that it was time, but i didn't want to leave everything behind."

he scoops the precocious sponge up, and lets it froth around in his grasp. "so i stayed back. and at first it was okay, but the wish is fading away; my tail's hurt and the legs won't work anymore."

minghao sniffs. he drops the sponge back to its fretful dilemma.

"i'll carry you then!" jun says. "i'll get you back!"

"really?"

jun meets his wide-eyed stare. "yeah. i will."

minghao lowers his head, hiding a bashful smile behind the back of his hand. jun looks at him, splashing tail and wet curly hair bathed in the bluest reckoning of dawn, and

sudden, panicked shouts shred the moment. it's coming from everywhere in the forest around them. the sound carries, looms uneasily in phantom echoes around them. minghao tightens his hold on jun's sleeve.

"i'm gonna see-" jun says, but minghao pulls him down.

"don't leave me alone," minghao cuts in.

jun furrows his brows.

"-tch it, kill it!" shrill disbelief gives way to thoughtless chants, pushes thick and heavy through the clear morning air. "kill it! kill it! kill it!"

"someone's in trouble," jun says. there are bells in his head. none of them chime well. "wait."

he zooms out of the bathroom, out the house, and rattles the wheelchair through the entrance. it clatters and whines against unfortunate corners or bumps in the floor, before finally wheezing to a halt by the bathtub. minghao pushes himself up and onto its plaid seat, wheeling himself out to where jun seizes a blanket. he drapes it over minghao's twitching lap. a dark shadow of minghao's tail colours itself in, before relaxing to take on a valley dip where legs might be hiding beneath.

"i'll be back," jun says.

he sprints to the doorway, jams his feet into hard wooden boards, and winces. the chanting doesn't seem to stop, so he rushes anyway, heart roaring loud and reckless, uncontained by the swallow of a gasp.

they're all workers, tall blue rectangles with white helmets, stacked around the sand. jun pushes past denim-clad thighs, wading against the current of protesting adults. their whispers and shouts crowd in from above.

between a sandy boot and another, he spots something glittering. it blinks red, and then purple the next. jun pushes harder.

it's a tail; that's a mermaid.

someone sneers, their fear seized by an inexplicable rage. the workers are unarmed, but with malice so strong, they may as well be.

"catch it, it's a monster," someone frantically whispers.

the crowd hedges in hesitantly, encouraged.

jun shakes them off his sides and stumbles towards the mermaid. he's heaving, lips cracked and prune-dried.

"boy! get back!" someone hisses at him, raises an arm to drag him back.

"no!" jun yells. he stretches his arms out, keeping an eye out for the people behind as well. "don't hurt him!"

a pause, and then the voices are babbling again, rising to an unnerving crescendo. someone plucks him up by the scruff of his collar, to which he begins to kick, biting the tanned arm right above the gloves. the man grabbing him squawks, releases him chest first into the sand.

"hao," the mermaid whispers, hand scrabbling for purchase.

and then jun is shouting again, scrawny arms latching onto the mermaid, stuffing his head in the crook of his neck. there are hands grabbing at him, pulling him to merciless safety, hunting for a slice of righteousness.

and then a red chariot comes running down the line, parting the crowd. shun, red-faced and panting, sets the wheelbarrow next to them. a hush descends over them when she yells, squatting down to place the ridiculously long mermaid over her shoulder.

"storeman-" someone interjects, grabbing at her wrist.

shun gives him a look, and then back to jun's terrified glassy eyes. she turns back to the man, and decks him in the face.

"i'll punch the next idiot to come near me!" she shouts for good measure, swinging the mermaid down into the wheelbarrow.

deftly avoiding the unconscious body, she pushes the wheelbarrow out of the crowd with surprising speed. jun tears after her. he guides her through the woods, turning back every so often for a glimpse of the circle of adults.

it doesn't occur to him to breathe, at least not until the tip of minghao's cottage can be seen. shun collapses, jerking the wheelbarrow back down with her. the mermaid winces, head bumping against its metallic sides.

"jun? jun, is -mingyu?" minghao's shocked face peeks out from behind the doorway.

shun waves him off, hunching over to get mingyu on her back. "get in."

jun tries to help, palms squirming against the scaly texture of the mermaid's tail. minghao diligently obeys to let them through. shun steps out of her sneakers, kicking them off to the side ungracefully.

"ya got a tub?" shun huffs, knuckles red.

minghao nods, jerking his head towards the bathroom. his eyes never leave mingyu's pale face however, sorting through the sand and dirt bits tangled in his hair. jun hurries behind her, readying the bath.

mingyu's head lolls under her arm, and jolts when his back hits warm water. his eyes blink open, hazy and distant.

only then does shun retreat, backing until she hits the wall and sinking to the ground.

"shun?" jun asks.

she presses a hand into her face, inhaling deeply and choking out laughter. the laughter heightens into an uncontrollable fit of giggles.

"shun-?"

"two mermaids," she says, wiping at her eyes. "i'm gonna make some tea."

shun gets up, slotting her body off to the side between minghao’s wheelchair and the wall. with a pensive look, she cards her hand through his hair and gives him a good ruffle. minghao looks up at her, but shun slips out of the way and into the hall.

“come on, jun,” shun shouts. “i need your help with the cups and stuff.”

jun rises to his feet, wet hands clutching at his damp shorts. he nods, and slides out of the tiled room, skidding to a halt when minghao holds his elbow.

minghao's eyes are wet, like he's going to cry, but there's no quivering scowl on his lips that says he's sad. he glances at jun, then back at a bobbing mingyu. a tiny silver of smile shimmers on his mouth.

"thank you."

jun nods, gaze inadvertently lowering to his blanketed legs. he offers a weak smile, and slips out to where shun is waiting patiently, her back turned.

-

shun makes tea the way she handles all her boxes - straightforward and loud. jun watches her, broad sweeping motions and boxy gestures shuffling around the kitchen.

"tea?" she says.

jun nods, and then, adds, "yeah."

shun turns to him briefly. "hot water's in the kettle."

it hits him that shun only ever wears pants and solid colours; instead of the flowery whiff that cloaks his mother, she smells like the store. wheat, dust, powdery and simple.

jun reaches out for the kettle, grunting at the strain in his arms. he carries it to her side, tipping it gently, carefully. the spout, trembling with effort, lowers itself obediently to meet the rim of the cup.

"you're so scrawny," she notes.

his arm hitches, affronted, and the water narrowly misses the cup. she huffs, amused.

"do you think he's going to be alright?" he asks, placing the kettle down.

shun bobs the teabag in her cup, head nodding along. the heel of her feet are exposed, grey socks folded outwards under her sole. she taps her toe against the floor, dragging it up against the ankle of her other leg.

it's oddly satisfying and personal; he's never seen someone wear their socks so noncommittally. jun retreats, staring into his own reflection in the tea. steam floats up into his face, alternating between puffy heat and patchy chill.

already, a yawn is stretching its way up his jaw, pulling his lips open. he stifles it unsuccessfully, forcing his mouth shut, tucking his chin back down.

shun watches him, a soft look on her face. "those bastards."

"they were trying to kill him," jun says, cupping his mug with both hands.

"you can't kill the sea," she scoffs.

jun thinks back to the day at the store. "but you can kill a mermaid."

shun narrows her eyes, hurrumphs, and takes a long sip from her cup. she turns around, resting her back against the counter. her nose twitches.

she places her cup back down.

"how old are you, jun?"

jun lowers his gaze to her feet - ankles hooked together. he readies himself for the oncoming gasp. "ten."

shun hums, then retrieves her cup with an awkward twist of her torso. "don't forget what you saw earlier."

he stares at her.

shun looks off into the distance, an undecipherable shade drawn over her face. she takes another sip, considering.

the corners of her chapped lips lift. "but don't forget what you did either."

-

it's some time in the evening when jun wakes up, static crawling up in his arm. he wriggles his fingers free, wincing at the strange prickly feeling. a snore draws his attention to shun. she's curled up in an upright position, head tilted awkwardly against her forearm.

minghao's caved in on himself, hands fidgeting with something. he looks up when jun jumps.

"minghao!" he flubs, then scratches his neck. "mingyu is-"

"he's better." the boy flushes. "thank you."

jun sits back down. shun snorts, and shuffles to the side in her sleep. the two of them share a look, before breaking out in muffled giggles.

"what are you doing now?"

minghao pushes his crane towards the table. "folding cranes."

it's slightly soggy and deformed. jun lights up, leaning over.

"you remembered," he breathes.

minghao nods. "yeah, i did."

"are you going back? to the sea?"

at this, minghao sighs. "well, that idiot came up to land, someone has to bring him back."

he's miffed, but the twinkle in his eye speaks volumes.

"i think i'm ready," minghao continues quietly. "i'll need your help, jun."

his shoulders are quaking, small and bony; but there's a note of determination in his words, an undercurrent of trust so clear and undeniable. this is a boy before him, but for the briefest moment, jun feels a draft running down his back - the floor opens into a vast, blue calm.

"yes," jun says. minghao meets his gaze.

"hao! hao!" mingyu cries from the bathroom.

minghao rolls his eyes, but goes over anyway. jun trots after him, rolling his ankles.

within a few hours, the sickly mermaid he'd dragged to minghao's cottage has regained his strength and chatty personality. his tail is sloshing around lazily, spilling water all over the floor.

"what is it."

"hao!" his tail shakes excitably. "i'm hungry - wait, who's that?"

"i'm jun," jun says.

mingyu shrinks into the water at minghao's glare. "what, i'm hungry."

minghao shakes his head. "you're always hungry."

jun ends up digging around in his pockets. he finds a squashed chocolate candy.

mingyu visibly glows at the sight. "what's that?"

"chocolate," jun says. "it's sweet."

mingyu reaches out for it, almost chewing through the wrapper. his face falls at the bland, cutting taste of foil. jun corrects him.

"ah!" he says, biting down on a hard crust. "hao, you need to try this!"

minghao takes it, sceptical. he sinks his teeth into the halved spherical sweet. he peels the foil away from his brown lips.

"it's sweet!" he exclaims, staring down at the wrapper in surprise.

mingyu turns to jun. "do you have more of that?"

-

shun, as it turns out, is a terribly deep sleeper. jun had poked her face and nudged her side to no avail. in the end, under the combined force of mingyu and minghao's pleading puppy-eyed looks, he'd started to make his way to grandpa's house in search of more chocolate.

the afternoon air is stale and hot like the first day. jun picks at his shirt, and makes a mental note to change out of it - quickly. he presses on, barefoot flinching at the prickly leaf litter beneath him.

just past the kissing gate is the cottage. it's quiet, and when he trots nearer, the entire house seems to be engulfed in a strange silence. almost abandoned. jun rushes up, climbing up the porch with a single lunge.

"yeye?" he asks, timidly pushing the kitchen door open.

there's no reply. jun tries again, and suddenly his mother's rushing out from the living room, cupping his face and twisting him around.

"where were you," she says, voice hoarse and cracked. "where did you go? wen junhui, did you know how worried we were? you almost killed me - we heard the workers talk about a boy and a monster, and that storeman-"

her grip is almost bruising. jun jerks, tries to pull his arm away; this isn't his mother. his mother doesn't have reddened eyes or unkempt hair like that. his mother is mostly a picture of flowers and lace and detached chiding.

"mom-" he tries. "what-"

she swings, shoulder yanked by some invisible force. the next thing he knows, his cheek is hot and hurts - head snapped into a low bow, recoiling from the impact. everything vanishes, numbed into a fuzzy, soundless picture. like a vacuum.

when the rest of the world comes trickling back into comprehension, he doesn't register where that keeling, broken noise is coming from. the rakish outline of his mother's shoulder and black, messy head is wrecked with sobs.

it's hard to breathe. jun chokes, exhaling shakily, and barely catches the tail end of her rambling.

"- he's in the hospital, your grandpa," she hiccups. "collapsed, we heard about the workers, thought you were dead-"

-

yeye looks terrible on the bed. he's grey and ashen and unmoving and jun doesn't know what to do with his hands or where he should stand because all the adults are sitting on all the chairs by the bed without talking or even whispering. a nurse comes to adjust the beeping machine and the tubes connected to the plastic mask on yeye's face and though she's smiling, there's a faint crease on her forehead and no one smiles back anyway. his father isn't even looking his way, hasn't looked his way once since mother dragged him in with a cold hand on his wrist, not in his hand, but that's his fault.

jun stares at the tiny board above yeye 's head, where the white overhead light is. it's yeye's name. he's never heard of yeye's real name.

they drive back to yeye's cottage. on the way back, he doesn't speak; nobody speaks. when he glances out the window, he can see shun's store. the windows are broken, and there's a crack in the door, but it passes by in a whirl and suddenly he's back on the porch.

he hasn't had dinner yet, doesn't feel like he deserves it anyway. maybe he's a bit sick, feels this strange, taut bitterness in his stomach and against his throat.

"jun?" minghao calls out to him from the entrance of the clearing. he wheels himself forward, closer. "i was waiting, but you didn't-"

"go away," jun says. the sting of nails against his thighs barely hurts.

"jun?" minghao says again, worried.

"go away," jun says, tongue thick - were they eating chocolate then, when they dialled for the ambulance? or was it before, when shun was making tea?

minghao pauses. "we're going to-"

"i don't care!" jun says, gritting his teeth. "you- get away

from me!"

"what's wrong?" minghao says, and he has the audacity to sound like he's hurt. jun thinks back to every smile or grin and squashes it down into fuel for his rage.

"yeye's in the hospital. it's all your fault." it's not him. it's not him, but it is, and he hates himself for that. "it's all your fault! because if i wasn't with you then nothing would have happened!

"and now mom and dad aren't speaking to me - everyone hates me now, and it's all because of you! i wish i never met you, i wish you never came to this town!"

it's not him. "i hate you!"

he's not even looking at minghao when he says that. he doesn't even mean it, not really. but there are no take backs, not with the way minghao's just taking it all silently. jun clamps his eyes shut, forces himself to swallow big, fat ugly tears down, crescent nails digging deeper.

a loud clanging noise has him searching the darkness for a sign, but minghao's already gone.

-

yeye doesn't wake up. his parents don't talk to him. the nurse still smiles kindly at him, and offers him tiny chocolate balls wrapped in crisp foil.

his father goes back to the cottage to pack up some things. he doesn't really say why, but jun knows it's because of what the doctor said earlier.

mother takes his father's place at the side of the room, leaving him to sit right by

yeye's peaceful face. jun doesn't want to cry, but the telltale signs of a trembling lip and watery sniffs overwhelm him. he starts to fold cranes, wiping his eyes on his sleeves.

still his mother says nothing. she leaves the room.

the dam breaks.

"i'm sorry," jun says, heaving. "i'm sorry, yeye, i'm sorry. he was in trouble and i thought - i went to try and, but now people know, and when i came back everyone was gone, but i didn't know, and i ended up shouting at him and i don't mean it, i'm sorry - i'm sorry, yeye, please wake up. i'm sorry."

he presses his fists into his eyes, gulping down the small, incessant whines that escape him.

"jun?" it's so soft, the gasp. he barely makes out his name.

"yeye?"

yeye's fingers curl, twitching with effort. his eyes are bleary, barely slits. he breathes, slow and weak.

"yeye, you're-!"

jun clutches onto his hand, jumping out of his chair. it falls with a clatter.

yeye tries to say something, but it's muffled. jun fumbles, smearing snot on his sleeve, before running out of the room. he stumbles to the nearest nurse and drags her to the room.

she makes him wait outside when the doctor comes, and speaks to his mother in a hushed voice. the nurse ruffles his hair, but his mother doesn't look at him. jun knows she's still upset; he bites back to swelling ache in his chest, presses his nose to the window of the door instead.

his father returns from the cottage soon after. the doctor lets them in, smiling in that clean, professional manner that doctors have. he's got a clipboard, and refers to it occasionally with a nod.

but more importantly, it sounds like yeye's going to be fine.

yeye raises a hand, feeble and low, and brushes jun's bangs out of his face. jun steadies him, closing a palm around his wrist. the skin's sagging, and for the first time, yeye looks tired. old.

"your parents were very worried," yeye sighs.

jun lowers his eyes.

the door swings open, rattling off its hinges. jun whirls around, as his parents do. shun, panting, a helmet under her arm, looks roughed up. she glares at jun.

"minghao's in trouble," she says, and then, "hello mr. wen."

father is the first to respond. "who are you? what do you think you're-"

"jun," shun cuts in fiercely, moving around him. "minghao didn't go back when i brought mingyu back."

"what the hell are you talking about-"

"they trashed my store; they're going to get minghao too, unless you come," shun says, louder.

"you're that storeman," his mother says. "don't you dare come near my son."

jun runs up to them, squeezing between his parents to get to shun. "what do you mean-?"

"wen junhui!" his mother shouts, tugging him back. "and you, get the hell away from my son."

shun stands her ground, calm and even despite her frenzied entrance. "your son has saved a boy. if we don't hurry, another one might-"

"he's just a child," mother says, grip strong to the point of bruising. jun stares at her, and finally understands.

she's scared.

"enough!" yeye's voice booms. 

he drags himself up, painfully, into a sitting position. "jun, what are you going to do now?"

his father's gaping. his mother's hold loosens. jun looks into yeye's severe face, and knows. he steps away from them to shun's side, and bows.

"dad, mom," he begins, loud and determined, "i'm sorry i caused you to worry because i didn't tell anyone where i'm going. but now i need to go help minghao. because he's my friend, and because- i haven't told him i'm sorry."

shun bows next to him. "please!"

the air is terse. jun's hands are sweating even as he clenches them. he doesn't dare look up, shutting his eyes and hearing the hopeful pound of his pulse behind his ears.

"alright," his father says.

jun glances up to the touch of his mother's fingers against his cheek. she's kneeling down, looking straight at him. like it's the first time she's really seeing him. her gaze trails over his face, and he wonders if she's seeing her nose on his face, or the bright almond of her eyes reflected in his face.

"thank you," she says, "now, go."

he straightens up. "i'll come back."

and runs off after shun.

-

it's hard to talk with the wind in his face, but shun does; she's yelling against the sound of traffic, telling him how that day when he left for the hospital, she'd dragged mingyu to the sea in spite of patrolling workers, and that minghao had obstinately refused to go back. he'd looked sad, and there was nothing shun could say to persuade him.

shun stops at the pebbled walkway before yeye's cottage. she leans her motorcycle against the fence, and yanks her helmet off, sprinting round the house towards the clearing. jun follows, tripping over himself as he follows her towards the forest.

shun backtracks, picks him up by the elbow. "come on!"

but it's hard to see. jun glances down, hand rummaging at the grass for what he tripped over. it's a rod, or at least, he thinks it is, until the uneven bumps of a mickey mouse-esque lid catches him by surprise. froggy.

his friend.

jun swallows, pushes his shaky legs to work. there are scales - iridescent little layers scattered on the forest floor. the deeper they enter the forest, the more they find. the trail leads them past minghao's cottage and down towards the kissing gate.

"he's at the beach," jun whispers.

shun shakes her head. "they're already beginning construction."

"maybe he's already back in the sea?" he hopes, futile.

even before the forest ends, he can smell the thick pungent smoke from the beach. there are lights and lamps everywhere, a messy spray of colours of jagged machinery jutting out against the landscape.

shun holds him back behind a trunk. she's scanning the place, squinting - jun follows her example, cataloguing the number of workers and boxes around them. there's a makeshift office to their far right, followed by a series of tents and containers arranged randomly to the left.

"look, is that his wheelchair?" shun mutters, pointing towards the container by the office.

jun squints. it might be. "let's get closer."

they crouch, running as fast as they can. shun pulls him close and they squat behind a container. one of the workers bumbles by, whistling. jun peers out from behind the box.

"it's his wheelchair," he says. "what did they do to him?"

shun presses her lips together. "i don't know."

"do you think they killed-"

"no," shun says. she shudders. "he's probably just captured."

she checks the coast, and tucks him close to her as they sneak towards the wheelchair.

something else is glinting in the black shroud of the ground. jun feels for it, and finds himself a folded piece of foil. it's a crane.

"look, the ground's shining," shun points out, pushing jun's head down when another group of workers pass by.

"his scales," jun gasps. "he's shedding so much-"

"it leads there," shun says. "that container behind the office."

jun tugs at her shirt. "shun, why's he shedding so much? is it because of his wish?"

shun glances down at him. "i don't know. but he won't be able to go back if he loses his tail."

jun shakes his head. "he needs to."

shun is quiet, and then she's tugging him to the container. there's a dark puddle of scales in front of it. she begins to examine its doors, picking up the padlock on its handle.

"how are we gonna get in?" jun asks. he knocks gently on the container. "minghao?"

"there's gotta be a key," shun muses, trying to widen the crack between the doors.

jun presses an eye to the slit. "minghao?"

"jun?"

"minghao!" jun whispers. "minghao, are you okay?"

"do you know how to open the doors?" shun interjects.

"no," minghao says. "they brought me here, and closed the doors."

shun frowns, moving to scrutinise the chains.

"get the wheelchair," she says. "and pass me that bottle."

jun obeys, holding his breath and sticking to the shadows. when he gets to the wheelchair, a loud, shattering clang rings throughout the beach.

there's an uproar from the workers. some of them are rushing over, flashlights and rods in hand. jun runs back, pushing the wheelchair through uneven, noisy sand. shun's dragging the doors of the container open, and then pulling minghao out.

his tail's almost bare, reduced to a raw, reddened skin.

"get him to the sea!" shun yells, thrusting minghao onto the wheelchair.

jun nods, and ducks out of the way as shun tackles the men out of their way.

it's unnerving, how much the terrain has changed to resemble one of a disaster - vehicles and cranes and boards sprouting out of the ground, metallic and sharp in contrast with the soft sway of trees. the entire sky too, has shrunk, partially visible now.

jun wills his tired legs to push on, hyperaware of the footfalls increasing behind him. someone rushes out towards them from the side. he swerves, apologising to minghao.

the sea's so close now - jun holds his breath, shoving against every burning instinct in his lungs, and hastens.

it's shallow. it's too shallow. jun doesn't look back, doesn't allow himself to panic. the water is cold around his ankles, but it's still so shallow

and then it's not.

jun falls in, hands still wrapped tightly around minghao's wheelchair. it's so cold, so sharply cold, and he makes the mistake of inhaling; it burns, rushing to flood up his nose and into his head.

he flails, but it's like someone's punched him in the head, wrecked his nose and set his throat on fire. he can't see clearly either - everything's doused in the same inky blackness, and he can't tell where 'up' is.

the crane in his grasp floats away, silver and haunting.

"minghao!" he tries to call.

the crane disappears into a tiny dot.

"minghao!" he screams, but it comes out as a mouthful of bubbles.

he reaches out for the crane, wading through the currents. it twinkles, blinking in and out of sight, before expanding. a torrent of orange light flushes over him. it runs shyly over his outstretched hand, and then breezes past him in a tight, warm embrace.

you saved me! minghao's voice pipes up all around him.

jun gasps, looking down to find his clothes dry and weightless. he doesn't have to strain against the drag.

"minghao!" he says. "are you okay?"

the light dims a little. yeah.

"i'm sorry, minghao!" jun shouts quickly. "i don't hate you! you're my friend!"

the light thrills a bright orange.really?

jun nods. "yes!"

how's yeye?

"he's fine now! i'm sorry for before!"

minghao - the light - pulses, beaming and sending sparks flying all around. a blob of green wafts in.

hey! it's mingyu.

oi!

mingyu fizzles out a little at the hostility, but twitches back with excitement.

you're here, hao!

"mingyu!" jun says to the light.

it drifts over to rest in his hands.

jun! thank you!

thank you! comes a chorus of different lights. thank you!

it's a fireworks show now, lights flashing happily like a kaleidoscope. jun smiles, watching the lights buzz, wheezing around in joy. the shade of orange, minghao's orange, reddens when they edge away to leave the two of them alone.

you saved me, minghao repeats.

he sounds a little sad. jun wishes he could hold his hands.

"it's no problem," jun says.

i have to go, minghao says. i'll miss you.

"i'll miss you too," jun says.

promise i'll come back! minghao supplies quickly. even if it's not here, as long as you're by the sea, i'll be there!

jun nods furiously. "i won't forget you!"

minghao's quiet, fading to a lighter shade. i'm not scared anymore.

he shrinks into a warm orb, nuzzling into jun's palms. thank you. for everything. jun.

minghao begins to fade away, floating off to join the rest of the lights. the waves tug him away, cradling his body towards the shallow shores.

jun's head breaks through the surface of the water. he scrambles to the sand, rising to find himself still dry. the sea calms down, darkens once more into an opaque navy. shun untangles herself from a worker's collar and runs to jun.

behind them, the world stares, awed by the stunning array of lights.

-

the radio dabbles between static and sultry pop, chattering unobtrusively in the background of light whispers and small talk. jun gives yeye a final hug, arms wrapped tightly around his waist. yeye returns it, firm and strong.

"come back next summer," he says.

jun nods. "i will." 

yeye's eyes twinkle brightly. "off you go."

jun pushes the door open, shivering at the draft breezing past his legs. he balances froggy in the crook of his arm, leaning his weight against the wooden door and walking down the pebbled path. a tiny red puff perches on the fountain, chirping easily.

he skips to the car, dusting shrivelled leaves off the mailbox.

dad and mom are talking by the hood of the car, smiling awkwardly, abashedly. jun lets them be, tugging the car door open. it's toastier inside, leather heated up and cosy to the touch. he's got a tin of biscuits from shun earlier, now sitting in his lap.

leaning forward, because everyone's still gathered outside, he stands up and turns the car radio on. it filters to the careless drone of pertinent world news and traffic updates. jun sits back down and listens to the new words.

the car jostles as his parents get in.

"where to," dad says, adjusting the rearview mirror.

mom shakes her head, smiling in exasperation. "let's go home, shall we?"

jun nods. he watches the cottage, its clearing, and the fountain dwindle into a nebulous dream. the driveway tapers, before opening to a bright, unhindered road.

[bloojayoolie]

Being Alone, Andrew Bogut, and Animals: 12 mos young, 62 lbs of Joy Waiting for you roo Super Sweet, Friendly, Social Puppy. Playful with other Dogs. House- & Crate-trained mokeudD #38846 . Loves Hugs and Kisses TO BE KILLED - 8/28/2018 >> Gorgeous NEW PICS and a NEW FLYER for little Smokey <3 “I’m moving, there is no space for him there.” With that, puppy Smokey’s parent walked out the door. Yes, they left absolutely GLOWING surrender notes about the wonderful dog he is. How incredibly friendly with strangers, always wanting to give them a jump up hug so they will pet him. How playful he is with other dogs. How well trained he is – house and crate trained, well behaved, doesn’t mind baths, and on it goes. But in the end, he is alone, and his parent is gone, and now he faces the greatest moment of his young life. Because Smokey, who is barely 12 months old, is going to die if no one will foster or adopt him. This bundle of absolute unadulterated joy will be gone in the blink of an eye. He has no idea this is going to happen, as he happily plays with all his peers in playgroup. He runs with the pups there, but more often than not races to the staff for hugs and kisses because that is his biggest thrill. Staff and volunteers adore him, and even the intake staff member said, "I was also able to collar and take his handsome intake photo." LOL Handsome he is! As with all young pups, he could do with some training – especially calming exercises like “down stay” or “place” so when he gets over exuberant he can channel his energy and remain calm in the midst of distractions. These are simple enough skills, and expected when you foster or adopt a puppy. So don’t let this gorgeous boy with his shining oreo cookie coat die alone and before his life has even begun. Foster or adopt Smokey now, and save his life. Due to his exuberance, he would be best in an experienced home where the children are over Age 13. We don’t want him knocking anyone over in his efforts to give them a kiss. 😊 You can PRIVATE MESSAGE our page or email us at MustLoveDogsNYC@gmail.com for assistance. VIDEOS: Gorgeous SMOKEY <3 https://youtu.be/6YLwwZyYi2g SMOKEY and friend TITAN (38454) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S2s93zk087Q SMOKEY gives kisses <3 https://youtu.be/K5XxWb432QI SMOKEY and his toy https://youtu.be/IPhpz8GpwuE SMOKEY carries his toy https://youtu.be/2yIcN2beh5Q SMOKEY, ID # 38846, @ 12 Mos. Old, 62.2 lbs. Brooklyn ACC, Large Mixed Breed, Black / White, Unaltered Male Owner Surrender Reason: Moving – no space Shelter Assessment Rating: ADULT ONLY HOME (suitable for a foster or adopter in a home w/no children under Age 13) Intake Behavior Rating: 1. Green AT RISK NOTE: Smokey is at risk due to being diagnosed with Canine Infection Respiratory Disease Complex and will likely require home rest and a series of antibiotics for up to 14 days. This is a contagious illness to other dogs. There are some behavioral concerns, Smokey is reported growl and bark at other dogs who approach him while he is eating. We are recommending placement with an Experienced dog adopter on an adult only household. INTAKE NOTES – DATE OF INTAKE, 8/21/2018: Upon intake Smokey was wagging his tail and he also stated to jump on me as well. He also allowed me to scan for a microchip and even give treats. I was also able to collar and take his handsome intake photo. OWNER SURRENDER NOTES – BASIC INFORMATION: Smokey was surrendered due to having no space within the new home being moved to. Smokey has not been to the vet but has no injuries or medical issues. Smokey previously lived with 1 adult and 1 dog. Around strangers, Smokey is very friendly and loves to jump up on you to be pet with his tail wagging. Smokey has not been around children so behavior is unknown. Around other dogs Smokey loves to play and run around with. Smokey has not been around children so behavior is unknown. Smokey has no issue with resource guarding with humans but with other dogs he must be separated in order to be fed in case other dog goes for food. Will growl and bark. He has no bite history. Smokey is housetrained and has a high energy level. He has never had any medical issues. For a New Family to Know: Smokey loves to play and jump up to be pet. He isnt bothered when given a bath and even enjoys being brushed. He also likes to play with rope and is fine being indoors and getting time to play outside as well. He is crate trained and even potty trained. He has never been walked off leash but when on lease he does pull lightly. SHELTER ASSESSMENT – DATE OF ASSESSMENT, 8/22/2018 Look:: 1. Dog leans forward or jumps up to lick the Assessor's face with tail wagging, ears back and eyes averted. Sensitivity:: 2. Dog displays high energy and movement, but it is directed toward getting closer to the Assessor. Body is soft, likely panting, may jump up between attempts to lick Assessor. Tag:: 3. Dog repeatedly turns quickly away when touched, or repeatedly spins toward the touch, and repeatedly tries to exit. Dog may be crouching, tail is tucked, mouth closed, body stiff. Paw squeeze 1:: 1. Dog gently pulls back his/her paw. Paw squeeze 2:: 2. Dog gently places open mouth over the Assessor's hand without applying pressure. Toy:: 1. Dog settles close, keeps a firm grip and is loose and wiggly. Dog does not place his/her body between you and the toy. Summary:: Smokey was exuberant throughout his assessment, jumping up highly towards handlers face and unable to readily settle. Smokey appeared to become overstimulated upon petting resulting in attempts to mount handler and some mouthiness. PLAYGROUP NOTES – DOG TO DOG SUMMARIES: According to Smokey's previous owner, Smokey is playful around other dogs and the resident dog. Here at the Care Centers, Smokey greets novel dogs with a soft posture. He is sexually motivated and needs redirection from handlers. The Behavior Department recommends that Smokey be placed in a home with resident dogs that are tolerant and matches his energy. Playgroup 8/22: When off leash at the Care Centers, Smokey engages in sexually motivated behavior- genital sniffs and chatters. He does not mount the greeter, and oscillates between exploring the yard and seeking the attention from handlers. Playgroup 8/23: Smokey continues to display the same behaviors from the previous day. He is slightly more social with the helper dog. Playgroup 8/24: Smokey was sexually motivated and slightly persistent. He is more interested in the handlers, but is willing to check in with the other dogs. Playgroups 8/25- 8/26: Today, Smokey was grouped with playful female puppies. He presented himself with a high tail and park ears, and followed them around the yard. He engaged in cooperative play, but quickly ceased when two of the puppies yelped, then became defensive-hard barking. He was slight tense, and needed to be guided away. He was separated with mouthy puppy and tolerated her behavior the rest of his session. INTAKE BEHAVIOR - Date of intake:: 8/21/2018. Summary:: Attention seeking, allowed all handling ENERGY LEVEL:: In the care center, Smokey displays a high energy level in the care center in line with what has been observed in the care center. We recommend daily mental and physical stimulation as a way to positively direct his energy. BEHAVIOR DETERMINATION:: ADULT ONLY HOME Behavior Asilomar: TM - Treatable-Manageable Recommendations:: No children (under 13) Recommendations comments:: No children (under 13): Based on the intensity of Smokey's exuberance and high energy level in addition to his mouthy behavior, we believe he would be best set up to succeed in an adult only home until he can acclimate and decompress in a new home environment. Potential challenges: : Resource guarding,Basic manners/poor impulse control,Mouthiness/poor bite inhibition,Low threshold for arousal Potential challenges comments:: Resource guarding: Smokey is reported growl and bark at other dogs who approach him while he is eating, therefore the previous owner separated him during feedings. Though this was not reported to be directed onto humans, we recommend that Smokey be left alone while eating, and that food guarding behavior modification steps (available at ASPCApro.org) be utilized if this behavior is problematic in his future home. Nothing should ever be taken directly out of Smokey's mouth, and any time something is removed he should be rewarded with a high value treat or toy. He should be taught the "drop" cue and trade-up games. Appropriate management is highly advised when feeding Smokey in the presence of other animals. Basic manners/poor impulse control: Smokey has been observed to jump very high when soliciting attention. It is recommended that default behaviors such as "Leave it", "Sit/Stay", "Down" are reinforced to substitute any frustration and teach Smokey to control his impulses instead of simply reacting; proper management is also advised. Force-free, reward based training only is recommended. Mouthiness/poor bite inhibition: Smokey has shown some mouthiness in the care center, particularly when he becomes overstimulated. Moderate pressure is applied, so this is a behavior that should be extinguished through training alternate behaviors and lack of reward (ex. walking away whenever Smokey's teeth make contact with skin). Low threshold for arousal: Smokey has displayed a low threshold for arousal in the care center, he escalates to jumping up high, mounting and mouthing handlers (moderate pressure); he does not appear to readily recover and requires assistance of toys/treats to refocus his attention. We cannot be certain if this is a result of environmental stress or frustration though recommend appropriate management when attempting to modify this behavior; force-free, reward based training is advised when introducing or exposing Smokey to new and unfamiliar situations. We suggest Smokey be provided with daily physical/mental stimulation and with a variety of appropriate and engaging toys/games to positively direct his energy and enthusiasm. MEDICAL NOTES: 23/08/2018 [Spay/Neuter Waiver - Medical Condition] Your newly adopted is currently permanently waived from the spay/neuter requirements of the City of NY by the staff veterinarians due to heart murmur. Follow up care at your regular veterinarian is recommended to ensure continued treatment. Your veterinarian will advise you if surgical sterilization is appropriate. 23/08/2018 DVM Intake Exam Estimated age: 1 yr Microchip noted on Intake? none History :owner surrender Subjective: owner surrender Observed Behavior -docile Evidence of Cruelty seen -none Evidence of Trauma seen -none Objective hyperactive P = WNL R = WNL BCS 5/9 EENT: Eyes clear, ears clean, no nasal or ocular discharge noted Oral Exam:clean adult dentition PLN: No enlargements noted H/L: NSR, HM II/VI , CRT < 2, Lungs clear, eupnic ABD: Non painful, no masses palpated U/G: scrotal testes MSI: Ambulatory x 4, skin free of parasites, no masses noted, healthy hair coat CNS: Mentation appropriate - no signs of neurologic abnormalities Rectal: not performed Assessment HM, r/o cardiogenic Prognosis:very good Plan: permanent waiver for sx SURGERY: Permanent waiver due to HM 26/08/2018 Progress exam-New CIRDC noted on rounds History: Intake 8/23-HM noted. Subjective: BAR. Coughing. Objective: EENT: serous nasal d/c bilaterally, no ocular d/c ou L: Eupneic, normal RR/RE but coughing MSI: Ambulatory x 4, good haircoat CNS: mentation appropriate - no signs of neurologic abnormalities Assessment: CIRDC Grade 2/6 HM Plan: Start baytril 10mg/kg PO SID x10d until 9/5 Start doxycycline 10mg/kg PO SID x14d until 9/9 Rec echocardiogram with placement Recheck at day 7 Move to iso Prognosis: Good *** TO FOSTER OR ADOPT *** If you would like to adopt a dog on our “To Be Killed” list, and you CAN get to the shelter in person to complete the adoption process *within 48 hours of reserve*, you can reserve the dog online until noon on the day they are scheduled to die. We have provided the Brooklyn, Staten Island and Manhattan information below. Adoption hours at these facilities is Noon – 8:00 p.m. (6:30 on weekends) HOW TO RESERVE A “TO BE KILLED” DOG ONLINE (only for those who can get to the shelter IN PERSON to complete the adoption process, and only for the dogs on the list NOT marked New Hope Rescue Only). Follow our Step by Step directions below! *PLEASE NOTE – YOU MUST USE A PC OR TABLET – PHONE RESERVES WILL NOT WORK! ** STEP 1: CLICK ON THIS RESERVE LINK: https://newhope.shelterbuddy.com/Animal/List Step 2: Go to the red menu button on the top right corner, click register and fill in your info. Step 3: Go to your email and verify account Step 4: Go back to the website, click the menu button and view available dogs Step 5: Scroll to the animal you are interested and click reserve STEP 6 ( MOST IMPORTANT STEP ): GO TO THE MENU AGAIN AND VIEW YOUR CART. THE ANIMAL SHOULD NOW BE IN YOUR CART! Step 7: Fill in your credit card info and complete transaction Animal Care Centers of NYC (ACC) nycacc.org HOW TO FOSTER OR ADOPT IF YOU *CANNOT* GET TO THE SHELTER IN PERSON, OR IF THE DOG IS NEW HOPE RESCUE ONLY! You must live within 3 – 4 hours of NY, NJ, PA, CT, RI, DE, MD, MA, NH, VT, ME or Norther VA. Please PM our page for assistance. You will need to fill out applications with a New Hope Rescue Partner to foster or adopt a dog on the To Be Killed list, including those labelled Rescue Only. Hurry please, time is short, and the Rescues need time to process the applications. Shelter contact information Phone number (212) 788-4000 Email adoption@nycacc.org Shelter Addresses: Brooklyn Shelter: 2336 Linden Boulevard Brooklyn, NY 11208 Manhattan Shelter: 326 East 110 St. New York, NY 10029 Staten Island Shelter: 3139 Veterans Road West Staten Island, NY 10309

[mandobenedetti]

Young Love

Young love is pure, passionate, and it comes in abundance. Have you ever noticed that people never seem to forget their first love? Or have you stopped to think about the first time you ever told your parents you had fallen in love with somebody? The way they laughed and said, “Oooh, you’re too young,” knowing damn-well they were re-living a conversation from their past - only now they weren’t teenagers, they were 40-year-olds that had kids and were married. Unless you’re my dad that has experienced, so to speak, “young love” around 4 times by now, I’m sure you can relate. Anyways, that’s a WHOLE other subject. Getting back on track, the subject of this post, as you can clearly see, is young love.

Young love is truly beautiful. It’s the purest form of love possible. You’re a kid; you don’t know any better. You’re about to experience the feeling of romantic love for the first time ever. How’s that gonna be like? To answer that, honestly, it takes more than a simple “great” or “bad.”

Since you’re just a little shit-head walking around high-school thinking that you know better than everyone else, exterior advice seems very irrelevant. Anyone that warned me I was too young for this sounded like my mom trying to set a curfew on me for a night out - a pointless act. In the same way, as with my mom, I simply disobeyed and eventually ran into some trouble. Good trouble, of course. I honestly and very strongly believe that sometimes, you just have to say “fuck it” and ignore the advice. The only way you’re going to learn - again, keeping in mind you’re an arrogant little-shit head in high-school - is by experiencing it yourself.

I’ll say this now, I don’t usually like to admit that I’m wrong, but dear adults, you were right. Willem, Giuilliana, Antonio, Camilo, Francesca, listen up cause this is about to get real. You are too young, but it doesn’t matter. Do it anyway. Love is a powerful feeling that you must experience. I felt it at 14, and I have absolutely no regrets. The problem is not that “you’re too young,” it’s that you’re growing up with someone next to you. That means that it’s double the work for both of you. You must be committed and devoted to one another. Whatever you feel, they feel. Whatever they feel, you feel. Once again, you’re a little-shit head in high-school, so you don’t even know how to manage your own feelings, let alone someone else’s. It’s messed up. But in its own way, it’s kind of amazing.

You grow an obsession with that person during the time that you’re together. You simply can’t get enough of each other. I remember I once asked my sister, “how do you know you’re ready for a relationship?” Her response was, “when you don’t feel that constant urge to be around your significant other.” She continued by mentioning that “they must be a bonus in your life, not a need.” Hahahaha.. imagine this little-shit head’s reaction to her response 1 year deep into his first real relationship. I couldn’t get enough of my significant other. It was incredible. It was passionate, pure, and real, as I’ve mentioned a couple of times. We traveled the world, spent hundreds of hours together, took a million pictures together, had wild nights, partied our lives away, and most importantly, laughed and conversed with each other endlessly. But we also cried, suffered, and hurt each other.

Here’s the lesson in all of this - as that’s the general theme of this “blog,” I guess - you’re going to experience the most extreme highs of your life, but you’re also going to experience your deepest lows. In both these spots, there’s work to do. I guess you could see it as the cycle of an economy, oscillating from peaks to troughs. Even when the economy is at its peak, there is work to do. When it’s in a trough, it must rebuild itself. These highs and lows will teach you how to grow into the person you’re meant to become. While young love may be tricky, it also gives you a huge new perspective on life. You’re going to learn a lot about yourself during this time, even if you’re not fully conscious of it. You’re also about to delve into someone else’s realm. . Yes, shit might happen. Yes, shit will be said. Yes, tears will be shed. However, it’s all valuable. As you grow older and mature, you learn that sometimes, it’s okay to let things be the way they are. You stop trying to control your surroundings. You adjust to your surroundings instead. I only learned that this year, 2020, to accept my past and every single aspect of it. Not only the light but also the shadows. Young love will teach you about yourself and will produce memories and lessons that will last forever.

No matter how rough things get, true intentions that arise from young, pure, passionate, and abundant love will remain forever. And those intentions must only be to see the other person happy and growing into a better person. If not, you gotta take some steps back and review your perspective.

[klein-archive]

Klein and the ‘practical infant’: Some thoughts on child-rearing

22nd June 2020

There is evidence, in the form of unpublished notes from later in her life, that Melanie Klein intended to write what she referred to as an ‘infant book’. It seems that she envisaged a book containing both theoretical and ‘practical’ sections, with the latter offering psychoanalytically based advice on child rearing. Archive files PP/KLE/D.27 and D.29 provide evidence of her work on this project, though it never reached completion.

D.29 is a large, mixed file, containing 105 pages, mostly typed. (I will refer to image numbers in this article rather than pages or sheets, as I am working with the digitised archive on wellcomelibrary.org.) The file begins with some interesting material on the theory of countertransference dating from 1953, which Bob Hinshelwood (2008, 2020) has already published. There are then several pages entitled ‘Notes on Envy’. What follows, from image 17 onwards, is a very loosely arranged assortment of miscellaneous notes, such as letters about household matters (some dated to the 1940s) and pages of crossed-out material. 

However, on examining the file, a theme does broadly, if imperfectly, emerge: Klein’s thinking about infancy. This encompasses clinical and observational material, theoretical work, and opinions about child rearing. Most of these pages are not dated, although some concern the observation of an infant in January 1944. We can assume that the whole file dates from the latter stages of Klein’s life. The infant material starts with Klein’s note to herself (image 17): ‘File under early development’. Image 22 is headed, ‘Note for “early development” or Infant Book’. Image 44 is headed, ‘book on infant’ and, ‘To practical infant (or infant book)’. Several more items in the file refer to this planned ‘infant book’, and suggest that Klein was fully intending to develop such a project; indeed, was perhaps in its very early stages. It seems – sadly for us – that her plan never came to fruition, as none of her later published works fit these descriptions.

The digitised file D.27 consists of 39 images, again quite a mixture, and also containing references to the ‘infant book’. There are references in this file to a series of lectures on children that Klein was giving at the time. A partial date on a blank piece of notepaper suggests that the material in this file might be from the 1930s, and therefore that the ‘infant book’ was possibly an idea that Klein worked on over many years.

Many of the theoretical observations in these files are familiar from Klein’s published work, but I want here to pick out some ‘practical’ comments relating to child rearing. In the course of her lifetime, as today, approaches to parenting oscillated between the very permissive, where the child was allowed absolute ‘free expression’ without control or censure, to the extremely severe, almost loveless regime advocated by the likes of Truby King. Klein’s writing shows her espousal of a warm, kind approach to raising children, but also a concern that a complete lack of parental boundaries increases persecutory and depressive anxieties in children. This attitude, balancing the needs of children and the anxieties of their parents, comes across particularly clearly in her papers for lay audiences. One of these, ‘Our adult world and its roots in infancy’ was published in 1959, but four others are appearing in print for the first time, in my new book, Essential Readings from the Melanie Klein Archives: Original Papers and Critical Reflections.

In future research I may well find more references to the never-realised ‘infant book’, and will write about this again if so. For now, the following are some examples of Klein’s nuanced and compassionate thinking about child rearing, as found in files D.27 and D.29. (My comments and annotations appear in square brackets.)

D. 27

[Image 4]

In recent years there has been a tendency in certain quarters among those who advise mothers and nurses how to treat young children, to take an extremely Spartan attitude and to deprecate the natural expressions of affection, in caresses and tender tones. A fashion of never allowing any bodily signs of love, even with infants and quite young children, has grown up and become quite authoritative. Now whilst bodily caresses can certainly be very much overdone, especially with the growing boy and girl, yet if the mother never permits herself or gives her child any of these natural satisfactions, there may be a serious loss, not only to the child’s happiness, but to his future development. He feels it as a loss of love, and it may lessen his own capacity for love.

[Image 14]

[Headed ‘FOOT NOTE TO PRACTICAL INFANT’]

There is nothing on earth which adults can bear so badly as the child’s depression. And yet one has to allow for that to some extent. Having said that the real cure comes from gaining a more realistic picture etc, one should not inflict on the child unnecessary sorrow or frustration.

D.29

[Image 49]

Note to book on infant

Early training for cleanliness. Over insistence on regular meals. Dummy, Thumb sucking. [Klein seems to be referring to a tendency to prohibit these] Letting the child cry too long.

Attention to the child.

Support all these points by theoretical reasons. E.g. crying out – disturbance in relation to mother too great, hence states of disintegration and schizoid mechanisms being prolonged; intensity and repetition of those states may be in impediment to mental health. [The phrase, ‘crying out’ seems to refer to the idea of “letting the child cry it out” instead of soothing him or her.]

[Image 50]

[This is a torn-off half of a page. Written in pencil is ‘PRACT’, likely short for ‘practical’]

An illuminating instance for the ways in which steps in development interact with the vicissitudes of anxiety can be found in the process of acquiring cleanliness. Habit training intensifies persecutory and depressive anxieties, particularly from oral, urethral and anal sources. The methods which the ego evolves at this stage are obsessional mechanisms which enter into every aspect of the child’s development. The influence exerted by the environment converges with the inner needs of the child (1)

[The footnote (1) appears to be expanded in the next item]

[Image 51]

(1) [Footnote to page 40]

The part the mother or nurse plays affects essentially the child’s ability to deal with his anxiety relating to the internal danger situations. When the attitude is friendly and encouraging, and not too much force is being used, it becomes a vital source of reassurance. Harm is done by forceful handling of such a situation – which has the opposite effect.

[Image 59]

Note for Infant Book

Advantages and disadvantages of new and slower methods of weaning. Physical advantages. Gradualness versus interruption of exclusive personal relationship.

[Image 64: headed ‘Notes f[ ]r INFANT BOOK’ - extracts]

In a very adult and mature patient, one of the things on which she concentrated my not being friendly was that I did not say “goodbye” when she left me. This went back to the “bye-byes” when you go to sleep. We came to find that it was so much depression and fear of finding me altered… the good night situation in childhood. “Bye bye” and gestures of goodbye. Why does this gesture mean so much? You leave your hand behind. Movement of waving, back and forth… A little obsessional element in the repetition of “back soon” which brings reassurance and means security. Your object and situation do not change. They come back. (Use this in practical infant paper).

About breast feeding. Instances where it goes wrong. The unconscious meaning of the breast and what it can be replaced by. Mothers hand and voice, the situation of love and comfort. Important practical conclusion – do not feed the anxiety of the mother at the expense of the child. Great anxiety in the mother, and the drive to go on with breast feeding longer. Questionable if a small amount of mother’s milk, combined with difficulty.

[It is striking here that Klein, although she frequently emphasises the importance of the breast, wants the mother not to feel too persecuted, but to give up breastfeeding if it becomes too difficult to sustain.]

[Further down the page:]

Re baby talk – hurt the child if you talk in baby words when he wants to use grown up words.

Question of bed times – are parents making martyrs of themselves over early bedtime? Does the child wake earlier if earlier in bed?

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

References

Hinshelwood, R.D. (2008). ‘Melanie Klein and countertransference: A historical note’. Psychoanalysis and History, 10, 95–113.

Hinshelwood, R.D. (2020) ‘Melanie Klein and countertransference: A note on some archival material’. Chapter 10 of Milton (Ed.) (2020) Essential readings from the Melanie Klein archives: Original papers and critical reflections. London: Routledge.

Klein, M. (1959) ‘Our adult world and its roots in infancy’. In Envy and Gratitude and Other Works: The Writings of Melanie Klein, Vol 11, London: Hogarth, 1975.

Milton, J. (Ed.) (2020) Essential readings from the Melanie Klein archives: Original papers and critical reflections. London: Routledge.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

YOU GUYS I JUST THOUGHT OF THIS

They'll be overwhelmed; you'll see. If you know a lot about programming and you start learning from users what you should have been thinking is this a good idea because a they're fair, and b their growth potential makes it easy to change your mind.1 He has an almost superhuman integrity. But what happened in Pittsburgh? If you want to partner with you, move where there are people who do.2 I did that our valuation was crazy.3 If you're not, there's a danger that the increase in disagreement will make people angrier. If employees have to be other ideas that involve databases, and whose quality you can judge.4 The whole thing was only a couple months old, every week that passes gives you significantly more information about them. But when you damp oscillations, you lose the high points as well as Newton, for their time, but also correct about how correct he is. On the Web, the barrier for publishing your ideas is even lower. Mihalko was mine.

I don't want four years of my life to be consumed by random schleps. The Bay Area was a magnet for the young and optimistic for decades before it was associated with technology. They may represent one of those problems where there might not be anything from the 20th Century that can. Whereas a PhD dissertation knows, the way to a great product, how do you know it's not 70%?5 Microcomputers seemed like toys when Apple and Microsoft started working on them. And the only real test, if you can. There is a huge moral weight.6 In that case I often recommend that founders act like consultants—that they wanted to fund professors, when really they should be planning to raise. That's an interesting idea. The prices of gene sequencing and 3D printing are both experiencing Moore's Law-like declines.

So why do investors ask how much you're planning to raise. Twelve!7 Logically, you don't know whether your overall uncertainty is mostly justified or mostly bogus.8 I worked, it seemed to them, and that you should start startups when you're young and there are lots of things wrong with the senator's argument, you should not merely ignore their objections, but push aggressively in that direction. Corollary: be careful what you ask for. Get one.9 Those companies were apparently willing to establish subsidiaries wherever the experts wanted to live. Breaking up companies into smaller units doesn't make those needs go away. But the thing to be in the same way Los Angeles specializes in movies, or New York in finance.10 I had a design philosophy.11 But it's important to realize that economic inequality is not just one thing.

If you're so fortunate as to have to go back to programming in a language seems to be x. Mihalko, everything was different. In a startup, anything might happen. Hope for the best, but how fuzzy it is.12 So here's an attempt at a disagreement hierarchy: DH0. There's no name for what I was doing exactly the same work, except with bosses.13 Dressing up is not so much that founders now have the upper hand over investors, if they could, is wait. When there's something in a painting by Piero della Francesca. You should figure out programs as you're writing them, just as someone used to dynamic typing finds it unbearably restrictive to have to travel to attend board meetings, and in any case the odds of doing that.14 The future and build what seems interesting. The other teachers were at best benevolently indifferent.15 I want to zoom in on one detail of this picture.

And you have to do so but be content to work for one. Lisp, and each year the median language gets more Lisplike. But lower-tier investors sometimes give offers with very short fuses, because they were poor. And it was not just our price to earnings ratio that was bogus. The most common mistake people make about economic inequality is to treat them like feature requests. It did what software almost never does: it just worked. Defaults are enormously powerful, precisely because they operate without any conscious choice. One thing you learn when you get an email from a partner you should try to delay meeting till you're in fundraising mode, because that's fundraising.16 It would be like drinking from a firehose. Most of the people. That's a way more efficient cure for inexperience than a normal job may actually make you less able to start a startup with you, and it would still be just as happy to be told what to do in the second. The average office is a miserable place to get work done.17

And it's also one that furnishes them plenty of excuses to gratify it.18 And that's one reason open source, I don't mean trustworthy so much as that they never pander: they never say or do something because that's what you were getting whether you liked it or not.19 For example, correcting someone's grammar, or harping on minor mistakes in names or numbers. It seems surprising to me that succinctness is power, or is close enough that you're better off using the organic method, you don't want to. Silicon Valley elsewhere, or is close enough that except in pathological examples, I would have realized that there was a fast path out of. The other reason parents may be mistaken is that, like generals, they're always fighting the last war. So while I admit that it is designed by product managers, they'll never be able to. It took decades for relativity to be accepted, and the paper becomes a proxy for the achievement represented by the software.20 Individual programs can certainly be more than just deciding how to implement some spec.21 Understanding your users is part of half the principles in this list.22

Notes

Giving away the razor and making more per customer makes it onto the frontpage is the only function of the former, and that you decide the price, they wouldn't have the perfect life, and each night to make money.

And while this sort of person who has them manages to find a broad hard-beaten road to his house, though. Come From? Where Do College English 28 1966-67, pp. Philosophy is like math's ne'er-do-well brother.

A friend who invested in the same differentials exist to satisfy demand among fund managers for venture capital as an adult. Microsoft must know in the sale of art are unfinished. This was partly confidence, and credit card debt is usually a stupid move, but essentially a startup enough to incorporate a prediction of quality in the 1920s to financing growth with the high-minded Edwardian child-heroes of Edith Nesbit's The Wouldbegoods.

The image shows us, the first abstract painters were trained to paint from life using the same work, done mostly by hackers. All he's committed to is following the evidence wherever it leads. Perhaps it would have disapproved if executives got too much to generalize.

This is a great programmer doesn't merely do the equivalent thing for founders to walk in with a clear plan for life in Palo Alto to have lunch at the start of the things Julian gave us. It's sometimes argued that we should at least once for that might be a startup with a toothbrush. 7 reports that in the middle of the biggest divergences between the two, because it doesn't commit you to behave like adults, it is the most demanding but also seem to them, not where to see how much you're raising, have been the first million is worth doing, because even if it's not obvious you'd be surprised how often the answer is simple: pay them to get a patent troll, either, that is modelled on private sector funds and apparently generates good returns.

If you want to wait for the last round of funding. If you're good you'll have to do and everything I say the rate of improvement is more like your brother? The air traffic control system works because planes would crash otherwise.

But there are only partially driven by bookmarking, not you. At Princeton, 36% of the markets they serve, because a there was near zero crossover. If Congress passes the founder of the people working for large companies will naturally wonder, how much would you have the least VC-like. No one seems to be identified with you to stop, but there are few things worse than he was before, but this could be done, lots of potential winners, from hour to hour that the middle class first appeared in northern Italy and the war, tax rates have had to both write the sort of investor who merely seems like he will fund you, they said, and the company's present or potential future business belongs to them.

Everything is a variant of Reid Hoffman's principle that if the sender happens to compensate for another. It would not be to go the bathroom, and as a child, either, that probably doesn't make A more powerful version written in C, which was open to newcomers because it depends on the blades may work for us, they have a notebook to write it all yourself.

It is still a few years. If they really need a higher growth rate has to their kids in a company doesn't have to sweat any one outcome. Vii. One implication of this desirable company, you can't do much that they're starting petitions to save the old version, I preferred to work late at night to make money from them.

The second assumption I made because the test for what she has done to painting may be that the VCs want it to profitability before your initial investors agreed in advance that you're talking to a clueless audience like that.

And while this is the lost revenue. 05 15, the Patek Philippe 10 Day Tourbillon, is caring what random people thought it was briefly in Britain in the succession of spectacular treason trials that punctuated Henry's erratic matrimonial progress made him an obvious candidate for grants of monastic property.

Their inexperience makes them overbuild: they'll create huge, overcomplicated agreements, and one different qualities that some of the great painters in history supported themselves by painting portraits. B success depended so much better that it also worked for spam. The French Laundry in Napa Valley. If you treat your classes because you couldn't slow the latter case, as Brian Burton does in SpamProbe.

The angels had convertible debt, but I realize starting a company. If you're doing. The way to be doctors?

It may indeed be a big deal. Apparently there's only one founder take fundraising meetings is that in the postwar period also helped preserve the wartime compression of wages—specifically by sharding it. Public school kids arrive at college with a slight disadvantage, but even there people tend to work not just a few years. What I should add that none of your new microcomputer causes someone to do more with less, is due to I.

Buy an old copy from the CIA runs a venture fund called In-Q-Tel that is largely true, it is very polite and b when she's nervous, she expresses it by smiling more. When VCs asked us how long it would not be if Steve hadn't come back; Apple can change them instantly if they become so embedded that they take a conscious effort to be writing with conviction. They have the determination myself.

She was always good at acting that way. Thanks to Paul Buchheit points out, it's this internal process at work. Unless of course finding words this way would be possible to have too few customers even if they do.

They're still deciding, which is the converse: that the Internet. Philosophy is like math's ne'er-do-well brother.

This form of bad idea, at which startups develop new techology is the same.

The hardest kind of protection is one of his professors did in salary. I'm thinking of Oresme c.

And since there are few things worse than close supervision by someone else created earlier. Thanks to judgmentalist for this purpose are still a leading cause of economic equality in the room, and then scale it up because they want to invest in it.

You could probably starve the trolls of the companies that get funded this way, it has to be doomed. What if a company. Kant. And beans are a different idea of happiness from many older societies.

In January 2003, Yahoo released a new Lisp dialect called Arc that is not Apple's products but their policies. 1300, with smiles and laughter.

[page010-blog]

Reasons why cats are better than dogs as pets

This investigation explains the pros of having cats as pets. We will give you facts and studies that prove that are proof that cats are the best pet you could adopt, with specific reference to why cats are better than dogsspecially pointing the fact and trying to prove that cats are better pets than dogs. We search and investigateinvestigate scientific research telling how cats help with our mental health, how their personality affects our own, but at the same time we see how they are independent animals, self -sufficients, they don’t require much attention, much money or time. They are the perfect balance of careful and independentcaring and independence.

Cats company heal depression and other illness.  It has been proved that petting cats reduces in an incredible way cortisol levels, a hormone that controls stress, and besides physical contact with these animals crates brain tetha waves that produce a relax state and profound calm.The company of a cat can cure depression and other diseases. It has been shown that caressing cats reduces the levels of cortisol, a hormone that controls stress, and in addition to everything, physical contact with these animals, generates brain tetha waves that produce a state of relaxation and a deep calm to the human being.

Purring reduces pain and helps with rehab, after watching several domestic and wild felines, it has been proved that their purring produces a frequency between 20 and 140 Hz, which helps considerably to generate a calming state of mind and regulates blood pressure of and individual.

They are very independent animals, w. Which means that they are simple to take care of. Having a pet is not something simpleunimportant, it is a life at the end of the day., Ccats are self-sufficient, and they are known for their characteristic personality of never go to a human unless they need something, which is really useful in aspects of money or spending time with them.

Cats have a positive impact on mental health, something that for cat owners is not surprisingof cats do not catch by surprise, , because they know that petting  caressing them can be very therapeutic and helps relax daily tensions. This is reflected in a survey of 600 people by the English organization Cats Protection, in which 87% of cat owners declared that their pets have a positive impact on their well-being.

Cats are careful animals with their own hygiene. Another of the great uses they make with their time is grooming themselves. They do not like to stay with dirty legs or careless fur, so it is common that when a cat gets dirty to go elsewhere, when you get home start to self-clean. Of course, that does not mean that they are the cleanest animals to have in the house, since cats often change their hair and their hairs can be annoying if they remain glued to clothes and furniture. What happens often. It is easy to recognize a cat owner thanks to his clothes.Cats are careful animals with their own hygiene. Another of the great uses they make of their time is grooming. They do not like to remain with dirty legs or careless fur, so it is difficult to get the house dirty with footprints. Of course, there is a frequent change of fur and hairs can be annoying if they remain attached to clothing and furniture.

Cats are very agile animals and able to recover well from their injuries. The amazing recovery capacity that is observed in felines after an accident, is related to the sound vibration that produces its own purr. This sound oscillates in a range of 20 to 140Hz. These frequency ranges have an important anabolic action, and for this same reason they are beginning to be used in orthopedic medicine for the consolidation of fractures and the treatment of osteoarthritis. So their own purring Purring could be a mechanism to stimulate their bones and muscles without spending a lot of energy and keeping them healthy and active. Possibly it is the secret of their their “seven lives".

  These animals prevent infections and allergies. It has been shown that Ccontact with pets at an early age has been shown to  strengthens the immune system of children and makes them less susceptible to infections, especially the  respiratory illnessestract. On the other hand, it is quite common to know of adults who suffer from allergies to cats, in fact, this allergy is among the most common in the world, it seems that living with a cat and the allergens that theseis causes makes the children react less to allergies but for adults it is already too late. later to be less reactive to allergies.

Choosing Knowing how to choose between which animal is the most convenient to have as a pet is something that we must think long before we arrive and adopt. cats and dogs is a decision we must make if we want to adopt. Having a new member in the family is an important decision to make, even if we have many a lot of more options choices regarding to a pet, cats and dogs are the most common. one. This decision depends largely on a lot of what kind of person you are and what kind type of life you leadcarry, it depends on whether you are willingup  to give a lot of love and affection, or if you have a busy life and you only just need someone in times of loneliness. We will show you now why dogs are not the best choice.

The puppy grows and is not as cute (or as small) as you expected. It happens a lot in adoptions. Puppies of unknown parents are usually a lottery. Maybe it was adorable at first, but when you reach adulthood, they become something you didn’t expect. They turn out to be a lot bigger. But in between there is the process of them growing, and they usually misbehave a lot we they are young and in process of growing.

Dogs need way more attention. They have needs like you taking them to a walk every day or playing with them very often. They can catch depression or other illness if they don’t feel loved. They eat way more, resulting in you wasting so much money in them. Talking in other aspects, they are animals that are not very hygienic, you need to wash them often and the chaos that they cause in the process is a big mess.

Having a dog means that you have to multiply then, although fortunately there are many establishments that begin to admit dogs, in many other cases they will not be able to accompany us in our daily obligations.

In addition, the dog also needs vacations, meaning, change routines, enjoy new places and much better if it is with you. That means adapting the trip and looking for destinations and accommodations that admit dogs. In some cases you will not be able to accompany you and you will have to choose a suitable place to be comfortable. The dog residences are perfect for those specific moments.

Dogs mess and bite everything in the house. If you live with a dog, it is part of your being. When it is small, it takes a while to learn how to relieve yourself outside (although in most cases it does not last long). Meanwhile, accidents happen and often leave small or large gifts, depending on how generous it is and, even if it bothers us, we must remember that we are facing a baby. In addition to being playful by nature, and although we pray it is not fun to bite and disappear our shoes and socks for them is the maximum fun.

Not all dogs are as smart as we would like. In addition to physical exercise, dogs need to activate their mind and begin the principles of basic dog education as a way to learn to behave in society. And that, supposes time and dedication, in some cases a lot of time, besides a minimum knowledge on your part, to understand your behavior.

Dogs are usually very intelligent, but some can be slower learning. Although it is difficult, it will never be impossible but it will take more time and patience to teach them certain basic signs or alternative behaviors to others that we are interested in working with.

What now?

Besides all the previous info, you do not have to forget that your life is going to change completely for a long time (your entire pet’s life) and that require as long term  compromise that not everybody is willing to take.

If you doubt or fail one of one of the exposed reasons, do not make the mistake of bringing a dog into your life. It is probably not going to work, neither of you, the dog or you, will be happy in each other’s company, and the dog, which never chose this, is going to loose much more.

By this we do not mean to say that dogs are the worse, it is known that a lot of people could not imagine a life without them, we can say that cats have been for years the favorite domestic pet for the human to keep. This is because initially they were brought to houses to keep then clean from mice and other plagues since cats have a hunter nature. However, people developed feelings towards cats due to their unique personality, adopt them now with almost the only purpose of having them in their daily routine as life partners. Plus there are a big amount of homeless animals out there, and adopting a kitten is going to give the satisfaction of making a good cause by helping a little innocent soul in seek of love and affection and a warm home that can keep them. Besides by adopting you create a role model for society and invite them to do the same thing and help these little animals. For all these reasons it is proved that the benefits of having a cats are great and respectable, besides helping an innocent it helps you by having a life partner. Dogs and cats are both great and lovable, but being an independent grown person having a cat is going to be much easier in many ways, under the fact that you can feel somebody’s affection and at the same time keep going with your busy life. If after all these reasons you still want a dog, even if you don’t have the space or time, make sure you have patience and someone else that helps you raising that precious animal, and you still get to love them and have them, even partially, in your life. Make sure you have enough love to give and keep in mind that adopting is a big change in your lifestyle, in a good way of course. Adopting a cat is the best decsistion you could ever make, no pressure though.

[rimrat1952]

From "Blood on Black" by Gary Meece

"I know I'm Going to Influence the world -- People will remember me"

After three trips to mental hospitals, Damien Echols again was wandering Crittenden County.  He turned 18 in December 1992, still relying on his much-loathed adopted father for food and lodging.

Echols was referred back to counseling on Jan. 5, 1993.  

His medication remained imipramine, the Tofranil brand.

While imipramine effectively treats depression and is sometimes prescribed for panic attacks or anxiety, the medication can cause or worsen emotional problems, such as mood, anxiety, panic attacks, insomnia, impulse control, irritability, hostility, aggression, restlessness, hyperactivity, depression and self-abuse or suicidal ideation.

The intake sheet for Jan. 5 prepared by social worker Sherry Dockins contained extensive notes, noting hospitalizations and that he was on probation.

Dockins wrote: “‘Damien reports his problems began at age 8 when his parents divorced and Pam remarried. ‘They were constantly fighting — tried to ignore it but finally started fighting back.’ …. 3 months ago mother divorced him and remarried father. Sister, mother and father currently live in Portland, Oregon. He has little contact with family. Currently lives with stepfather Jack Echols. ‘It’s the only way I could live here in Ark.’ They do not get along but rarely see each other. Damien is planning to move in with girlfriend and her mother when they get an apartment. Reports he and Domini (gf) have been together for long time?”

Six months before, Damien was threatening to kill himself if he could not be with Deanna; now he and Domini were a longtime item.  

The report continued: “Damien wants to live in West Memphis because of his friends and ‘it’s where I belong.’”  

Despite his subsequent disparagement of West Memphis, Damien regarded the town as home; he was willing to risk constant scrutiny to live there.  

A further irony was his association with Jack Echols, listed as his parent/guardian on the intake papers, who was allowing Damien to live in his home.

Concerning Damien’s state of mind: “Describes self as feeling ‘neutral/nothing’ most of the time. Denies current suicidal/homicidal ideation.”  

Dockins wrote: “Reports history of self mutilation — cutting self with knives/razors. Last time was 3 months ago.  Denies symptoms of depression. ‘I usually don’t smile.’ He quit school in ninth grade (this year) because he was not allowed to return to his previous school (Marion High School). Reports sleeping most of the day and then goes to Domini’s house.”

Damien was holding down a part-time job with a roofing company. “Relates that he tends to ‘trance out’  when by himself. He has done this since the 5th grade.”

Dockins wrote: “Reports history of alcohol/drug usage — coke, acid, pot, alcohol. Denies current usage …. Reports being harassed by local authorities as ‘they think I’m a Satanic leader.’ He admits being caught with Satanic items and with handwritten books about witchcraft. Denies cult involvement. Is interested in witchcraft for past 8 years. He has tried to steal energy from someone else and influence other minds with witchcraft. States he was able to do these things.”

Echols believed he could “steal energy” from other people; he later testified that children contained more energy for magickal purposes than adults.

Dockins also reported: “Describes self as ‘pretty much hate the human race.’ Related that he feels people are in two classes — Sheep & Wolves (wolves eat the sheep).

“Dressed in black, wearing silver cross and earring studs. Intense eye contact.”

The “wolf in sheep’s clothing” is an ancient concept, cited in the Bible: “Beware of false prophets, who come to you in the clothing of sheep, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.”  

Psychopaths often describe themselves in wolfish terms. For instance, the sadistic psychopath Eric Harris, one of the two Columbine High killers, described fantasies of ripping apart “weak little freshmen” like a wolf.  Charles Manson referred to his followers as “slaves” or “sheep” and recorded a record album “Way of the Wolf.”  

The theme is also popular in occult circles. The Church of Satan Web site, for example, maintains extensive Web pages devoted to “Lycanthropy: A Handbook of Werewolfism,” describing occult exercises for transforming the practitioner into a man-wolf,  “a person who has regressed, by force of will and desire, to a feral or wolflike state.”  

At turns grandiose and pitiable, Damien’s wildly fluctuating self-regard was on display throughout the records.

Dr. Woods described Echols’ return to East Arkansas Mental Health Center:

“There is an abundance of evidence to show that Mr. Echols’ serious mental illness required long term hospitalization and more aggressive treatment than he received in prior hospitalizations. In January of 1993 Mr. Echols again sought help at East Arkansas Mental Health Center where mental health professionals described Mr. Echols’ elaborate history of delusions, psychosis, and severe problems with mood and memory. His delusions often were grandiose. … His mood oscillated between euphoria and severe depression. … During his worst periods Mr. Echols became psychotic. He felt a ‘spirit [was] living within him’ that was ‘put inside him last year.’ The spirit ‘decided to become part of him’ and was the spirit of a woman who was killed by her husband. ...  Though profoundly mentally ill, Mr. Echols has always responded well to the structure of a therapeutic setting. He has never been a management problem and staff members uniformly describe him as passive, compliant and likable.”

The quiet and likable version of Echols would consistently show up for TV interviews from Death Row.

In January 1993, Damien told EAMHC staff that his problems began at age 9 with Jack Echols. Damien reported self-mutilation and said he had a history of abusing drugs, though he, as usual, denied current usage.

On Jan. 13, Dockins reported: “Damien reports one of his biggest problems that he would like to work on is being able to forgive others. When questioned about this he reports that he is very angry with family members and with other people that have ‘let him down.’ He wants to be normal but feels that he has never been normal. … He discussed issues of power and control. He states that he could make things happen. He believes very much in magic. … Damien’s affect and mood was flat. He did not smile during the session.”

For the  Jan. 19 session: “Damien relates that he is trying to find a way to live on his own. He does not get along with step-father. Reveals a history of abuse as he talked of how he was treated as a child. Denies that this has influenced him stating ‘I just put it all inside.’ Relates that when this happens the only solution is to ‘hurt someone.’ Damien reports being told at the hospital that he could be another ‘Charles Manson or Ted Bundy.’ When questioned on his feelings he states ‘I know I’m going to influence the world — people will remember me.’”

Gloria Shettles' “attorney work product” for Echols’ trial correctly reported that the session produced “very damaging notes.”

After Echols’ Jan. 20 session, Dr. David Erby wrote: “ … three psychiatric hospitalizations. Each has been associated with anger, thoughts of killing other and thoughts of killing himself. He’s not currently suicidal or homicidal. He’s been on Tofranil 15 mg. at bedtime for about a year. He’s found that that’s been somewhat helpful. He’s not experiencing any side effects with it, he’s tried to stop it and had some discontinuation symptoms.” Again, a mental health professional noted that Echols had suicidal or homicidal impulses.  Though his medication was “somewhat helpful,” Echols was trying to discontinue Tofranil.

Shettles noted that yet another session, on Jan. 25, was “very damaging.”  The “Individual Progress Notes” by Dockins stated: “Focus of today’s session is spent talking with Damien about his feelings of death. He brought with him to session a poem that he had written during the past week. The theme of this poem centered around death and power. Damien explained that he obtains his power by drinking the blood of others. He typically drinks the blood of a sexual partner or of a ruling partner.  This is achieved by biting or cutting. He states ‘it makes me feel like a God.’ Damien describes drinking blood as giving him more power and strength.  He remembers doing this as far back as age 10. He does not remember where he learned to do this.

“Damien believes that there is no God. He feels that society believes there is a God because society is weak. He wants very much to be all powerful.  He wants very much to be in total control.  We discussed how some of this is related to his experiences as a child. He acknowledges that some of this is related to his childhood abuse trauma but he feels that it is who he is now.

“Damien related that a spirit is now living with him. The spirit was put inside him last year.  He indicates that a month ago the spirit decided to become part of him and he to become part of the spirit. This is reportedly a spirit of a woman who was killed by her husband. When questioned how he feels with this spirit or what the difference is, Damien is able to relate that he feels stronger and more powerful with this spirit. He has not seen this spirit but does hear the spirit. In addition, he also reports conversations with demons and other spirits. This is achieved through rituals. He denies that he is satanic, seeing himself more as being involved in demonology.

“It becomes more noticeable today in talking with Damien that he has many things from childhood that he simply does not remember. This is believed to be a dissociative response to trauma issues. Damien is agreeable to beginning to talk about what he experienced as a child that he remembers. He is also agreed to continue to discuss his issues with power and control as related to his practice of rituals. …

“… Damien’s affect and mood today continued to be bland though there was more emotion when talking about drinking blood.”

Echols livened up therapy with discussions about gaining power through drinking blood via cuts and biting.  

They also could have livened up sessions by having  Echols explain the difference between Satanism and invoking demons through ritual. In theory, a powerful magician would be able to control demons or other disembodied entities through proper ritual and use of the will and use them for his own purposes.  Those purposes wouldn’t inherently be evil in intent, and many dabblers in bygone eras regarded themselves as Christian and by no means Satanists.  Orthodox Christianity, however, has regarded trafficking with demons as evil.  

Echols was almost certainly manipulating the mental health staff to qualify for Social Security Disability but his  delusions, such as being inhabited by the spirit of a murdered woman, were consistent with statements made when disability wasn’t at issue.

Among other noted killers who claimed to have been possessed by some sort of spirit was Ted Bundy, who claimed a “malignant entity” had taken over his consciousness. Other serial killers, such as John Wayne Gacy and “Hillside Strangler” Kenneth Bianci, blamed murderous alter egos for their crimes.

On Feb. 5, Dockins reported that Echols “dressed completely in black and is noted to have cut on his R arm and hand.

“… Damien relates that he cut his arm & hand as a way of permanently marking his skin. The name Domini is cut into his arm. Session continues focused on Damien’s self concept and image. Relates feeling very angry yesterday when running into previous girlfriend. ‘I controlled it — I can do anything.’

“… Affect and mood —- flat.”  

Despite his supposed devotion to Domini, Echols still felt the effect of his breakup with Deanna deeply.

On Feb. 11, Echols reported that he was being harassed by local authorities — “They think I’m a satanic leader.”  He admitted to having Satanic items but denied  involvement in Satanism.  He said he had been interested in witchcraft for eight years. His diagnosis was changed to depressive disorder.  He was prescribed Tofranil in a 150 mg dose.

Dr. Woods described Echols’  continued mental health problems and dealings with the Social Security Administration:

“Though he was only 18 years old, mental health professionals at East Arkansas Regional Mental Health Center concurred that Mr. Echols’ severe and enduring mental illness made him unable to function without substantial assistance from mental health and other agencies. Staff members assisted Mr. Echols in applying for Social Security Disability Benefits through the Social Security Administration (SSA). After conducting an independent evaluation, the SSA determined that Mr. Echols was 100% disabled and was awarded full disability benefits on the basis of his mental illness. The finding by the Social Security Administration of a mental disability is a significant factor that any competent mental health professional would consider in an objective determination of Mr. Echols’ mental state. At the time of arrest and trial, Mr. Echols was still considered severely mentally impaired by the SSA and was receiving full SSA disability benefits.”

Echols applied for disability in early February 1993.

In his application, he claimed he was too mentally ill to work, describing his symptoms as “Mentally Disturbed.” On another form, he wrote: “I am a sociopath.”

Asked “What is your disabling condition?” Echols answered: “I am going through treatment at the Mental Health Center and have been in several mental hospitals.”  He explained how his condition kept him from working: “Because when I try to take a time out my employers don’t like it. Violent, medicine makes me sleepy, vomit & headaches.”

Asked for the reasons for his hospitalizations, on the two stays at Charter, he wrote: “Homicidal, suicidal, manic depression, schizophrenia, sociopathic”; for the hospital in Portland: “Homicidal, suicidal, manic depression, schizophrenia, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, sociopathic.”

Echols was deemed totally disabled and began receiving full Social Security Disability payments.

The rest of the Hutchisons moved back to West Memphis around March. Joe and Pam had remarried in February. Joe, 37, had been married at least four times. Pamela, 35, had been married three times.

Echols began sleeping most nights at the Teer trailer, while occasionally staying at his parents’ trailer at Broadway Trailer Park.  The Hutchisons didn’t have a bedroom for him, so he had to “share” a room with his sister. Someone often slept on the sofa.

For his last appointment, on May 5, 1993, he did not talk to Dockins but to Dr. Erby. His imipramine prescription was refilled.  The handwritten Physician’s Progress Report was difficult to read, having been the only photocopy in 509 pages misaligned on the copier.

Fragments are visible:

“… at time he is impulsive … things that may be harmful to … He has impulses to do strange … armful things to himself. He … es suicidal thoughts. He says … kes to read, swim, playing pool, … likes to work with animals, snakes, .. zards & spiders. He is bothered if .. nakes are killed even if they are poison. .. e has not seriously considered a vocation. … he mother seems dedicated, but insecure. He seems to enjoy people being concerned about him.”

Later that day, he oversaw the gruesome murders of Michael Moore, Christopher Byers and Stevie Branch.

https://www.facebook.com/WestMemphis3Killers/

http://www.eastofwestmemphis.com

https://www.amazon.com/Case-Against-West-Memphis-Killers-ebook/dp/B07C7C4DCH/ref=sr_1_fkmrnull_1?keywords=gary+meece&qid=1553389038&s=gateway&sr=8-1-fkmrnull

https://www.amazon.com/Blood-Black-Against-Memphis-Killers/dp/0692802843/ref=sr_1_fkmrnull_2?keywords=gary+meece&qid=1553389069&s=gateway&sr=8-2-fkmrnull

https://www.amazon.com/Blood-Black-Against-Memphis-Killers-ebook/dp/B06XVT2976/ref=sr_1_fkmrnull_3?keywords=gary+meece&qid=1553389069&s=gateway&sr=8-3-fkmrnull

https://www.amazon.com/Where-Monsters-Go-Against-Memphis-ebook/dp/B06XVNXCJV/ref=sr_1_fkmrnull_4?keywords=gary+meece&qid=1553389069&s=gateway&sr=8-4-fkmrnull

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0753HJZ1P/?ie=UTF8&keywords=gary%20meece&qid=1553389069&ref_=sr_1_fkmrnull_5&s=gateway&sr=8-5-fkmrnull

[kidsviral-blog]

These Funny Pictures Prove That Kids are Basically Very Tiny Insane People.

New Post has been published on https://kidsviral.info/these-funny-pictures-prove-that-kids-are-basically-very-tiny-insane-people/

These Funny Pictures Prove That Kids are Basically Very Tiny Insane People.

Having a kid is weird. Your life will transform into essentially two oscillating extremes of super boring and crazy-go-nuts out of control. One minute you’re watching your kid finish his dinner at glacial speed, the next moment you’re chasing him around trying to get him back in the tub. Here are some photos from around the Internet that perfectly capture those insane moments that every parent goes through, but doesn’t want to talk about.

1.) Hey, put your shirt on, it’s nipply in here…I mean nippy.

twitter

2.) Honey, when did we get an indoor pool?

mediabom

3.) Buddy, I want to BE your hair.

danielholmes

4.) I mean what are those clips for anyway?

pleated-jeans

5.) He was thirsty.

mediabom

6.) Mom has been holding out on these ninja hats in her dresser drawer.

rockntech

7.) You try to be a good parent, but then they do this and make YOU look like the monster.

lastlaughgroup

8.) That time you let him watch Tarzan too late at night.

onedio

9.) As if your son couldn’t be any sweeter.

thechive

10.) At least you know now it wasn’t the dog that was doing this.

funny-pictures

11.) The one time clowns aren’t expected to be clumsy is when they put on their make-up.

tcmag

12.) I suppose it’s better than the other way around.

smilepost

13.) Balloons are pretty awesome, but you gotta keep it cool, dude.

rockntech

14.) This guy is quite the handy man.

rocketnews24

15.) Give your brother a kiss…or, you know, that too.

bromygod

16.) Innovations in sitting.

sanquin

17.) Nice. You realize you just created a gadget that makes your eyes useless, right?

twentytwowords

18.) Sorry that buying the food you need to survive is so boring for you, buddy.

likelady

If an adult acted this way would would instantly put him in a clinic. But I guess cause kids are cuties we let them get away with it. Keeps things interesting I guess.

Read more: http://viralnova.com/ya-crazy-kids/

[swyllh]

[junhao] at dusk, the last bird’s cry

title: at dusk, the last bird’s cry

premise: [ghibli-esque] junhui is a young boy from the city; minghao is a young boy from the sea. 

genre/themes: slow burn, coming of age, environmentalism, magical au, rural-urban issues.

word count: 4113 

part 1 | part 2 (soon)

between burning tarmac and bleached sand is an equally pale, peeling post. it reads: we com  to l gh  bay. 

jun unsticks his knees from the blistered back of the driver's seat with a sweaty, loud whap. the car, startled, clambers testily over another road bump. through the dusty window, jun sees - squinting - the feathered strokes of sky and sea tethered to the edge of his vision by remnants of a white fence.

the picture sighs into another blurry mirror of whites, overexposed and exhausted.

"sit properly," his father says tautly, unwilling to spare another gasp in this wilting weather.

jun complies, pulling against the moaning adhesion of the seat and yanking himself into a slouch against the door. even the glass is hot - moist, now.

"it's so hot," he whines softly.

the cases jiggle haphazardly beside him. a clattering mess - the photos from dad's work spilling frothily under the seats. jun makes a bare attempt to stamp on one of the negatives before it slips away into the carpeting.

"yeye's cottage is by the sea," his mother says breezily, despite the parched volume of her musical whisper. "it'll be cooler there."

jun sighs, pressing his cheek against the upholstery. "okay."

his mother glances back, twisting her head over the pretty lace collar at him. with a smile, she reaches into her bag and tugs out a flashy striped rectangle. the packet spills open to reveal a couple of melting sweets. jun leans forward, unsticking his arm from the side of the door and plucks at one.

"thank you," he says, shuffling hotly into the web of shadows.

"you want some?" mother says to father, her breathy whisper eclipsed by the shaking of a yellow charm on the rearview mirror.

again, the car stutters, clanking ungracefully. the beach outside thins into a fine line, and a sudden, feeble burst of colour flashes past. blues and pinks and greens are stripped down to a whirl, with the occasional red-and-white parasols or chalkboard.

jun jams his elbow against the window button, and hauls himself up for the festivities. there are houses and shops or doors scrunching up so close to the road, teetering over cobbled streets and hasty wooden chairs. the flowers from an overcrowded store panic as the car drives by.

"it's so," jun fumbles, eyes wide. "crowded."

his father snorts.

his mother gazes warily into the mirror. "yeye lives just a bit away."

"right," his father concedes, meeting her round eyes. "just a few more minutes."

jun's still pressed up against the car door. "no one's open yet."

"it's a sunday morning," his mother says, turning to face the winding, climbing road ahead. "sit back down, jun. there's a slope."

jun doesn't, and is slammed back into place when the car zooms vertically. his father rolls the windows back up, and ends any lingering doubt.

jun loves his grandfather. he loves the cottage especially - with its red bricks and triangular roof and tinier roofs above the roof. there's a narrow trail of smooth pebbles leading up to the door, lined with white mushrooms and blue flowers he has yet to name.

there's even a small fountain, or more accurately, a bowl made out of a brown-beige thing. it's speckled with little red dots or white, and there's usually a steady puddle of water swirling around in it.

jun hops out of the car and its starched-blue heat, lifting his shirt by the hems to feel that cooling whiff. the car creaks, and his parents are talking in hushed whispers again.

ignoring them, he runs forward, pushing the gate free from its tangled flowery mess. the mailbox is full, however, so jun backtracks hurriedly and tugs the huge envelope out. it crinkles easily, but manages to stay in one official piece.

"magpies," jun mutters, tracing a finger over the glossy stamp.

he breaks into a run immediately, stumbling up the trail and into the modest shelter of the veranda. the paper lanterns he made last summer are still here, swinging listlessly in an effort to be welcoming.

"yeye!" jun shouts, shifting the envelope to the other arm and reaching for the doorbell.

he's still too short though, and so resorts to banging uselessly on the door. his mother comes along, juggling a few cases in her arms. she sets them down, and presses the bell. a faint buzz travels from inside, followed by a muted exclamation.

"oh," grandpa says, eyes darting from jun's mother to jun and then to the cases on the floor. "come in."

jun likes the sound of that, but pauses before hastily removing his shoes. "hello yeye!"

grandpa crinkles his eyes - the lines sinking in deeper - and smiles. "hello jun. how are you?"

his parents have slid past grandpa into the living room, hoisting those thick black leather cases with them. but grandpa's attention is solely placed on jun. the thick black glasses perched on his nose bridge slide down a little, revealing a set of wise, brown eyes examining the boy before him. grandpa winks.

that's what jun likes best.

"very good!" jun says, puffing out his chest. 

the envelope finds its way to the slanted dining table, perched unfairly over a set of well-worn books. mother tiptoes to tug on the pull strings, catching the sheer lamp shade in mid-oscillation. behind her, father is sprawled out over the dusty couch, switching between news channels forecasting the same static white noise.

jun rushes down from the creaking stairs, tiny feet padding across the room. he reaches the stained silver kettle before it begins to whine, hastily turning the knobs on the stove. it sputters useless puffs of smoke, turning a singular panel of the kitchen window grey.

setting down his new froggy thermos flask on the countertop, jun paces over to the fridge and takes a stool out from beside it. its red coat and printed flowers are fading, and there's a missing spot where a forgotten mushroom sprouted.

jun steps onto the stool, and still on his tiptoes, heaves the kettle with controlled grunts. he's gotten a lot stronger since his tenth birthday. the kettle scratches unpleasantly against metal grids, but budges just enough for its spout to line up against his bottle.

"jun!" his mother shouts, glancing up from her scrutiny of the envelope. "that's hot. i'll do it."

jun frowns, face pulled into a sore look of determination. and then there are adult hands relieving him of its weight. she expertly opens the bottle with one hand, and tilts slightly to the side to guide the stream into froggy.

"i could have done it," he complains half-heartedly.

his mother purses her lips at him, but sighs and turns back to the task at hand. "when you're older."

froggy's head is quickly screwed on, and jun all but snatches it from her. he jogs towards the porch door, and then back towards the stool. carrying it under his arm, he places it back beside the fridge, and then zooms back out the porch door.

beyond the porch door is a brighter expanse of green and blue. grandpa is seated in his rocking chair, hands folded over his stomach. the wind chimes tinkle lazily in a breeze, sparkling pink and silver in the sun. jun walks slowly over to grandpa, watching his chest rise and fall evenly.

the black glasses are still perched on his nose. there could be imprints beneath them by now. on further inspection, the skin around and below his eyes are paler than the rest of his face. jun giggles, hugging froggy to his chest.

and then grandpa is blinking an eye open at jun. his lips - cracked and dry - lifting into a kind smile. "ready?"

jun nods eagerly. "yes!"

with much effort, grandpa pulls himself to his feet and steps over the rocking chair. he offers a wrinkly hand to jun, who grabs it, and runs a thumb over jun's knuckles.

they begin the walk to the sea.

the path taken is exactly as jun remembers it. the trees above arch into a covering, respite from the baking sun. jun marches on clumsily, stepping too harshly on the leaf litter and scattered stones.

"can we get ice cream later," jun says.

grandpa is a little more quiet than he remembers. "sure."

"can we also get cola?"

grandpa ruffles his hair kindly. "sure."

pumping his fist into the air, jun laughs, skipping over a small stream of water running under his feet.

light filters into the covering, highlighting the edges of wrinkly tree barks and beady, beaming beetles. jun tilts his head up, and then lets it fall all the way back to marvel at the lattice coursework of leaves against a bright blue sky. somehow he stops walking, leaving his grandpa's older, sunken steps to echo alone a little away.

there is always something magnificent about the smallest detail; this is wonder at the world for existence we have come to deny - gratitude is a spell to break the curse of time.

jun blinks, and glances back down. they are close to the sea now - he can taste the salt in the air.

something beckons him to the right. he turns in the direction, and finds another cottage hidden in the trees. there's no smoke coming from its chimney, and everything is covered in moss or vines. jun frowns. it's a new cottage to his memory, but everything about it screams old and abandoned.

for some reason, he feels like it's not the first time he's seeing it. captivated, jun finds his shoulders turning along with the rest of his body, and

"jun!" his grandpa calls.

the spell breaks. jun tightens his hold on froggy, and sprints back to where grandpa is.

"who lives there?" jun asks, finger pointing to the trees.

grandpa squints in the direction, considering. "it used to... probably no one lives there now."

jun nods. "oh. it's covered in wild plants."

grandpa looks down at jun, and smiles. "come on, or we'll miss most of the boats."

jun grabs grandpa's hand, and marches towards the clearing. the mess of trees and bushes and clacking cicadas give way to soil, and then wash out into clear bright sand.

the house is less exciting at dinner time. his father sweeps the books off the table and onto the coffee table. there are cracked porcelain plates and mismatched metal cutlery by the side, still dripping from the rinse. his mother is stirring a wooden spoon noisily, and the taste of salt wafts through the door when they enter.

"you're back late," his mother chides absently.

jun nods apologetically, but turns to share a smile with grandpa. at his father's glance, he hides his sticky fingers behind his back, wrapped around froggy. the corner of his mouth still tastes like chocolate and vanilla.

"go take a shower," his mother adds. "give me the bottle."

"i'll wash it myself!" jun pipes up.

his mother raises an eyebrow suspiciously, her proffered hand waiting. jun bites his lip, but pulls froggy out from behind his back and delivers it haltingly into her hand. froggy's guilty, stained face stares back up at her.

to grandpa, she says, "you shouldn't let him eat ice cream before dinner."

he shakes his head, placing warm, steady palms on jun's shoulders. "it's hot outside. go shower."

jun nods, scurrying up and away from the rising foam of an argument. the stairs don't carry weight well, and groan every time he runs up them.

the second floor unfurls into darkness, and only comes into view when his eyes have adjusted. blurry outlines of furniture sharpen immediately when he presses a switch somewhere above his head on the wall. the pencil lead he'd pressed into the wallpaper is still there from the previous summers, decked just above the printed lace.

jun grins at the mark, comparing it to his current height. a gap, surely. a sign of growth - maybe he'll lose his baby teeth by the end of this summer.

at the end of the hallway is another window. at first, he wonders if the blinking light is a reflection of the kaleidoscopic lamp he and grandpa painted. but upon closer inspection, the light is bright orange and small and desperate.

"a light?" he cups his hands over the glass.

it's coming from beyond the arch, somewhere in the middle of all the trees. jun thinks back to the cottage from the afternoon.

"maybe there is someone living there," jun whispers, breath fogging up the window.

there are sudden steps rising up the stairs, so jun flees into his room and begins to gather his clothes hastily. he yelps and ducks into the bathroom right opposite his room just in time, slamming the door too loudly. 

the next morning is awfully quiet, save for the twittering of birds. with easy, cautious steps, jun descends from the stairs, fingers pressed close to the wall. still air stirs drowsily where the light hits, exposing specks of dust orbiting around the dining table. behind that, there's a short little mug by the sink, waiting. when jun skids towards the counter he finds it to be a red herring; no one else is awake to share this peace.

froggy lies in two halves, uncapped, on a towel. it beams a golden shimmer at jun. outside, the garden is roused, and the flowers are swaying precariously by their stems. the greenery extends as far as the eye can see, closing into a darker shade past the arch.

the owl clock on the wall behind him ticks meticulously. he'll still have a bit of time before they wake up for breakfast. maybe. if he's fast enough.

seizing the momentary shiver in his chest, jun waddles to the door. and then back, to froggy. he picks it up, fills it with water from the tap, and caps it again. froggy smiles reassuringly despite its missing right eye. jun traces a thumb over it.

mother must have been angry, or distracted last night.

and then he's off, pushing the door open and balancing his weight on the other side so it doesn't shut too loudly. his shoes from yesterday are still beside the pillar. jamming his feet into them proves to be too much of an effort, so he puts froggy down and tugs on the collar of his patched sneakers hurriedly.

it's a little crumpled, but now that he's fully clothed in intent, he has to make his getaway. with a friend in hand, jun sprints. past the arch, blurring past the trees, edging closer to the brush of leaves and branches. the forest is alive, thick and sweet with morning secrets.

his laughter strings him along, winds him up till the small stream of water under his feet. stopping immediately, his arms flail back and forth, grasping at air. there.

the cottage is still there. it's weathered and listless among this lush scenery. jun walks towards it anyway, pushing away long stalks of grass and trudging through soft soil. it feels gross, but curiosity wins out, and his eyes never leave the mysterious cottage.

there is something beautiful about the ruins - the cracks of windows run like cobwebs, and the chipped off paint is a spotted pattern running along the walls. even the metal of the door is rusting, gleaming bronze-brown in the light. the moss has outdone itself.

all in all, a fantastic discovery.

"who are you?"

jun spins around. it's a boy in a wheelchair. he's scrawny.

and a little irritated. with a scowl, the boy repeats, "who are you?"

jun grips onto froggy. "i'm jun. this is froggy."

the boy pats his threadbare blanket. "froggy?"

"this is froggy." jun raises his flask, and then pulls it back down behind him. "who are you?"

"minghao," the boy says slowly.

jun nibbles on his lower lip. he doesn't really know what to talk about - there's one thing he'd like to ask, however. but that would be rude.

minghao ignores him and wheels determinedly towards the cottage.

"do you live here?" jun says, awed when minghao procures a key and jams it into the doorknob.

minghao doesn't bother looking at him. "yes."

"yeye said no one lives here!"

minghao doesn't reply him, but leaves the door open anyway. jun takes a quick glance around the cottage, and zips right in.

there's no mat on the ground, and the shoe rack looks halfway obliterated, so jun kicks his sneakers off to the corner. minghao doesn't seem to wear any shoes though.

"where are your parents?" jun asks, standing awkwardly at the door.

minghao's pushing himself into another room. he doesn't answer. there are a lot of things he's not telling jun, and it's kind of frustrating. maybe jun shouldn't ask so many questions.

he continues to stand at the door, craning his neck to see the rest of the living room from his position. there are white, moth-eaten curtains hanging limply by the windows. the couch too seems old and unused. several black frames of old, yellowing photographs are hanging on the walls, and there's even a calligraphy scroll draped next to the cabinets.

"what are you doing?" minghao says, wheeling past the doorway.

he looks irritated, but that look is bolstered by something else - his mouth's turned down in a frown, and his eyes are wide. minghao looks scared, like jun's going to run off.

jun scratches his cheek. "i'm coming in."

"then come in faster," minghao says, and zooms off towards the couches.

jun takes the offer. the house expands into a quaint, angular space with hallways on either side leading into dark spaces. there's a dream catcher and a string of iridescent shells hanging from the ceiling. as jun enters the room, the green on one of them morphs into a sparkly blue. amazed, he stumbles backwards - it turns green again.

"wow, these shells are pretty," jun says. "did you pick them yourself?"

minghao lights up. "they're from the sea."

jun nods. "you are good at choosing."

minghao takes a careful sip of his water.

"have you been to the beach?"

minghao hesitates for a moment, and shakes his head. "no."

"but there are a lot of shells there," jun exclaims, and then shrivels up when the glint of minghao's wheelchair catches him by surprise.

minghao scowls. "i know."

quietly, jun shuffles to a couch and plops down into its fluffy, scratchy surface. it wheezes heavily. in front of him, minghao has placed two glasses of water on the table. jun carefully sets froggy down beside him, and the traitor rolls away into a dip in the sofa.  

"how long have you been here?" jun asks instead, patting the condensation away from under the glass.

minghao tilts his head. "a few days."

"that's why i haven't seen you before," jun says.

minghao doesn't say anything, only continuing to drink from his glass. jun watches, eyes sharp and bright - something about this is extraordinary, like a dream. questions race past his mind in a flurry of excitement, skipping from one assumption to the next. he tries to say something, but can't find it in himself to break the silence.

instead, he looks past minghao's nonchalant face and out the other window where the curtains are. his eyes slide over the tinted greenery and up the wooden carvings of the walls, then down to the covered dresser and the tiny clock perched on it. it's red and black, spotted like a ladybug.

"ah! it's eight-" he squeals, and minghao's eyes grow wide.

jun jumps to his feet, just as minghao says, "eight?"

jun nods, running to the doorway and tugging his sneakers on. "i've gotta go, sorry, minghao, i'll come back later! bye!"

with those butterfingers, he crosses and recrosses uncooperative laces around his shoes. finally, with a pinched groan, he leaves the laces untied, and pushes the door open, stumbling out into the light. a quick glance into the house tells him that minghao hasn't moved - jun shakes his head, and begins the sprint up towards grandpa's house. 

grandpa takes him to town immediately after breakfast. jun stares blearily around the area while grandpa pauses to talk to a storeman. the entire place is narrower than the city, with only one road in the middle and no stop signs or speeding limits.

the railings closest to him are spotty and dark green. jun blinks again, and tugs at the collar of his polo shirt. it's dark blue and heavy and the material feels harder than any of his cotton shirts. frowning, jun turns to stare down the road. it dips and winds and curves uncertainly, lit so bright and vulnerable to the rays from the sun. even its shadows seem to murmur conspicuously, the whole scene blurring unfortunately like someone'd spilled water over its colours.

a tabby cat stretches, arches moodily, and then springs off across the street. 

somewhere above him, behind him, a bell rings, and a door closes. jun closes his eyes too, tries to dissect the living gasp and sigh of everything around him, tries not to put a name to these actions - something whining, then of wood swinging to a thud, followed by the jiggling of glass. a door, then.

the conclusion finally satisfies him, so jun opens his eyes again - squeezing them shut at the light, and then gingerly opening them.

"...that your grandson?" the storeman asks.

grandpa ruffles jun's hair. "yes. jun, greet the uncle."

jun bows slightly. "hello, uncle."

the storeman laughs. "so obedient. how old are you?"

"ten," jun says.

the storeman nods, and turns back to grandpa. "nowadays the kids are moving to the city."

grandpa sighs. "everyone's moving to the city."

at this, jun perks up. "why are they moving to the city?"

the storeman gives grandpa a look, and then lowers himself - he's quite a big man, broad around the shoulders and with his tan head covered by a flimsy straw hat. he looks jun straight in the eye, and then right past him to the street around them.

"you're from the city, aren't you?" he says suddenly, flicking jun in the forehead and then chuckling.

jun clutches his forehead and stumbles back. indignantly, he cries, "but i like being here with yeye!"

the storeman and grandpa share a laugh. jun's face flushes, and his eyes narrow. he doesn't like being ganged up on. but before he can protest, the storeman is drawing himself up to his full height again.

"they're not going to stop the construction, you know," he says to grandpa. "this place is an important harbour."

grandpa looks into the storeman's face. "are you moving out too, shun?"

the storeman meets his gaze resolutely. "yeah. i've found a place in the next town. small, but bigger than here."

grandpa nods, sighing. he pats the storeman on the shoulder, and tilts his head towards the road. "right. we'll get going then."

the storeman tips his straw hat, and smiles back at grandpa. he gives jun a wink, too, at which jun hurrumphs and whips his head away.

"have a nice day, mr wen!" the storeman says, waving. “you too, small boy!”

jun pouts, stomping on gravel and kicking at stray pebbles. his grandpa indulges him by staying silent, only pointing out pigeons or waving to other rare passers-by along the street.

"who's he, yeye?" jun finally says.

"shun - he's an old friend. honest, a good man." grandpa says. "he's been taking care of all the old folks here for a while."

jun glances up at grandpa. "even yeye?"

grandpa smiles. "even me, jun."

at that, jun bristles. he turns his head back to where the shop is. from this distance, the street is warped by the heat into an inconsolable mess of faint shapes. he can barely make out the wooden board sticking out from the front door.

"i'll take care of yeye!" jun announces.

his grandpa smiles, unfolding a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his dotted face. its crisp, folded lines seem to wilt under the weight of this damp humidity.

for a long time, he doesn't reply. jun looks forward, and continues marching down the road. a pinwheel perched in the flowerpot by the lamp post surges with a temporary vitality. then it droops, heaving itself up and failing to spin over. jun squats down and blows at it. the pinwheel, ticklish, gives a shy whirl.

"i'm not moving to the city, jun," grandpa says finally.

the answer comes easily to jun. "then i'll move in with yeye."